A Collection of Spectacles


Poorly translated notes from a drunken night:

Let’s not post drunken notes. She said, rememeber that night when? Of course. In a discussion, in which we learned that we shouldn’t stray from our essence as women, we figured “let’s fuck, think later.” In that moment we are whole. When I talk about abstract concepts like temporality and ethics, don’t think that I’m discussing things that are out of this realm. She says, but what do you mean in applicable terms? Everything and nothing. I mean that we have to keep living in the realm of juxtapostion, which exists when we keep happiness from being our end goal. Because, how do we define such a thing? I am wretched because I use words, as a human, as my only outlet, the medium between biological and emotional needs. I wrote this as I wanted to puke. I want to throw up, but phlegm’s caught in my throat. ¬†Half a handle gets me honest. Nothing else works anymore. She says this is what I thought about all week, while sober. Well, good because philosophy’s not just for the smart. We all are and aren’t. We all agree at the core. Let’s think and let’s not. I’m martyring myself. I’m a fucking nun because no one’s going to meet me half way. How honest and how sad? My stomach hurts. When the norms don’t match up with our beliefs and our thoughts, then it’s time to synthesize something new.

I only get release from two things: That he’s looking at me looking at him casually while neither will acknowledge it, but both are aware, and a fingertip driven fantasy. Delve those so sweet…We were talking about Pascal and I glanced over at him while he wasn’t looking. He’s sighing over there, crossing, uncrossing legs, in a few he’ll go to the bathroom. He took two fingers and I swear in a motion that gave me tangible shivers no wait just one severe quick painless not long enough river he stroked his book. Two fingers formed a crescent shape and within the tide rose. We are wretched, indeed.

Post before we get embarrassedPost before I embarrass myself.

an intellectual orgasm is of its own kind

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