"Monday
Me.
Tuesday
Me.
Wednesday
Me.
Thursday
Me.”
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Friday
there is nothing that is of itself, of the relation of itself. It is through something that exists outside of itself, of the likeness of another that it manages to manifest as anything, for there is no likeness between us, even if we say that we possess different “selves.” We base ourselves upon others who…
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Tuesday
Almost half a year gone. Well—one third, but almost.I haven’t been posting. Not for lack of words—those I always have—but for lack of sitting down to write them here. I’ve scattered things on private accounts, small fragments, but I think I should hold to this one: my blog. An itching resolve to post everyday. Not…
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Thursday
when you delete a word, the absence fuses with something–the presence of the sentence. It connects and forms something out of nothing (that absence), and out of the absence of a word, something rises and propagates. The presence permeates the page but it’s not oppressive. It eludes but it doesn’t form any shadows because there…
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Thursday
My days at vancouver have been great. too great. but i dont think its anything weird. i dont think its unnecessarily great. its great because it is good. it is good because i think it is good. its like why do you have to doubt it. like what use does it do. so im just…
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Thursday
Consciousness is everything that you know of. ‘nothing is known till it is made conscious.’ But I’ve find that one can hardly do anything real when they’re conscious. “i” in me is not me, so they would say–the others. But they wouldn’t say the same of themselves, that they are not them. Only that I…
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Thursday
These days aren’t ordered. And so are my days. Its only when I try to impose an order that there is an order but usually I’d say that there is no particular order to them. Well, sooner or later it collapses. But its not the collapse that concerns me. Its whether if an order had…
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Friday
Friday is always the day to cleanse your soul. Now I really do believe in cleansing the soul through fun and games. Oh am I too Naive to believe that. I;’ve realized that the future is only a replica of the past.
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Sunday
Who the fuck is she.
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Tuesday
I’m posting now what I’ll only post in two days. Already I’m ahead of myself, and the moment slips. When I think of myself in the present, I’m no longer really here. Time folds, and I feel strange. If you place yourself in the past, the so-called present immediately collapses into it. And the present…
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Monday
Illusion only is an illusion insofar as it is within the form of illusion. It is only in that form. You see.
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