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. . . . I’m coming out of a long, desultory period where I didn’t feel like doing much of nothing. It’s been touching, seeing my face newly shaved and my running beginning again.
I need to feel these moments to feel alive.
[edit 12/19/19. Spoke too quick. For a long period of time recently I was out of the picture, hovering around home like a ghast. Now I’m up and about.
[edit Mar 4, 2020 — Correction again. Finally the deliberate sleeping is done. It’s a loathesome feeling, akin to death. I think the Jealous One is gone . . . I’ll write about that in a March 4 X-working.
[edit July 16, 2020 — Yeah, I’m feeling better. About her, past trendlines indicate she’s still here. I’m neutral.]
. . . . Today I went to the giant London Drugs store directly due in Downtown and laid down $26 in debit card money for an assortment of scribble books and two Ink Joy pens, expensive but worthwhile. I find the aphorism “you get what you pay for” not to be entirely true, but its outlines approximate reality.
. . . . A few days ago I saw a magnificent rack of boobies on display during the clear day before the rains. We need a lot more of this. Females have a duty to improve the visual environment. A pronounced duty. They ought to be punished severely for being fat and punished even for applying makeup inappropriately. Tattoo shops should be made off-limits and illegal for them.
@@ Xtasorcery chops hand down slowly @@
. . . . Life demands no less.
. . . . I did a wash two days ago. The washing machine and drying machine are separate in my place. The former is located on floor 1, the latter on floor 3 (which is where the Softie Girl is located).
. . . . Last night I spoke with The Softie Girl. She took it easy and spoke slow. Does art. The arts . . . fine. Nothing noteworthy. Smiles a lot like she’s on drugs. The drug of a guise. Her DIY tattoos on her fingers were invisible from that distance, from that angle.
. . . . I didn’t speak that much. I was going to make the mistake of talking too much, but I pulled back from that.
. . . . I’ve abandoned my diet specifications. Running takes precedence. I’ve had things backward. To get trim comes after my stamina gets built up. And you don’t try to do both simultaneously.
The nature of empire is expansion. Only the United States can expand in the current, rotating planet. With sublimity, it has the next move on the world stage’s chess board.
. . . . The days are gray and have been raining for two or three days now. I’ve really enjoyed them. I was missing them in the long, long period of blueness. Strange weather. And last night there were occasional gusts of warm blowees among the raininess droplidoosiness.
. . . . I love being alive. I’m going to start going to the library and work on my Lexicon. Then — study it. Practice.
. . . . All is well!
Dear Great Men of History,
Did you ever have days when your hair’s bangs were wet and in your eyes and your feet were clogged from hitting a wrong deep puddle between two streets in a city of rain?
Did you ever close your eyes and envision just giving up because no one was there to be your friend and you had to make your world in your own sphere of things/affairs?
Did you ever wheel to face a ghost made up of possibilities, one arm this month, one leg that, with twin eyes boring down on you — the possibilities of raw mistakes?
Tell me, tell me, Great Men of History, when the Women stabbed you in the back, did you ever suspect the feminine hand that can only work in the gray shadows and did you seek deeper shadows still?
I seek deep shadows. Gray are their color. Skyblue the magic, gray the shadows, electric-red the aura around X. Remember me, Future. Remember me, Continuum. I dance the twin beams of forever. Ruin and decrepitude to mine enemies!