As I candidly continue from another curious day: > I try to never order the same thing twice in a row at a restaurant. I do go to restaurants time and again. I resist mightily the urge to stab contemporary clientele with soiled utensils. Soiled utensils are the best if you go through with murderous intentions since it infuses victims with your silava. This liquid, which flows freely from a crevasse beneath your lolling tongue, is like a tattoo you force upon another person. You can even do without the cut...
Before you shoot yourself in the face with a water pistol filled with bleach to cleanse the horrors of not knowing the source of the *subject* of this entry, I shall just start out by telling you. It's from the wobbly lyrics of the first and title song, *Largo*, from an album I just acquired by **Bill Rieflin and Chris Connelly**. The latter sure has a wobbly voice. The record still got made and should show me that I should never be insecure about my singing, playing or flailing away at any inanimate or rec...
I finished breakfast. Were I to say something similar in Spanish, *Acabé el desayuno*, I'd be routinely criticised in fair *La Rioja* for grammatical misuse. At worst, I'd be called a *panchito* and stoned until fragments of bones protruded from flesh. Perhaps I say this because I happened idly upon my ex-spanish teacher last night during an evening stroll. I ignored him, or he ignored me, or simply didn't notice me in the crowd. I'd prefer to think the former. In my very short lived class, after my stoning...
Here, I shall set out a few goals for the coming weeks. I shall accomplish but few of them, if any at all, but I certainly have a grand time making *plans* for the imminent *future*. Before I do so, I shall procrastinate one moment by telling my gentle and teary reader that I am listening to a beautiful album called *The Room* by **Harold Budd**. I recommend it to all. Actually, I began it last night as I was winding down from self imposed lessons in the semi-new [GraphQL](http://graphql.org/learn/), which...
Chirstian is in the toilet. He belongs there, as do we all. I'm sure he . chris does not care for anything. He is the sociapath.the people who don''t have a clue are christian's point of view. i shall care for them until they are corpses. They rot in the fields while we wander in the wastes. That is very chliced. Chris sits before me as a atomaton of these days. We will die together. ...
Continued from a few days ago. > Capitalism disgusts me. I can claim steady ownership if this phrase, for it suits me, and marks me. Other humans, usually ones in my *circle* chastise me for it. I don't mind. It's difficult to live on an axis when most of the world only thinks in extremes. Clarification: Absolute capitalism disgusts me. The need to monetise practically every pursuit in life disgusts me. Perhaps *disgusts* is a hash word, as plenty of my friends are wont to this failing. It may be easier o...
The black blocks of residential flats seemed to glare down at me as I passed on the train. If they did glare instead of it being only my imagination, it was in apathy. The consumers of such places are shielded from one another by black walls. The black absorbs all sound and even feeling. It mutes the percussion of emotions. The foetus beats in its sister's makeshift womb. He's tried to grow nails before, but just now has succeeded simply by force of will. He doesn't wish to die. The *sister*, once a foetu...
A conversation with the Christián Newman (see below) earlier got me thinking about the connection between *inner dialog* and a sort of self-attribution. When I, or anyone else, introduces a topic, Christián often directs the course of conversation towards facets of the topic he has included in one of his creative endeavours. My friend almost perpetually has a stream of said *inner dialog* flowing beneath any personal interaction. Thus, attaching a topic to that dialog is not really surprising. From an outs...
Continued from yesterday, my precious horde. > Very strong English (especially American) accents annoy me. It's easier to bear the fools these days, actually. Another product of living with women for the majority of the last eleven years is a swelling in my personality's penumbra called *patience*. I have always criticised others for not looking beyond the tone and delivery of speech to the actual words themselves. I've been a hypocrite! Well, at least some of the time - that is, when I don't catch myself...
Christián would be proud of me this *morning* as I have resisted the urge to stumble to the toilet and relieve my bowels. Great effort is required to achieve this feat. My mind battles the urges of my body. I am cleansed in my reverence for the spiritual. I have rounded the final bend of the river and can now clearly see the sea stretching blue against the horizon. From the peak, the remainder of my days are a pleasant, even enthralling downhill rush. When I am torn apart in the delta, in my transcendence, ...
On 25 December, 2005, I was inspired by a woman named *Jana* that I only met once at [Na Květnici](https://www.google.es/maps/place/Restaurant+Na+Kv%C4%9Btnici/@50.061242,14.4391018,15z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x0:0x655e184a6d8a3b29!8m2!3d50.061242!4d14.4391018) during December of the previous year, methinks, or even of the same year. Since I have begun to see through the *flimsy* partitions between universes, my estimation of time has drifted from its exacting nature into a sort of muddled horse-shoe toss. #### W...
