(Jan 15/08)
The compulsion to repeat is mercenary, so much so that the simplest task, drying my face with a facecloth or tying my shoes (cinch-knots are my knot of choice) takes me an uncommonly long, long time. I am reading Witold Gombrowicz’s book of short stories 'Bacacay'. His writing speaks to me on a number of levels: intellectual, emotional, philosophical and physical (his words facilitating a rather pleasant numbness in the posterior annex of my anterior-lobe). I must ferry-off to sleep, as I have a rather busy day ahead of me (having left this one lagging behind).
(Jan 14/08)
I’d much rather stay home, safely ensconced in the womb of my bed (but as this is not to be or not be) I need muster up the warmth and courage to ferry-out into the snowy snow. If need be, which it might, I will borrow Karl’s broad-axe, the very one he uses to hack away at lengths of timber, and hack my way through the day.
The compulsion to repeat is mercenary, so much so that the simplest task, drying my face with a facecloth or tying my shoes (cinch-knots are my knot of choice) takes me an uncommonly long, long time. I am reading Witold Gombrowicz’s book of short stories 'Bacacay'. His writing speaks to me on a number of levels: intellectual, emotional, philosophical and physical (his words facilitating a rather pleasant numbness in the posterior annex of my anterior-lobe). I must ferry-off to sleep, as I have a rather busy day ahead of me (having left this one lagging behind).
(Jan 14/08)
I’d much rather stay home, safely ensconced in the womb of my bed (but as this is not to be or not be) I need muster up the warmth and courage to ferry-out into the snowy snow. If need be, which it might, I will borrow Karl’s broad-axe, the very one he uses to hack away at lengths of timber, and hack my way through the day.
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