feeling kind-of nilhilist, as if i do not fear death per se/the ceasing of existence, and more fear a painful death and the pain of beloved bereaved.

this bout is partially a result of reading Ma Jian’s depressing “The Dark Road”, which i borrowed on the same day i retrieved a long-neglected Reading List on my computer, which also had that title.

felt a bit better at Surry Hills Library, which loans out the New Yorker!

oh also, — hmm forgot what i was going to write.

was i going to write anything?