Epic Scottish wind and wetness. Literally, I can't even crack the window to smoke a cigarette. It's like the entire city is flying down a highway at 85 mph. So the apartment smells like cigarettes, and the wind is pounding and whipping against the window, not giving a fuck, and I'm sitting here at the kitchen table watching the great landscape withstand it; the Crags: a beacon of endurance through the shittiest of weather. A magnitude of indifference. Joseph Conrad, Kevin Barnes, Thomas Hobbes, Julia Driver--I'd like to thank her for being so good at understanding ethical theory that I don't have to. Game theory, fish and chips, stupid essays from the '70s being really hypersensitive about race. Really wonderful pieces in the New Yorker etc etc life is alright, propelling through it all with the steady iv of black coffee, all day, yesterday, today, tomorrow, the next. Am literally stuffing my brain with information. I'm not going to remember a lot of it, but it seems to mean something now, the culmination of all of it, seems like the right thing to do. I'm not even thinking about what I'm going to get out of it, Immanuel Kant. Oh and the other day I got drunk at 2. I don't remember what happened.
Also, if you speak Italian, get at me. I need a translator for a minute.
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