Jun 2016
most days i just wake up, and think to myself: hell, might as well crack open a beer, other times i think to myself: a girlfriend would be useful, the perfect fidgety object for my compassion, the necessary constant prancing, the concern for a household with napkins and curtains and scented candles, but then i turn toward amusing myself and the beer waits for me, and so that's how the days pass, me slothful in many yoga-like slouches patting my beer-belly and feeling content.
i just realised it, one coffee later,
sunny weather - looking directly into the sun,
and noticing it's the only thing that reveals
vibrations, look at long enough and you can
almost see it rotating, i can't explain it
any other way, it's this pulsating ultra-violet
thumping of the rotas - i know it sounds
absurd to state that i can see ultra-violet light,
but if you look at the sun long enough
there's this strange shadowy-white pulsation
evidently chaotic - some would say there's
yellow in that orb, perhaps with a telescopic
photograph or something, the way
everything glistens like a newly hatched chicken
egg with the fatty glistening on leaves -
yes, oddly enough there are lipids (a type of fat)
in leaves, they're called *acyl lipids,
arabidopsis leaves and what not - a scene
in a shower, bubbles on skin, fatty skin doesn't
allow water to congregate - cooking pasta,
a little bit of olive oil added to the boiling pasta
doesn't make the pasta stick, bubbles of fat floating
about - so there are these fatty acids - so i'm guessing
lean anorexic alkalies - shtick men -
suberin-associated waxes in seeds and roots -
to then realise that you haven't finished Hemingway's
for whom the bell tolls having chosen it
over homage to Catalonia (formerly known as Aragon,
hence the Aragonese) - left it, page 165 or something
with a bookmark of a Warsaw bus ticket (2.50zł) -
oh sure i liked his over works, but this was his
bestseller - and that's the thing with bestsellers,
once the hype spreads it's just that, a hype,
bestsellers don't genuinely feed you anything worthwhile,
you could probably read a moveable feast about
twenty times - bestsellers are a bit like buying
life insurance and then ******* off under a lorry
in a traffic accident, without having the capacity
to be injured into a debilitating state and using up
the insurance payout - just like a bestseller, you buy it
and never get to finish it - it just isn't demanding
or intricate to the extent of perplexity you expected -
a literary Bergman - because any other host would
dare dabble in cinematic existentialism other than
the Scandinavians?
and this is the point where
i loose the plot - because there isn't one -
first i was musing having a beer, then talking crap
about seeing ultra-violet light by staring at the sun
directly - then fats in leaves... who the hell would have
the patience to read this ****?
i just realised it, one coffee later,
sunny weather - looking directly into the sun,
and noticing it's the only thing that reveals
vibrations, look at long enough and you can
almost see it rotating, i can't explain it
any other way, it's this pulsating ultra-violet
thumping of the rotas - i know it sounds
absurd to state that i can see ultra-violet light,
but if you look at the sun long enough
there's this strange shadowy-white pulsation
evidently chaotic - some would say there's
yellow in that orb, perhaps with a telescopic
photograph or something, the way
everything glistens like a newly hatched chicken
egg with the fatty glistening on leaves -
yes, oddly enough there are lipids (a type of fat)
in leaves, they're called *acyl lipids,
arabidopsis leaves and what not - a scene
in a shower, bubbles on skin, fatty skin doesn't
allow water to congregate - cooking pasta,
a little bit of olive oil added to the boiling pasta
doesn't make the pasta stick, bubbles of fat floating
about - so there are these fatty acids - so i'm guessing
lean anorexic alkalies - shtick men -
suberin-associated waxes in seeds and roots -
to then realise that you haven't finished Hemingway's
for whom the bell tolls having chosen it
over homage to Catalonia (formerly known as Aragon,
hence the Aragonese) - left it, page 165 or something
with a bookmark of a Warsaw bus ticket (2.50zł) -
oh sure i liked his over works, but this was his
bestseller - and that's the thing with bestsellers,
once the hype spreads it's just that, a hype,
bestsellers don't genuinely feed you anything worthwhile,
you could probably read a moveable feast about
twenty times - bestsellers are a bit like buying
life insurance and then ******* off under a lorry
in a traffic accident, without having the capacity
to be injured into a debilitating state and using up
the insurance payout - just like a bestseller, you buy it
and never get to finish it - it just isn't demanding
or intricate to the extent of perplexity you expected -
a literary Bergman - because any other host would
dare dabble in cinematic existentialism other than
the Scandinavians?
and this is the point where
i loose the plot - because there isn't one -
first i was musing having a beer, then talking crap
about seeing ultra-violet light by staring at the sun
directly - then fats in leaves... who the hell would have
the patience to read this ****?
