Having my way with Ulysses

Petals too tired to

Dream. Ona nonday I sleep. I dreamt of a somday. Of a wonday I shall wake. 10:00 am

Saw a kid smoking outside a bar today.  Wanted to tell him to stop but let him.  His life isn’t a bed of roses, waiting outside to bring dad home.  Slipped out to check email undisturbed.  Did it while looking at a tea shop window.  Nobody saw.  Ceylon tea, the far east.  Lovely there I imagine, floating on a lotus.  Drifting.  Those snaky lianas of the satyr man.  Vishnu dreaming just before he.  I wonder if it is like that, dolce far niente in the sun, sleeping half of the year away.  Lethargy.  Heat brings it.  Idleness and flowers fed by the air.  The azotes of the alchemists, nitrogen the food of the plant and the stone.  Azoth they called it, Azotos in Greek, the lifeless air.  Used it as code for the quintessence, the thing of all things.  And for the fire of the kundalini serpent coiling up the spine.  Feel that slow burn.  They disguised it as a dove, sometimes, and silver rain.  In darker moments the regicidal son stepped in front of it so only they knew what they were talking about.  Also a whip for flagellating the naughty.  Oh you bad boy.  A nitrogen whip for sensitive plants.

The simulacrum is true

The simulacrum is never what hides the truth -- it is the truth that hides the fact that there is none. 8:51 am

Silly Milly gave me a genuine reproduction crown derby moustache cup for my birthday when she was five.  Four.  I gave her the real imitation aberoid necklace she broke.  Then we played pretend with the mail, me putting pieces of folded brown paper into the mailbox for her.  Look Milly, you got a bona fide letter and I’d present her with the fake, and look here’s a forgery, and see Milly a fabrication, and this one’s for you a fiction, and here’s yours an invention, and what have we here the make believe, and for you an affectation, and look here’s your pretence, and Milly somebody sent you a fraud and a mock and a pseudo and here’s a counterfeit sham and an unreal inauthentic and oh how nice this one’s the implausible and here’s a subterfuge and a phony and a simulation and the simulacral just for you my darling.  Oh she is my lookingglass from night to morning.  We laughed when she found Mr Goodwin’s mirror in his hat, that polite old perve, bowing Molly off the stage.  Look what I found!  Pert little piece she was, sex breaking out even then.

Ha: high grade

Let the sky rain Potatoes.8:12 am

Got boots secondhand.  Waterproof, necessary in this town.  Hat too.  Keep checking to see passwords still inside the headband.  Safe.  Keys in other pants.  An Ozette potato in this one, family heirloom.  Won’t get key, Molly a light sleeper.  Wiil just pull the door shut.  Should be good enough.  Looks shut.