No need for thrill

Well, everything in order at the moment. Wife's home, Ari's home. Today I actually ressumed Saussure a little bit, it was very motivating and algebraic sort of needless to say. After a couple of hours in uncertainty about do's and dont's actually I manage to proceed with my readings, to stop later on only in order to search for the axe of evil. I could have done before, my usual way but eventually didn't, have a good feeling about it actually.

No need to be jumpy about conclusions and odds, just let the morning come and with it sweet cakes and bitter-sweet snacks. Unfortunately I'm less thrilled than I expected, and knowingly aware but it doesn't really trouble me as it used to do, probably because I had the chance to through it myself if you know what I mean. I felt contemptously tempted to pick up the phone and ring up a few people and pour over my tragedy, my discontent. Still I haven't read Sophocles in a while, hence there's no real tragedy and there's no real thrill. I've spent my afternoons between blogs, wife's talks, Elliot and Saussure, mathematical linguistics and demons of other kinds, of other races.

A suppressing feeling came over me in the early evening, something I couldn't explain, something not even Giorgia could cure, figured it out? Yeah I did as well but it's nothing worthy of attention. I mean, I would do exactly the same probably. And since right now the wife is making an triumphal appear back home, Ari is laid to rest for a while... it doesn't really mean laid to rest... he might just be busy with any other book he found, with any other book Elliot sent for him. Ari sleeps, with his hesitations and his hopes of a better tomorrow, let her take over... for she's more into enjoying the present with its evil calculations and depraved pieces of self. Glassy kind of.

I'm a bit happy you know! It's not that I don't have any real feelings, it's just infatuation-free and unexpected, released, thinking of myself, thinking of a stranger, voiceless and calm, taking a lead. Finding my loosen screws and tightening them up for the good sake of the morrow.

I can start to resume my novels, to resume my poems, to resume my thoughts, to resume my words. In motorways, in tramlines, at the patisserie, walking down the seashore, I can keep my silence, I'm allowed to silence up now and breathe the tranquility of today, the unrest of yesterday.

For life can only be in my side this time, for we're not at odds one with the other. Let me return to Reykjavik 101 or to Bogota 121 if you want. Let life decide, and let me sleep... for once at all... to sleep out of unrest.

In the same bed, Ari and her... share a pillow, and share a life... share something no one can take away from them... they share a something linguistics can't attempt to describe, they share a signified, being themselves together in communion a signified. Firstly a signifier,then all the rest.