Extraordinarily difficult to think this afternoon. Bit of a chilly night, but a good workout, and Mass at the cathedral. Arrived to the library, and it was as if my consciousness had to evolve from primeval slime to the possibility of rational thought. Surrounded by people for whom, my guess is, penetrative thought is not really a desideratum. They've learned to play the game, and they have their iphones.
I can't fathom people who go to the gym, library, cafeteria, etc. to be around others. Everything reduced to a social encounter in which they attempt to attain an ascendancy. And this happens at concerts and theatre performances as well, not to mention art galleries. Which reveals the aspect lost: the thing itself.
So. Given that the first-tier law degree decade as a professional actor, and work on the research doctorate appear to be valued at nil, I apparently need to furnish my own internal or external exile.
External is preferred -- the present mindset of the citizens of my country is not useful for me.
I would need an inexpensive place in a large city, with access to English scholarly paperbacks (easily via websites in US & UK, but elsewhere, other arrangements). And the basics: sufficient vegetarian protein, ability to run/exercise, large desk or table to work at, reasonably clean environment.
So that's the goal. Making my own Siberia.
Not simply preserving existence. (Though that's nothing to be sniffing your nose at.) There is work being done, and there is work to be done.
If I become that which I'm thought or said to be, all is lost. I am me. Even still. Ca suffit.