i spend about half to 3/4 of each day just reading in my room in Saint Catharine’s, enjoying the freedom. Freedom from work and also from computers. i am increasingly suspicious of computers, both for reading and writing – the former addictive, so i can easily spend hours “channel-hopping” in a zombie-like trance: and for the latter, it’s too easy to write on computers. i type at about 80 to 90 wpm and can (too easily) let the words form themselves, in chains and superficial symmetries bearing no strong connection to anything but – themselves. i’m unsure how to resist the laptop when i return to my bedroom in Ultima Thule. Perhaps i should smash it with a human thigh bone in a 2001-like frenzy, or maybe i should give it to my hippy flatmate and instruct him to deny me access except between the hours of 9 and 10 pm, though being a hippy he would instantly sell it for drugs and incense.

i spent yesterday evening reading Wallace Stevens and the Philosophical Investigations, the latter in Anscombe’s excellent translation. It’s possible to increase one’s reading concentration, both in depth and duration, by tandem reading, perhaps 10 minutes on each. No 76 in the PI puts me in mind of Stevens:

If someone were to draw a sharp boundary I could not acknowledge it as the one that I too always wanted to draw, or had drawn in my mind. For I did not want to draw one at all. His concept may then be said to be not the same as mine, but akin to it. The kinship is that of two pictures, one of which consists of colour patches with vague contours, and the other of patches similarly shaped and distributed, but with clear contours. The kinship is just as undeniable as the difference.

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