well-ordering property

i have a bookshelf. i think it used to represent what i wished i was a few years ago (echoed in a hall hurried though). copies of proust and derrida. it is still sectioned off into partitions, trends that blend into eachother. the spectrum of the things that used to keep me up at night. but the bottom of this bookshelf is growing without bound. calculus, differential equations, abstract math, topology, classical mechanics, electrodynamics, quantum mechanics, gravitation... the weight of these texts start from the base, like a tree. stretch higher and higher. the leaves of my fingers can still all but touch the search of Humanity, but these leaves are one by one falling. they are so light compared to the heaviness of their roots. i was in class last week, the only non-physics class i am taking. we were reading keller. a love story of two youths ending in death. my professor, the dean of graduate studies in the greman department, translator of the new cambridge press of thus spoke zarathustra, was brought to tears by the end of the story. he had to leave the room in order to regain composition so we could discuss the midterm. the great sweeping act of Humanity has lost me in its motion. and so i fake it. or avoid it. build text upon text. but this is where i live. here in admiration of things, uninvolved but trying. expecting.