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Today like yesterday, like many days, I confine myself to bed to get reading done. And the combination of Levinas, Spinoza, Gadamer, and the greasy internet machine makes every hour identical, and makes them tick past like minutes. What happens with a total lack of structure, I think.

My neighbourhood, like all neighbourhoods, has a soundtrack. And there is a high degree of temporal organization to it. Trinity Church sounds out the quarter turns; the guts of the building being renovated next door are hauled away at both 6 am and pm; the 2/3 passes underground every couple of minutes. You'd think that the subway noise especially would have become invisible to my consciousness by now, but the opposite is happening. Because I can picture what it's like to stand on the local platform and recoil to an express train screeching and shuddering by, every time I hear the train below me now my brain magnifies the sound to that level. I stop reading. I stop typing. I wait for it to pass.