11 Sep 2013
30 minutes, 300 lowrise steps, 250 movements with weights and 100 without first thing at 5:15 AM. No physio today: have to go to chemo and cancer followup.
Rested, the usual pain, a sort of tug deep within the butt as if a malignant dwarf is ringing changes inside my leg for my funeral Mass. Prospero says in the Tempest, i’th’old play,
And thence retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave.
The nice thing about pain is that you don’t have to dress in black, and pray all the time, and pull a long face and rebuke the children for farting around, there is the pain to make every third thought to be of your grave.
Study? No progress. But see where Mr Sitdown tragedies realizes as I have the utility of diagramming:
If only Kant were an artist, he says. But his diagram doesn’t explain the formation of multi-level concepts.
cf also my comment at his site. Abstract expressionist painting the representation of pure sensation?
The chorus of soft screaming, the singing, the “ay-yahs” erupt as we awake to pain.