blog

yess, blogspot works in china now. so, to continue:



Smoking is a VILE habit, you and I both know it.
Last night’s cigarettes were justified, however. The rain fell straight down, leaking through the tent over the noodlestand. Offered by a stranger, four in the morning, close to home, and I in my apartment shorts (stop your head - I've found that asexuality suits me).

I dared myself to look into everything I avoid: bottomless inferiority, for example. THE VOID, for example. To be maimed and unfixable ans other nightmares, also. Life is an exception – it blows me away. He talked about going to go live in Los Angeles.

See: Rimbaud was a Buddhist:

"I is another. Too bad if a piece of wood discovers it is a violin, and to hell with those who lack this understanding and argue over something of which they are ignorant!"

yeeaaa.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, french poets, for curing me of my boredom.


I DESPISE journalists (barely avoided becoming one). "Social commentary" make s me want to throw up. History is little better.
X :What is your ultimate goal, then?
Y: to be dead, of course.


It only takes one encounter with ultimate reality to turn you into a dork; then live out your days serving with a smile, make sure feet are in contact with ground at all times. Another, and it's irreparable aphasia. All conjecture, of course.

meanwhile, ~ lives out his indentured servitude to his own approval-seeking intellect (his name rhymes with pee-ache-dee, if you force it), and all I really want is to be free and floating. It all ends the same way (underground, and strapped to a bomb).

Some analogies, for your amusement:

art: philosophy
small t : big T
france : ger-man-ee

I choose the first, for now (little tiddlations). it's tougher (so many hangovers, little certainty).

I wrote poem!!:

In the park
I made you my mark
between your knees
i stood in that space
and played with your face


(my best relationship!)