tabula rasa

my dear readers,

let me enrich you with rich nugget knowledge that i have gleaned from my recent explorations of the intellectual sort.

i'm talking about reading, silly.

neon meate dream of an octa-fish.

erasure phrase.

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i completed "the rites of spring" recently, and whoa! all i can say is that stravinsky jew hater really knew his stuff. complex reading, really had to twist my head around it, opening up my eyes to new horizons. it was like a blackbird singing on an georgian elm. 

i like my beer like i like my reading, complex and dark. i also like my coffee, women and poop like that too. its a wonder of human nature that we continually amuse and discover ourselves through this anatomy and dissection when we read. 

oh radiant joys of a sun plectrum sphere. my mind. i will never be the same after wordsworth's prelude. or james deans cameo in richard pryor's 1982 stand-up film. 

on other notes,

and so i met that girl at 212a. 

she has an eye patch and cane. and i think she likes me. i couldnt tell though. i dropped my pencil and stared deep into the furrows of her brow. likening each hair to a follicle of mindfiber that i could not smell to see if it was still fresh. and a flash. i was again in the hot sun. i want to be raped by a warm light. the radiant joys. the ecstatic woes. the whole she-bang. unfurling.

i told her, "have you ever tasted?" 

she said, "define taste."

"to smell and ripen"

"i have not then"

"come home" 

"i will not" 

"then..."

"okay"

and here we are. not. alone.