I fear that I may be incapable of love. I feel many things for online friends and small animools - I have cat now, noble and blessed animool, her name is Céline after french author Louis Ferdinand Céline, and I maintain my distaste for cat poasting - I feel many and beautiful things for this small creature and yet I fear that I may be incapable of love. Invariably, I always come to hate those I am close to, their transgressions are constant and insurmountably unforgiveable. It would be pettiness if not for the small arrogant niaiserie of reproaching same to myself; I hope to temper steel and not masturbate. Mishima book The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea: I did not understand at first but relate to child Noboru greatly now, how he feels betrayed by the stupidity and facetiousness of sailor Ryosuke. One by one every soul inevitably falls from grace... I wish also like Noboru to find like-minded wargang of youths - and youth is of utmost importance, there must be seriousness of child at play - with whom to lift each other out of petty prides and attain desires through protracted discipline. It must be like game, with spirit of competition and camraderie, counting, say, heads, in tacit contest, with again seriousness of child at play. I cannot overstate the importance of this. Great revelry and good fun. I have steered off topic but - so be it! Great antidote for woes. I feel renewed vigor from musings. I must preach, in my good mood, purity of experience and sensation. I also come to understand another Mishima bit now - the corrosiveness of words. Nietzsche say also that poets abuse their experiences. I have made great progress in study of mathematics, and reconciled its cold abstraction also with desire for vehement force of being. It was sudden epiphany that came as I try ice bath - I had great uncontrollable laughter whilst inside and thus came to conclusion. My words pale to describe, but it was thought of exercising abstraction just the same as joy of feeling cool wind on skin. Ice bath good exercise of will also - regulating breathing and holding back shivers and pushing to stay inside for few more seconds. I interrupt this to resume the delivering of my woes. Woman troubles! It seems I am love fool, I am enchanted much too fast and come quickly to despise. Despise even is strong word - it is not a full bodied hate, only vague disgust for their various gâteries, their recurrent redditisms. Perhaps I have yet also to experience great kindness, or to offer the same. I am immoderate in my approach, I always offer too much too fast. Perhaps they whiff the scent then and there, of my fickle affections. I cannot tolerate the petty intricacies and complications of courtship besides, it seems to me altogether rather distasteful. There is no joy in courtship as it exists in the social spheres I am beholden to, only long protracted cuckoldry. Give something of your pride to this woman it seems I am being asked, but not in outburst of passion, only small progressive effacements until you are rendered a whipped husk. NO MORE I SAY! I decide to attend normoid parties no longer, they fill me only with boredom and contempt. For all the tartuffery of their ill-defined convictions they haven't even a hint of good manners, but in their place some strange artifical "just be nice" culture. I feel that I am bad-mouthing them, I do not intend to, they seem perfectly kind people, but I can bear it NO LONGER! Their ceaseless chatter about the same trite garbage, their petty anxieties and concerns brought to bear in shy yet self-indulgent slips, it is all in all UNFORGIVEABLE! I must sleep now, I leave you with assurance that there are yet many things to be done, and great joy to be found in this.