Scary stories.

What confounds me about myself is that i can`t really make out which is scarier. My at times successful attempts at self improvement and the gentle bliss afforded me when i manage to conform to my ideals for unfolding, or the hostility/"lack of proper capacity for elaboration of self" experienced in my head whilst i traverse more or less interactive visual and auditory hallucinations.
It will not suffice to say only that about the matter, but there is little i can do to further probe the material nature of the experience. I can but dabble in the personal psychological interpretations of such in a terminology wholly my own and only partially recognizable to other observers.

Had a good morning today. (Unless you count the hostility/anguish - impositions experienced in mental spaces just before i rose out of bed. Having recently listened to Nick Cave made me walk through it in the stride of "We`re gonna have a real good time", and that sentiment works reasonably well.)
Walked up Stoltzekleiven with Rimsky Korsakov and Tchaikovsky as musical companions. Quite enjoyable, even though the weather was sombre.

I listened to Beethovens 5th Piano Concerto (op. 70) last evening. Granted, i wasn`t particularly concentrated during the experience, but i must say i really preferred Rimsky-Korsakov`s Concerto for Piano and Orchestra (op.30) this morning. This is not a comparison of professional merit, of course, but more an attempt to show forth the traits music needs to have in order to be seen by me as what i need.

Good workflow, excellent Ginseng, i`m over the anguish of having to do the entire maths course over again, and am still trying my best to act within the limits afforded my current position.

Vernor Vinge`s "Rainbows End" annoys the living daylight out of me though. Which is one of the traits good literature can have. The conceptual space explored within and the silent reek of both present, and potential future obsolescence makes me annoyed at our incapacity to facilitate for asynchronous conceptualizations and establish proper paths of correction insuring a least-problematic-route to continued usefulness (unless a person wants more problems, which i in some instances definitely do!).
But yeah, it hurts to see how easily a being can be made obsolescent, and it doubly hurts to be continually pestered about it by scurrilous little assertive fear-mongerers. (Especially when said scare-mongerers have an uncanny knack for correcting my mental output within the confines of my auditory space so soon after its production. ARGH)

Nuff now. Back to maths. (The problem is that the concept "More math, less Drunkard`s Walk" has certain literary connotations which speaks to the difficulty of instituting the one without having to relate to the spaces explored within the other. Oh well, Drunkard`s Walk is as good as they get from Pohl`s side of things relative to my unfolding at present.)