Valmont

Who has the envious distinction of being the bachelor in this bachelor party? It's hard out here to make a living in between sheets of concrete. The girls were calling out like a choir. They wanted to smell your underplants, the smell reminds them of this tree they once knew and were quite intimate with. A stranger handed me a coloring book the other day. He said he found it in a parking garage. I said I don't know what to do with this. He said neither do I. When you're small you got to know these things. I was touched by an angel, in an inappropriate way. Who knows how decisions are made? Who knows who littered our path with objects meant to deceive us? Some things have been useful. It's the information I don't like. You could have the exact same conversation with the first ten strangers you meet. I would like to meet many people on the street and have the same conversation every time, at least once. But this is a plot-line in Jim Jarmusch's the limits of control. But I want these conversations to be the same out of the rigors of reason. I am a phenomenological kind of guy. I get some of the stories right. Others I trace figures in front of. But still others I lay waste to like an alarm clock who is so insistent in its screams must be pounded with a hammer. The other day I was getting out of a cab and I told the driver something in Spanish. I don't know what I say when I speak in Spanish. I learned the language in a separate realm of necessity. What is the thing where I can't weave a coherent thought? What is the thing where I make very big leaps? Why do I not have proper control over the series of logical statements I am ordering right now? Everything must have its place, somewhere, at least. I am trying to be coherent but I have already transgressed. The point is, I'll never know what I said to that cab driver. He gave me a look like maybe I wasn't speaking Spanish after all. I don't think the cab driver spoke Spanish. Not too many Spanish speaking cab drivers. But everyone has to work. Its punishment I think. We are officially aligned. There was an affinity that bound us. For one thing, I sure didn't think I was at my spiritual pinnacle. I think I could be better than I am right now. What worlds do I have to visit to rectify this murky situation? I want something stronger than water, but something thinner than blood. What substance am I thinking of? I can't tell if these are my thoughts or the fly's. I like to think of myself as an advocate of instruments. I think I know what it is like to be a thing. I have studied things in depth and think I speak speak ably on their behalf. Things are things like anything else. Some people put a premium on life, as if life were the only thing. But I am a thinking man as well. This means I am frequently immobile, as so many things are. Most things don't move. A lot of things can move. There's no point of air nowhere. Air is found somewhere. I get angry when I see people crawling around in outer space. Stop doing that! You're playing, once again, around the edges of catastrophe. My movements are tracked by cameras, I can tell. The satellites know all about me. There was something else that I wanted to say but I forgot. I forgot what was happening. I wasn't anywhere else. There was something calming about the water. It was fresh and that was clear. I can't be afraid to strengthen my body. It was a humble spirit that first betook me in front of the fireplace. The place of flames. It's what there was to do. If one was to do anything, there were things to do back then. There was nobody to watch us when we fell. We had no shepherd at our back. We needed a graceful exit strategy. The party had become a bore and we both needed air. By some simile I arrived at a base between my mind and thoughtfulness. We were aligned against the forces of darkness. This was on the record and everybody knows. It is the only things we can do right now. We lie in parallel worlds where different things occur to different people. Things as in events, things as in thoughts. You can break it down as much as you want but there is only one reality. There is no veil. Perhaps what you don't realize is the loops that are taking place. The same thing is happening all over. All over the world different things are happening. We happen to get by with blank stares and tumblers full of ice. There are things you can't see I said and I know we better get off the roof. The roof is worn down with ice. The snow has been punishing us this year. Show me the evidence that this is not the path of motion for the orbs in the sky. There's a lot we know about chaos and the starting conditions. Somethings are done correctly and other things, you got to believe me, this thing is real. There is no other conditions in which this thing would have worked. Minor adjustments can be made, but it is up to you to make it sing. Think of what you could do with a harp. The drama you could create. I wonder what it is like in the sack with her, the harpist. Her fingers, her fingers everywhere. Her fingers leading me on. Delicate fingers to strum my pubic hair. These light touches drive me wild. The softest thing. The hidden center, is it soft or hard? I wonder about her. I wonder if she really knows what she's getting into. It could be trouble. I don't know. There is something off about the way she looks at me. It wasn't as bad as the other thing they said. I couldn't believe they could stoop so low. The boundary was looking me in the eyes and I was exasperated about the condition of the corneal tissues; I mean, I mean they have begun to decay. I don't think we can use these in the transplant. There were serious things happening everyday. I was in touch with the deepest issues of our time. There was a sickness around us that made us sick as well. We weren't lost completely, but we were lost half way and that was bad enough. I know it wouldn't bode well for the robotic transplant man. He had better luck last year, before the recall. I wondered if he knew he stank of failure? It was seriously in the air. It was a little gross but I put up with it. It was fine really. It wasn't too bad. It's better to be dirty. I prefer filth. Filth is a better alternative. Abject misery. Not bad for starters. The best of both worlds was this kind of party dip. It was pretty good really. I mean it wasn't bad. It was pretty good actually. Yeah two thumbs up for the party dip. It went good with everything I tried. And I tried a lot of stuff. It wasn't better that way. It was way worse. They made a map of the territory and it didn't remind me of home. There weren't different operatives at work here and we needed every score we could get. I had been on the losing side for too long. I was getting sour from drinks. There was something stirring in my soul, whatever that is. Where ever it is. It's just as hard to find big things as it is small things. Sometimes. Other times, it might scare you. I didn't think it could be so hard to find out. There were two different stories floating around on the net. In one he was frisked by airport security and in the other they made attempts on his life. I couldn't be bothered either way because I was deep in meditation. He had a tremendous difficulty speaking on the microphone. What was causing his anxiety? Was he just waiting for a better day? These are the paths my mind moves in. Its hard to know what to do with all the pageantry around his questionable taste. I would better be bothered with some electrical device than news of a hurricane of the coast of who knows where. I couldn't be bothered to fly the kite. I know the boys wanted it, but I really couldn't be bothered. I was playing Pokemon on my Game-boy.