Wow, Pornographia by Witold Gombrowicz. It was a ride indeed.

A cadence and monologue (the entire thing was a monologue I suppose) so similar to my own! Or at last in whatever idea I have of my own inner dialogue.

It strikes me that the author is a Polak who wrote about Polaks living in Poland at a time that he (himself, the author) was NOT living in Poland. What is it about the Polish soul that binds them all together regardless of geography. This I want to study. Or learn. I suppose while I learn Polish (in my Montenegran exile), I shall come closer to an understanding.

I was reading this book for quite a while, I wonder what project will next choose for myself. I've wanted to finish this thing for a while, but it fared almost TOO complex for me to read leisurely unless I was in top mental sharpness, or only half paying attention.

The book: about two old men. Sneaky and controlling. Like rats. Like two characeteurs of some globalist Jews. Much more aligned with the true Polish disposition than the Jew.

Anyway, (I say this often at the beginning of my sentences when I get off topic), one Frederyk grooms a couple of children to partake in his maniacle and maddened erotic relations that involve only the slightest most tension building actions so far removed from sex that it is a marvel that Gombrowicz conceptualized the exact essence of eroticism. These games lead to killing and death at the end.

I don't even want to review the book or anything, it was really good. In fact it was so good.

I will definitely read it again one day. Or at the very least, let me use these words as a subconscious reminder to return to it.

I don't know what I'll read next.

Part of me wants to read one of the books I downloaded on my tiny computer, though perhaps I should enjoy the paperback while I still can. I will be gone in Europe for almost 6 months without those grainy pages gracing my fingertips and palms!

No need to rush.

Maya is in Venice, arrived around midnight her time.

Nuclear scare in Ukraine as Russia (maybe?) attacked a nuclear plant. There was a fire which was blazing for a while. Firefighters were supposedly blocked from entering by the Russian troops. I was very afraid that the nuclear core would catch fire and we would see a second Chernobyl awaken to destroy pretty much all of Europe and millions and millions of lives.

I feared for Maya, her proximity close enough to maybe catch a radiation or two.

The fire was put out.

A big part of me believes that this is a hoax, a theatre put on by USA and Ukraine joint theatre ops to make the world hate Russia even more. I want to believe it, because I don't want to believe that Russians could be that stupid. And also because I hate American and would dance on its grave when it inevitably falls.

I'll be in Montenegro soon. Mother and Father will put up a great fuss about this trip. I don't really care honestly.

Though I am excited to go back and stay with them for 2-3 weeks. It's been a long long time since I spent an extended period of time like that with them. I'd like to get to know them a bit more, and them me.

I'd also like to exercise and continue to read.

Maybe I'll work up the energy to write, but... I should try not to push myself. Hah! See the self-therapy working itself out on the screen before me. With symbols and clicks of a muted clacking keyboard. I want to write. But I want to do a lot. I can barely handle myself. Going back home is supposed to help me handle myself better, remember?


Yeah okay it's 2:17 am and I have work tomorrow. Will I get some work done?

I sure hope so.