Glow that slowly peels off the slugs on the streets… It’s good to have a black dog. Nothing interesting in the past month. Or have I become boring. I mull over the stupor of mud again. A pomegranate. Evening. Ejaculation of the sculpted pulps–sleeping. The slugs are over me again. Continue reading

The image of which everyone dreams erodes… an illusion is only an illusion. Continue reading

Stupor of forgetfulness. Is there a portrait of nothingness. Continue reading

In the depth of earth I have found a nothingness growing out of the nothingness of trees, pregnant of… Continue reading

Gotta make up for the blogs. I’m so behind, I know. I’m so fucked too. I’m always getting fucked in the ass by myself. Modern slang for Witold’s inner penetration? I think it’s the same thing floating around, but people have stopped extracting its meaning so we’re left with something like the “empty husk of Continue reading

Proper stagnation for a month or so. I don’t believe it. I’ve been so distressed and perplexed, too much going on in my head nothing at the same time. I don’t know which it is. I have found that between oppositions, there are not binary constructs that oppose one another but gradations of scales, from Continue reading

Rereading Cosmos. The thing “behind” the thing–what is extended and assumed. The shadow of a thing, the shadow of a shadow of a thing, the shades of warmth under the sun. But the shade is only in relation to the warmth, which is only in relation to the sun, of which the shadow is also Continue reading

The dog and the sun, sand, water, sex… lascivious lust. For a long time, I’ve not felt this good, warm and empty, lying under the sun. Continue reading

I endorse an ecstasy so ephemeral that fades with the dying of memory. Continue reading

Incandescence of a black sun Continue reading