Sunday, August 9, 2020

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Not sure where to begin.  Could be with Cleopatra’s Needle or dancing on the blood-dimmed tide.  I always shed a little tear at strip clubs.  Or it could be of one wishing to sit before the beast at the very end of things or maybe just that one is heading in that direction.  Yes, felt shaky yesterday morning and this morning; evil surging through my veins.  I don’t understand desire anymore.  Or happiness.  Ah, the little star.  Sweetest sin.  Little star…the most…but also the most….   It all happened so fast (doesn’t it always go that way?).  Pretenses dropped and numbers thrown out – numbers and symbols have power you see – and then it all seemed lost.  And how is it possible…after so many moments how is it possible that it was really so easy?  Across so many miles and years and so much sinning.  Everything is illusory.  I need those illusions.  I desperately cling to them.  This is the first death.  At a loss over the past couple days.  The Frenchman is indicating exactly where I’ll go of course. 

There is no true connection anymore.  I realize I no longer relate to anyone.  I felt a few moments of happiness earlier but I have no idea if it was genuine or not.  How to tell?  But like a drug it’s calling me back.  Everything digital.  And of course how much is going to be stored up in preparation.  I am a deeply selfish person, an awful person.  I’m lost and just wandering through this strange city and trying desperately and failing completely to work out my kinks.  I am so utterly fascinated by self destruction.  Avarice.  Hanging.  The recognition was lovely.  And then a quick flash of ridiculous jealousy.  I mean absolutely nothing. A worthless individual. 


It was so recent when I realized the great and grave importance of maintaining the façade.  Identities are not only malleable, the concept of the “true” identity is increasingly irrelevant.  And yet here I find…something so genuinely sweet, lovely.  How did this happen?  My vision starts to blur and I realize nothing makes much sense anymore.  I’ve been away from the party for too long.  Feeling utterly awful and lost is the only thing that makes sense to me time and again. I can’t get anything done with….

So then dizzying lust mixed with…I don’t know, was it real happiness, maybe, and then a shocking connection, how could this be real but there had to be some genuine feeling there somewhere, what does any of this even mean and then it was all drowned by cheap whiskey.  Amazing the control that fabrics have over me.  genuine nervousness.  How could he be talking to….  Again, the power and importance of symbols.  What does she actually mean?  Lust and destruction and a healer.  Desire.  How are these combined histories melding.  And boy, do I suddenly have money to burn.  Ah, and then being granted so many options.  I am so painfully obvious, eh.  A clear mark.  A willing mark.  What does it matter?  And of course…how is any of this possible?  My life doesn’t actually seem real at this point.  There’s too much…I don’t know the word.  I need someone to put it all into perspective.  Pink and black.  The pink one and the black one…or only the black.  All together it’s fine.  Easy mark.  But so sweet.  The eyes have it.  I am no longer able to bond with anyone.  At least I have my drink.  Barely held together by my pills and my drink. 

Not a bother, the opposite, helps a lot.  Is that so wrong.  Can’t we just put the cards on the table (need to play baccarat more).  Can it be so wrong to be blatantly honest like this.  How could I be mingling with this iconography.  There it is; the symbols, iconography, representations.  Much more important than anything “genuine”.  Nothing genuine exists.  Surely it’s some type of absinthe infused dream that I’m having.  Commiserating with this beautiful, this lovely iconography.  It’s not a bother.  Hearing his name…said so properly, that little exquisite bit of effort.  At that moment…a dragon on his knees on the phone…familiar to me and it was me.  I don’t deserve the sweetness.  A little kiss.  A full blissful minute devoted to….

Incredible, sweet and kind and lovely.  But I feel so empty now.  Control over me.  offered various….  I am so empty and full of ugly sin.  Am I able to write at all?  Wearing the patterns today (no, that was yesterday).  I am so empty.  Mother, forgive me. 

I am an old failure.  Suicide is an act of murdering someone you hate.   I drank too much coffee today.  Wearing the patterns without…?  Denier has control over me. 


Now I just need to save it all up for the grand arrival.  Need to browse and use digital innovation for fast delivery.  Returning back to the golden days.  Still have it.  Domino of course.  Never used spirit gum.  Thank you for the support.  Identities are such slippery things.  voyeuristic tendencies.  Called him up and said I have to do this because I am him and then I realized that I am him who said I am him. 

The little star in the morning again.  With me now always.  Full control.  Utter dominance.  You’re beautiful.  Yellow diamond high.  be so careful please.  How very affordable though.  We are merging with technology.  I love my descending. 

I loved the movie Thunderball.  I recently ordered the soundtrack. I also really love Jack Nicholson’s Joker.  And the song Wednesday Like a River.  I listen to it every Wednesday and for the duration of that song I don’t want to kill myself.  And Martika’s Kitchen.  Man, that Martika album.  I also love the movie Cosmopolis.  Need to reread the book.  or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Love the Stooges album Fun House.  Great summer album.  Woke up with torturous thoughts.  Somewhat blissful.  Went to the grocery store.  Bought some things.  red faced. 

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