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.