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X had a big mirror in his living room which cut off where the top of the couch started and below that on the floor a bed spread was laid out where I’d eat watermelons among other things. A set up that let me watch myself dive in—to what? It’s true that as much as I know about dead ends in theory I actively seek them out. Because all fun must be escapist in some way, right? And what is this whole genre of activity supposed to be besides fun. August on the other hand was the most solitary month I’ve had in years. Good for me—keeps the red blood at that low level I like it to be at. Of course that thing is unshakable. I try to sublimate it, drown it out, wash it away and it attacks from all sides, especially on the most gorgeous avenues which is the stretch of space from the village to where midtown starts. My big eyes and short stature have given who knows how many the impression that they are on at least close to uncharted territory. An illusion I let them have because I am vindictive and hate to be tread on and happen to know that in a post-prophylactic world, ethics about that thing truely are irrelevant (or, the distaste that replaces ethics for those who think they dont believe in ethics) and I believe in getting over one’s first if they’re wrong--or worse, limiting. But then I know it’s a 20^th Century form of hubris to tell the world how it should work and then pretend to live in that sort of world. Which was our parent's generation and look how they turned out. No sane modern person thinks he could really fight every single battle and swim against that tide of how things are. Relatedly, my mother at her most quotable and, actually, least anti-Semitic: “everyone else has a savior, what are they waiting for”. Weeell, maybe it’s on account of their higher standards that the soft spoken carpenter didn’t quite do it for them. Or maybe waiting-as-a-way of life is the best one, the most productive, least destabilizing one. I’m waiting too, for someone smart to make me feel things again. Preferably rich and with a nice body, but I wouldn’t want to ask for too much. Was never good at seeking these things out, in any case.

Furthermore, I’m on hiatus from zen. Made me so divinely-bovinely content. Which is fine when life is on the upswing but then a vacuum opens up and you’re like a lamb to the slaughter. Which is more a-posteriori theorizing, but I wouldn’t do it If I didn’t think I was getting closer and closer to a better idea (of what-the-fuck just happened in my life). In moments of most clarity is when I’m most disgusted at what I’ve become; when did I become so frivolous. There was a time when I felt like I took life as seriously as anyone I knew. By far the most dangerous (non-psychotic) belief that I can think of is that it's ever possible to just give up and go to sleep in the snow without some sort of consequences. And, that's all for now.