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July 29, 2006

there’s no mystery in sobriety, save those I invent. this life has been prefigured by history, the only free choice is to abandon what I feel I know. since this comprises all I might say I have, I am choosing the wagon, the night, the dreadful humidity of sin and lust, until I don’t know and can hardly feel. then when I have been unable to feel at all, when I know nothing, I can gratify all the senses equally, and create with abandon. and this idea is as bad as the rest.