George has asked me to write a little more about what I do (I guess he meant that as instead of rampant social pseudo critiques of issues that concern noone), so I will try to be a good livejournal keeper for once.
Today I woke up with the clear determination to jump right out of bed and pick up "Critique of Judgment" and read it, comprehend it, put it back on the shelf and be a better person for it. That didn't happen, although I had a dream the night before that I had grasped it all and the world unfolded in front of me in a perfect system of cognizance. The snooze alarm went off 12 times before I was ready to shake up those blankets, put the friends-dolls back in their place on the down pillow, tug in the sheets and start the day. I had, as is my habit, extended breakfast until noon, and left the house with four cups of honey tea in me to make up for the kisses goodbye noone seems ready to provide since I left the states. I arrived at university soaked, which I blame on the fact that I have not yet acquired the sense of judgment to take natural occurences as more than mere tricks on my senses, until the cold rain actually begins to wrinkle up my skin and I have to conclude that it was actually a good day to take the subway, not the bike. It took two hours in an overcrowded lecture hall to dry my pants and another two to make my jacket wearable again. In the first lecture though I learned to differentiate between synthetic and analytic judgments (the first of which is based on experience, and, although it does not qualify as apriori, and therefore has no claim to truth in a mathematical sense), it was comforting to know that with the help of one of those I could avoid getting wet next time, if only by compromising the universal applicability of my claims to truth. I ate a meal for 1.50 € at the mensa, the public cafeteria where you can rub elbows with each other and talk about how bad the food is, although it's really not. More lectures, reading in the library, still feeling a little lost between all this architecture and great books, and after some minimal shopping (green beans and honey), back to the living quarters in Kreuzberg. My roommates care not for Antifolk, and I think I will go by myself to see Kimya Dawson play at the Lovelite tonight. Last time I went to the concert alone it was fantastical. I made a sweet friend in the ticket line, we went and had drinks and watched Coco Rosie, vowed to go shopping for shoes right the next day and I lost her number. Bad Judgment? Nothing protects me from being a simple slob. Yes yes. I think I might go back to politics for the next entry. Maybe I could try fiction. I cannot imagine this to be interesting at all!