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2001-05-15 - 9:50 p.m.

'S'io credessi che mia risposta fosse

a persona che mai tornasse nel mondo...'.

Woe is me. I begin these words without a sense of security. 'Without'. I go without. I live without. The pleasures of my life may be rationed according to a velvet glove; or, more likely, I am spewing forth the Calvinistic constancy consonant with my intellectually spartan lifestyle.

I can no longer read. I am plagued with indecision. I have no friends. I live on a small island. I'm broke. I can speak four languages fluently, and yet am a lifetime short of interlocutors.

I try to escape from her, from it, but I'm just a prosaic Al Pacino. 'So don't forget who's taking you home, and in who's arms you're gonna be, oh darling, save the last dance for me'. But she would never voluntarily hand herself over to me. In no capacity whatsoever. At no acceptable proximity.

I want to learn, but I don't know where to begin. What's it to be? Am I a rational, an empiricist? What happened to me? Where did all the schematics go? I leave no blueprints behind; footprints neither.

I want to learn. I need to learn. But where? I have no home. I am alone. A brother living 4000 miles away. What can I ever be useful at?

No 'cog in the wheel' for me. Damn, where are your mentors when you need them?

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