I have no reason to feel contented at all, yet I do… As if I stood at the threshold of something like an ontology of peace, I feel contented at the fact that I don´t understand philosophy at all, as it were, thinking that my only duty is not to understand it. The current sleeplessness doesn´t quite stem from pain but from an anxious waiting to see whether I will be able to see Jerusalem again, that could count more than anything else. I can´t explain this, because it is not the contentment of appeasement or the mediocrity of complacency; I am alone living in this horrible house and surrounded by this horrible people, I have no money or any travelling plans at the grip of my hand as of today, I only have one denim and three unwashed pullovers, I spent all day reading books and trying to live somehow even when the thick afternoon sleep distracts me from all the important tasks of philosophy, I find no sexual gratification whatsoever let alone love, yet I do feel contented with the present, with life, it is all so very odd. Something tells me that my three master plans will work out nicely: First Jerusalem, then Iceland and at last Nottingham, and I don´t know why, I just feel it, and that´s the bad part because usually when I feel something it tends to fall apart just from within. Too much hope held up in the nothingness of a void and then followed by the silent disappointment of my despair looking for better plans. This time though, I need to settle for something. I am thinking of Mara, every day, I think I should write her, but then with her I could never know what can come up… Anyway she´s so different from what I am, from what Katherina and me are, but well she´s a mother, a Jew, a philosopher, she must understand something and I owe up to her so much.
I remember Eveline talking about Gillian Rose. Eveline is such a wonderful character, such a diva, an actress with all the powers that be. She told me that had she met Gillian Rose, she would have persuaded her to move away from her subjacent temptation toward Christianity, as if it were, that we spoke about a vendor at the market who wore the wrong clothes. That´s how Eveline is