The mind is a soup du Jour

——Fuck what I do & that I have to do it, & every fucking worldly thing.
A woman today said to me that infant mortality is different from
abortion because God has the right to kill the unborn & infants &
children as painfully & awfully as might be imagined, but it’s
immoral (only) when people kill zygotes, embryos & fetuses.
——The morality of man exceeds the morality of God because God’s
——benevolence appeals to force, only, while man’s appeals to common,
——intelligible reason. Nothing, nothing. End of all none soon enough.

A napkin with scribbles harpooned into yesterday’s bloated corpse

I got very drunk and saw lots of wonderful things, and had many lovely conversations with interesting people or at least had many conversations with interesting snippets and imagery, and wrote so very many down on my napkin that I carried from bar to bar to bar to back ‘home’ as I’m calling it now, and then I lost it, and with it, everything from the night in all its stupid beauty.

September 2010: I achieve moderation by contrary excesses.

I’ve tried to live in silence the past several days, at home & in the car. There’s a bit too much me in my mind than I’ve come to be comfortable with, without the external doolaadurp available. I want my liquid ego to drip out my ear, or creep out & recharge at a Kandrona pool, Yeerky little thing it is.

Surprising, smothering, almost unwelcome generosity.

• But he bought everything for the four of us.

‘I had a conversation with a dog. I think Palestinians can have a conversation with Israelis.’–a friend on psychedelic mushrooms and peace in the Holy Land