Icons are necessary now. Icons have me. waiting on my drink to be refilled. No, not accurate, because I don’t want the
same thing. Need more orange juice. Easy enough.
Persona non grata. That is me.
don’t know how. What have I ever
done. I’m harmless. Just sitting here reading about a killer
whale. Envy. Whale envy.
Later on listening about killing strangers. No, not later, right now. In the morning maybe brian eno or danny
elfman or nancy Sinatra. Want to watch a
crocodile movie soon. Groin aching. No, not quite aching. Feels anxious for some reason. Motherfucker just has it’s own mind. Afterward, brief feeling of euphoria followed
by so much self loathing, resentment, disgust.
Automobiles have me and I’m not even a car fan. I told her about the automobile fascination. Food this time. chocolate donuts. Something like that. Chocolate fucking donuts. Anticipating this. Checking in a thousand times a day.
Who is in this world of icons? Need to fill up the red notebook. Too much coffee. Jeans shorts,
tan skin. I am so engrossed in
sin. I have to create this little world
just to store it all. Crush crush cruch
that’s what I was looking forward to. No
time for any science (don’t think I’ll get this later on) because I’m so
controlled by something evil. There in
the store tempted by all the lovely boxes.
Resist resist resist. Nothing really
matters. I’m not built of love. I’m not built for anything good. Don’t really have the guts to take the
necessary plunge.
No, don’t dilute. The
icons. Who are they? Plant based.
Every morning is plant based. You
need the jackal who is not the jackal. You
need the rhapsody in blue. The rhapsody
in blue is everything. The one of so
many languages. Bizarre symbols hastily
scrawled on the scraps of paper. Can’t
make heads or tails of anything. Right now,
irrelevant, but taking me back. Fingertips together, rushed apology, fingertips
together against the cold glass, I’m sorry.
Is lars Anderson and the enigmatic domino lady the proper
entryway to this uh? There was mysticism
at the dawn. Of course this means I must
pull down that old tome Morning of the Magicians again. Answers can be found in old books. Watched The Phantom the other day. I don’t like pulp in my orange juice but there
is always a proper context for damn near everything. I am beginning to understand why that
early morning hour reoccurs. Formations here. This is the prelude with that front image I
shall always remember. Going where he
has never gone before: away.
Who are the features.
Certainly, the Rhapsody in Blue. Perhaps Jackal who is not the
Jackal. Little Star. Of course, in the background; the madness,
the master of so many languages. Replacement. How does all this relate to the O
writings? It’s all linked up of
course. The terrors in the middle of the
night. He cries out for comfort.
A golden age. Is
there a place for a golden age anywhere here?
The city of Recife. The city of
Recife must figure into things. How much
natural geography needs to be present.
There is Recife. Likely somewhere
in Mexico, somewhere in Spain. Somewhere
in Italy. I may need a beach somewhere,
island at night. I need a city at night,
roadways.
I think somewhere there will be a sign which reads: Yamila,
I swear.
Need to read more of Bark’s Duck books.
Ah, did you see that?
The bit of time travel which just took place. Time travel that showed an utter loss of
time, an utter waste of life. How neat! All the same shit though. I’m sure I’m forgetting something. Need to break out that old book. have a place in the lake. Zombie auditory. Looking through the glass. Fire and brimstone as a tear runs down my
cheek. Sunday night feels like Saturday night. How did I enter into this world of sin? To die in sweetest sin. Such bullshit when I think about temptation. It’s all inside of me. everything reduced to the bare essentials for
the needs to be met. Not sure what I can
grow with this. What new icons need to
be discovered. Why am I thinking of the
bloodshed and then I look up and suddenly in front of me is a brilliant skyscraper. I’m only using, I’m only using. That one track is extra special because it
features the iguana. Listening to
motorhead recently. Can’t see worth a
damn now. Everything is blue. I think I’ve already talked about crocodiles. Why am I finding words so hard to come
by? Neil with the pink cover.
I can’t even think of anyone anymore because it is far past
that. There is no more, all invented,
just awful scattered thoughts, got to fulfill a need, only me, only me, only me
and oh fuck now repeating that awful thing from a few years piece of shit
script piece of shit henry miller wannabe shit think maybe there might have
been sprinkles on the cover and on the opposite end of the spectrum I need to
reread glamorama. Or do I ? the more I learn
the less I want to know. Yes, I do.
It’s everywhere, all at once but I can’t think of anyone because
it is not a person. I am a very low
individual. Dirt. Dirt on me.
dirt everywhere. Need to get dirt
in my ears. I see what it means
now. Self chosen. Substances have never been the issue . rain. Is
there a kind icon anywhere. I don’t know
that kindness exists in my little circle because everything in my little circle
only comes from me and since I’m shit it stands to reason that everything that
comes from me is shit there is only shit around me and I do not deserve
anything more than that.
But I must create this new dimension, dream the unthinkable
Bright red lipstick and then black and tan
