I suffer the dreams of a world gone mad
I like it like that, and I know it
If confusion is the sign of the times,
I see at the root of this confusion a rupture between things and words, between things and the ideas and signs that are their representations.
Find my sun
in the dark side of my shadow
I’ll laugh until my head comes off
I’ll swallow till I burst
I go out at night
and leave my head on the bed
This happened
Literally
Woke up… I was headless
Blink your eyes.
One for yes. Two for no.
The perfect crime
would be the elimination of the real world
The real challenge
lies in confronting [the] enigmatic concept of the world-without-us, and understanding why this world-without-us continues to persist in the shadows of the world-for-us and the world-in-itself.
As in a dream,
the pursuer never succeeds in catching up with the fugitive whom he is after, and the fugitive likewise cannot ever escape his pursuer.
the grounds
for these staggering pronouncements do not always receive the attention they deserve
keep going,
going on, call that going, call that on