Chomsky and Marx in a cock-fight.

The creative consequence of Chomsky and co. Take out the laundry and throw it out, it will happen in predictable patterns. It is innate they say, I say ‘nay’. Who is going to clean it, I don’t know. No one can come up with definite answers. Luckily, because that would be a dangerous thing to do. Don’t make it too conclusive. Watch out for what you assert, cause it might hurt. In the end anyway.

Marx was your master and tutor. You couldn’t live without such revealing doctrines, could you? I do not think so. I couldn’t imagine how that would work inside your head. I picked her up. She had a slightly dark skin and her body was shaped as that of a bee. A bee’s body. I love it. Her dress was slightly yellow. With black stripes? No. Don’t push it to the edge. Don’t push me over. I want to be your four-leafed clover. I know I can. I am your lucky charm. Charming isn’t it?

I picked her up and she knocked me down. Lying. Down, down, down. C’mon baby. Yes I know. Give it to me. Hands off. No, not there. Oh yes. That is the way to do it. To do what? The activities you exploit and from which I derive so much pleasure. It is getting nearer and nearer. The curtains soon will fall and you will be stark naked. The crowd laughs. It never does. Only out of ignorance. It doesn’t know what it is saying. You talk laughter. Incomprehensible ways which cannot be marked by any significant meaning, at least not as such.

A red rush rumbles through my room. I cannot imagine that I have done it all in such a small amount of time. You crawled inside my head. No you didn’t. I put it there. Have I done so? With justice? Was I allowed to? I don’t know. It was unovercomeable. It’s my psyche. There she crawls. The other woman. The complete stranger. With a body as an hourglass. The last minutes were streaming away and I covered myself in a big pile of sand. Zand erover. No. I can never forget. I am as I am supposed to be and there is not even me who can change that. Is there? You are me, aren’t you? Do not deny it. I am your mirror as you are mine. Society. It is neither a friend nor a foe, it is just it.

Be that is it may, it may not be as it used to be. That is a good thing. I am happy now, relieved. Exhausted, a bit, inspired by things which I connected and left out. It left too few out. It was supposed to be just that. Just what? Everything. Scatterbrained I was and still am. There is nothing I can do. She came crawling up to me and it was in a dream, so it’s all about me. I was crawling up to myself, making love to me, admiring me. It was great, spectacular, but eventually the curtain would fall. I hung it up again this morning, but I left it wide open, so everybody could look in. I waved at them, they waved back, not all. That is a good thing. I don’t want everybody to wave back, where would they have picked the courage from. It doesn’t lie around on the street.

Courage can’t cope with cannibals. We all eat each other. Don’t deny, just give in. It is most amusing to devour. Read them, let them write. If someone doesn’t write you may just assume that they don’t have anything interesting to say. Do not drag and do not brag, at least not too much. Bragging is a form of gagging. I sticked my penis in her throat and heard her gurgling. To think that was me. I never choked. Cock. Courage it takes. Give ‘em that, won’t you? I know I would, but I don’t have the courage. Not to say it, but to do it. It’s absolutely horrifying. Disgusting. Nature has no intention and neither have I. Do I? I want to leave a big fat slip mark in my social diaper. Let’s not go there.

Let’s have a look over here. I assume it to be much more interesting. It is never finished. It doesn’t have to be, because it is not meant to be that way. Marx squirted you in your face and said, this is meaning, here swallow it, without these weird signs on the sides, you know what I mean. I wanted to ask him what I meant, but my face and mouth were filled with meaning. Fuck. She was actually sucking my dick. She was so tight, I would notice later. Isn’t that just grand. That’s what she said! Cheapest joke in the book. C’mon you can do better than that. I trusted ever so hard and broke everything in the room. Goddammit I said with clenched teeth. No, not yet. The curtains would fall first and I would flee. For my life, my dignity, my honor or whatever is left of it. It is all gone.

Caught myself chatting to myself lately. You do that more often? Yes, absolutely. It is so stupid. It happens to me every day and I realize it every day and still I am unable to cut it off. It is probably the way I function best. Makes me interesting for myself. Crawl into a corner and be yourself to the fullest. That is what you’re supposed to do. If you jerk off while thinking these thoughts together it will accumulate in your essence. You are the best when you are alone. No. Kill yourself. Just do it. It will definitely make you feel better and if it doesn’t we have something to laugh at. I will be your audience and I will clap and laugh and smile. Smile a satisfied smile. I’ll jerk off on your dead body and kill myself afterwards. That thought keeps me alive.