the library's friends held books of yore in brown boxes for my hunting pleasure. 18 dollars and 33 books later, i have no more room. cannot help but think of a book fair in paris, which served as the metaphor for my séjour. books abound, and scales serve economic justice: ideas sold by the kilogram. dreading the day in july when i must choose which books to bring to paris and which must serve their term imprisoned in cardboard. found a nice little copy of satori in paris, and read the first half this afternoon. nostalgia pulls me to pieces. i understand his attitude of proving that he speaks french and can speak it well. i remember the touristy tower of babel streets with their sounds of arabic gutters and swedish singing. my french tongue is growing weaker by the day with disuse....

received a letter and a valentine (idahoean and belated) in today's mail. the valentine was marked in love and red with the hearts to prove it. the letter was imprinted with the beautiful scrawlings which make me miss mathematics. an algebra of longing makes me feel the yellow lines of america. she (you) likes (like) my words. i wonder about this diary now. outside eyes see inner statistics. am i honest with them or me? perhaps i'm forced to fumble a little longer with these words i know not how to wield. i quit this screen to smell the mild yellow canvases of ink and wallow in my new captives of ideas held prisoner....waiting in turn for my impatient perusal.