I had a very peculiar dream last night about my first love throwing a frisbee in church. This morning--wait, it's already 3:15pm (and I am still at school though nobody else is)--besides realizing the necessity of coffee, I have also realized my love for certain things that most people who think sharply find a bit disorienting, or just odd (a very limp sort of anomaly). Usually what I have said or done in the name of the quiddity of things has been thrown back in my face, or politely returned with a bow tied around it. Maybe it is just all the abstractions I have dealt with in uncomfortably imprecise language, sloppy language. I seem to have suffered a desire to communicate lucidly about as long as I have suffered from poor articulation. Now I am writing about something else, avoiding the question which my dream asks me.

Most people forget their dreams, or they wind up using the dirty or disturbing ones for good pub chat. A good dream, like a good intention, seems to be impossible to communicate. Anyone can do something good, but does it need the intention or not? Maybe it is intuited in certain circumstances in the context of conventional norms of expressing one's lofty intentions. "He did it such a smile on his face."

So, it is sunny again today. One day it pours cold rain, the next we have sunshine. How fickle the skies are here in Wakayama. It is starting to feel like Berkeley now that the cold has diminished a bit. I need to start writing.

Gosh, what a half-assed entry! I am sorry.