Still on Nostromo and In Stahlgewittern. William, one of my brighter flunkies though utterly and thoroughly ungebildet, is currently reading the french translation of this first work of Juenger Orages d'acier, which I offered him a few weeks ago. I am moved to note the consciousness of a transition in my thinking: I find myself giving up again discursive, philosophical thought, or rather through these I put in the way of being now aware how very little they stand up to feeling, sentiment, how tiresome, wearing and false a gedanke can become, how restaurative, empowering when one is innerly moved by something, if only by the feeling of one's self: selbstgefuehl.

Reading Winesburg, Ohio. I'm taking a short break from German having interrupted Im Stahlgewittern aroud midpoint early this week. Again as though it were held compressed, a fantastic release of cognitive energy making fully manifest that perceived balance between the objective and the subjective to which Goethe made the intriguing reference reported in the Gespraeche. Coming to light the process of divestement of the english language to the point were it is incapable of handling reality, and then as always felt anew the realisation that it creates and handles its own reality, what it sets apart, not as its own, but as the only one possible for it.