Psst. The owner of this blog is moving. He says that he would like to see you there, even if he really doesn't, you all being as slippery as peripheral vision. He says he doesn't mind, except that maybe you could leave some signs, sometimes? He gets awful lonely, but he says it's not your fault. (He says a lot of things.) In any case, here he is, and will be.

Spent most of the day learning LaTeX (wiki), a sort of programming language for formatting documents, invaluable for equations and the like. Will probably be what I will be writing thesis on, when it comes to that. Encoded a pretty long problem set solution, felt accomplished, but used up most of day.

Next should learn Maple or Mathematica, which are mathematics software that people at Theory also use a lot.

Other news, hmm. Discovered hanjie, or griddlers, which are basically "paint by numbers" logic puzzles where you shade boxes based on some numbers provided as clues. Hard to explain, but is fun. Try Googling. Whee.

There's something oppressive about entering the text of my entries into this (Tabulas) form. Perhaps it is the sameness, or the very slight gray of the background, or the closeness of each line of text to the next, or any number of things, but there it is. Sometimes it seems comforting to have a history, sometimes just nostalgic, disappointing.

The last few times I've blogged, I keep wanting to revamp my layout or even transfer to a new host, but I haven't yet drummed up enough motivation. It seems like a lot of work for something that I don't use that often anymore, anyway.

I don't think it's because I've outgrown blogging, but that I seem to be veering away from the person I used to be. I don't have that much free time anymore, it seems, to spend on bumming around on the Internet or tweaking a blog entry or hunting around for old games and new songs.

If this is the new me, it will be a student who tries to be more conscientious, a freelance creator of Internet article drivel, less shy a speaker, a young man trying to lose the last of his baby fat and slowly (perhaps) succeeding.

In other words (the words of another man): I am drawing nearer to the world.

Press any key.

A proposition made in dead of night.
A climb, a hand touching another caked with rust,
breaking away, the fall and the farewell
to the deep and narrow streets.

Another made in sun, in summer heat.
The sweaty palms that almost missed each other,
the heat of body, the heat of the skin,
the flushing heat of ruddy cheeks.

Under the rain, soaked to the bone.
Gray watery murmurings, an unopened umbrella,
wet fingers, wet hair, dripping faces
falling to the ground, eyes blinking, steady.

The blinding light, the shivering, the thirst.
The eyes do not see more. The skin in goosebumps.
The mouth must not open, must not hold more.