any day now

it's at once entertaining and terrific to sketch my present profile in 75 hour work weeks, dominant interests include forms of feminine flesh and french structuralist bullshit, or an economic reality dominated by the logic of late capitalism, or by cycles of materialistic leitmotifs of sore testicles, odd sorenesses just at the edge of the lower ribs. jesus may be coming back any day now, and i really don't think i can finish off all the extra gravy that came with this countrie-fried steak.

it's all at once you've been told that convinces you that there could be something more, i Mean beauty manifesting itself in an ideological-physical whole sort of way. in fact the other night i was lamenting that i couldn't leave my own body, relegated to our collective realm of SEPERATENESS; perhaps the dawn of frontiers is indistinguishable from the dawn of sorrow. maybe it's all this fucking anglo-saxonic Distance, or we are sorry that we drew a part.

there's just way too much pressure to organize and inform procedures, phenomena and information according to the dominant paradigms and hierarchies. wait, i take it back, i don't know what the fuck i'm talking about:) i've really made a mess of this cottage cheese and country fried steak.

it's kind of too bad i never feel impending doom, anymore. in a way. it could really put things into perspective. instead all this shit blends together, i've started accidentally dumping loaves of bread out of plates onto customers' tables and filling out mundane paper work in dreams. it would be nice to end up in a book with pleasantly blank pages again soon, where i'd have to navigate a world of the semiotically unknown again for the first time. it's too bad there has to be a beginning and an ending. do yourself a favor and pierce me with Calvino's Paper Knife, whose textual puncture will at once signify, through a symbolically violent act, the creation of this bridge between You and I, an instantaneous beginning and end.