Odorobo

God, right now I'm so- I'm so-

I could fucking--

"imaginary catastrophe[s]" p. 46

That's the only way to have any fun with it.

Fall-

And hit the ground running

"This is why the piece takes on both the aesthetic form of a work of art and the ritual form of a crime." p.100

Times like these are the few in which I can stand this man's writing; in which I will admit to loving it as much as hating it. It is not that I do not feel a certain..dirtiness reading it, so much as the dirtiness is no longer interruptive. There is as much on the ground as on me. A short time ago, I could not read it--I felt cruel. It is not that I do not feel cruel now, it is that...it is that...the direction of the cruelty has changed.

And Isaac forgives all cruelties in this direction.

This picture was from my third TE.

In dreams we do not bother with whether we are dead or living; we move all the same, because the state is one up and to the left of the others. In this state, I do not bother with which of my actions are live or dead ones; I assume all are dead--that is, sleeping. I assume all are doubled in purpose.

I love lying on my belly.
I love lying on my back with my legs hanging over the edge.

Dorobo

He takes what he wants Because nothing is his Everything is stolen
Never what he needs
Cabinets licked clean but his
Pockets full o' shitnothin'
Leaves everything behind
Like he's already full

Think you picked the wrong class, bro--
Shoulda been a murderer.

"What do you want?"
He bites along the edge of his finger. Something sticky there. "Nothing."
"We've got silver."
"I want gold."
"You've got clouds."
"You've got thunder."
Every tool at his disposal--but he barters for nothing. Takes nothing;

What does a single unripe fruit do to an appetite?

Ruin and Whet.