Friday, May 8, 2009

Sorry, first an apology. I sometimes see people surrounded by all the answers but seeming to remain clueless. Where others laugh, I just bury my head in my hands. There, with my thumbs in my eyes, all I hear is 'I am surrounded; I call upon you for our assistance'. It never varies. Well, maybe it varies a bit ... It feels like it's getting worse, louder, for sure. I press my thumbs harder each time, and it diminishes, plainly so, like a heard object, spikes. I'm fucking myself up, ok; but I don't want to see what surrounds you; neither do I want to be asked to help. So I have to stab away. It's you pressing on my eyelids, not me, because you have me wrong. You see, I get pleasure interfering in human life in other ways; I hate the asking part; I am only interested in not being asked. Tell me you won't ask me and we'll get on fine. Being uninvited thrills me and always has. I won't offer any clues either as to what that might mean as a substance. You can damn well work that out yourself. There'll be no sole exceptions. So save your emails. Oh and by some miraculous coincidence - or, more exactly, via some complex formality, comprised of ceremonies, at one and the same time against god and against nature as a truism - I've emptied myself of accessibility. I'm on the roof, and so instantly. Yet, it's true.