Donnertraüme

Flashing between regret and resolve regarding taking German III. This is the kind of semester where the kid gloves come off. The class is mostly auf Deutsch, and coming into that 3 hours a week over crappy Zoom audio is a struggle. I have to think on my feet and just get into the dance. Die Professorin says it’s a safe place, and I believe her, but everyone else is on the dance floor. I’m trying.

The laptop I bought for the class isn’t really needed, since we won’t be using the school’s Test Proctoring browser; I can use anything that can record from webcam and headset. Regret that part, but at least the laptop’s nice, within certain bounds. Better than the old one.

Homework is definitely harder. Had our first quiz last week, too. Haven’t looked up my grades from my recent work yet. I’m afraid. Jetzt habe ich viel Angst.

So viel Angst.

Pluck

When, in a society, you have developed the methods to turn a profit when the market goes up, and you have developed the methods to earn a profit when the market goes down, then you can fully expect that the market will not remain stable for long. Eventually someone will pluck the string.

Then, in those oscillations, they will accrue profits at the expense of the universe. Molecular friction. It all turns into heat. We all lose energy during the return to the stable state.

Keep this in mind when the market gets destabilized by sudden policy changes. Tariffs? Someone’s profiting. And it’s not us.

Meter and Terse

I used to write poetry,
But seldom had love to read it.
That squarely makes me
a two-faced, goddamned hypocrite.
I wrote a bolus of verse,
Asked my cafe friend to read it.
He said it was shit, asked me who I read.
Told him I didn't need it.
Offended, I asked why
His opinion wasn't so inviting,
Without a pause he asked
By what right do I have writing?

Vidi Non

I think I need to come to terms with the fact that I’m no longer a movie guy. Looking at my media server, there are 130 movies out of the entire collection that are unwatched after years, despite my best intentions. I’m never home long enough to watch anything longer than 30 minutes before passing out.

My life isn’t as small and focused as it was when I was a young adult grabbing at every VHS and DVD to watch in my hovel, clamoring for a bite, a taste, of the big life out there. I wanted experiences and dreams and loves, and it was as easy as pressing Play.

I still have those desires. But the thing I desire the absolute least is to be in my hovel. I’ve seen the outside, and there are people and random dice rolls out there. I want to be somewhere else. So I’m out here, typing at a cafe and not watching movies.

Some days, I really need to rest, to recover, to find myself again, but there’s something underneath that’s unanswered, something still hungry, and so it’s Go Go Go. Home is just where I store my shit. Everything else is in the bindle over my shoulder.