when the other thing is finished I will post it but for now here is this thing parts of which you've seen before and which is the continuation of the autobiography thing. the first sentence of this installment was the last sentence of the last. for continuity which as you can see from the form is very very important.
but so do you see the problem of not having a satisfactory name? chances are you don't even know which appendage I'm talking about especially since hardly anyone has one quite like mine. I'd be interested to know who figures it out and who does not. because not everyone knows what will grow under the influence and what will not.
I do not mean this to be an in joke so much as I am averse to describing the whole phenomenon in clinical terms. nor do I take naturally to obscene ones. this leaves me with few choices other than to hint around. it is important though to realize that even with "appendage" something has been singled out.
because it is not the naming so much or that is it is not the finding of the correct name so much as it is being struck by the most subtle modulation of light and I do mean struck. ask me for instance about the night on earth before being struck produced vision. animal sensitivity is the break of day or the break which marks day for the animal. so much for truth or illumination. what there is is the knife-edged kiss.
I can't stop. gleeful obsession.
I've thought about sticking it into the glory hole. with effort it might make it all the way through the thickness of the stall wall to emerge ever so slightly at the other side to what I can only imagine as the consternation and surprise of the party on that end. and what about etiquette. is it a verbal signal or a bodily gesture that tells each of you what is about to happen. do you make appointments beforehand. what happens if you put something through there and it turns out you got the signals all wrong and the other party wasn't expecting or wanting to see it there at all.
would you risk death. we live with it.
I will admit to harboring the fantasy of happening upon the actors in the act but there are only two stalls and as I said I don't stand to pee so it would be even more awkward just to hang out there in the anteroom. don't mind me.
1 The Merzbau in Hannover was destroyed in an Allied air raid and the Norwegian version fell a victim to a fire.
I was going to write down everything I saw and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down everything I do and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down all that passes by and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down whatever occurs to me and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down everything that is said and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down what it all feels like and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down whatever I make use of and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down how each thing sits in relation to some other thing and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down the way whatever comes into view leaves it again and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down everything that could be a pathogen to some other thing and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down the name of every color I could think of and then I thought no that's not the way I should write down a description of every sound and then I thought no that's not the way.
straw. a trampled area. warnings and trays. the indistinction between moving and sitting still is not only a matter of inertia but the persistence of motion in the most sedentary bodies. the countryside seems less menacing if you keep on going through it. this may or may not be a good thing depending whether it remains a menace to those not traveling as quickly. the point though is that they do travel. if everyone remembered this the countryside would not be such a dangerous place.
the whirlwind which rises between is the point of most intimate contact as we pass.
life makes things out of water. it is not clear how it gets from there to the city streets with their furtive nods and long complaints to no one because everyone can hear. we may be far from suffering when we are in motion but only that which moves suffers which makes us closer to disaster with every yard gained. the faster you are going the more it will hurt. my neighborhood for instance teems.
you will get no argument from me. chairs unable to talk facing each other or the fence benign and silent but in great peril.
 in the middle of all this it occurs to me how rare writing is. I mean we are talking all the time so it is not as though language itself is in short supply but given how long we've had the printing press you'd think there'd be more books. not that there aren't enough. not that the amount of books held in a few thousand cubic feet underground just a few miles from here is not far greater than anyone could read in a normal lifetime but you'd think there would be more.
Chapter Two or
How my depth of field readjusted itself after many moons at "two"
given the stretch of history or given the stretch of so much more than history one begins to suspect that thousands or millions could have already noted this but we have scant record of it for the reasons not given above for the existence of so few books which is to say after some time or after some time after that or after that or after or at some time not specified and even at some time whose time has come once but then left again you will wake up. or at least some of you will some lucky number of you.
how simple it is to move from absolute disorder to being able to say something about it. or not simple but nearly impossible but achieved in the twinkling of an eye.
right now I want eggs which has nothing to do with anything in particular but there was a time I remember wanting eggs or pancakes or syrup or coffee just before dawn as now I want them and that has everything to do with what I was just saying which was that appetite has a way of making its way to the fore.
speaking of appetite.
during the time that I was writing this, which is "now" to me but will, if all goes well, have the good fortune of becoming "then" to you, and indeed to both you and me at some point if as I said fortune smiles upon us but during this time I seem to--for I am going to write now as though "now" were now--I seem to be cultivating an opium habit. not straight opium as that is almost impossible to come by in this country that believes there is only one way to look at things and it is divinely ordained and any attempt to look differently is sin but opium as it occurs in various medical remedies that are if you are persistent enough and have the right friends freely available or not exactly free but free if you know what I mean.
the trick here is not to let them take you over of course--the remedies and not the friends although there is probably something advantageous about not letting your friends take you over either--and of course everyone thinks he or she is clever enough to do that but only a few are. that I have been cultivating this habit on and off for more than a year bodes well but I must admit that sometimes things get out of hand but so far they've always gotten back in hand without undue anguish. one might ask me if I think I'm clever. not particularly but I am persistent. it may be that one can lead more than one life at once.
it may be that one can lead more than one life at once and do it completely out in the open and it may be that doing so puts one in a position at once precarious dangerous threatening and for all that the only position one would ever want to be in. it may be that making the transition from this one only to this and this and this and this can kill you or at least make you sick. but if you flap your arms hard enough and this is my hope if you can flap your arms hard enough you will fly into pieces each of which is a well-functioning reference to every other piece and as a group they keep each other alive for a little while.
so much for rationalizations and hope. I can almost guarantee you this scheme will work. for it is a scheme and should be recognized as such it is as shady as any scheme might be but that is the beauty of it.
this scheme on the other hand is bound to fail but it is no different in this regard from any scheme ever hatched by anyone anywhere for as they say no one lives forever although there are a number who believe they will and this is a comfort to them and often a highly irritating bludgeon to others.
and this one. well. when I first arrived here I felt acutely the need to progress as quickly as possible from being surrounded by strangers to being surrounded by familiars and so I did the only reasonable thing and fell in love with everyone. this turned out to be unreasonable.
there is a story to be told here but it would be boring as all get-out but allow me to say this and that is this and that is that and that is there is something luxurious about suicide if undertaken in just the right way.
not that I recommend it.
the story though to come back to the difference between boys and girls which is not necessarily the animating force here but will do for a narrative pole the story at the time had to do with appearing one thing while having plans to become another and the funny thing is that now that I have become I find it difficult to locate either the one thing or the other. I won't say I have given up my penis envy because as I said I do wish that appendage were long enough to make it all the way through the glory hole but on the other hand I don't feel particularly like something is missing, but just that I wish something were hefty enough for me to get my fist around it.
which may be a way of saying definitively no I haven't given up my penis envy. I have these dreams. not daydreams but real live middle of the night dreams where the appendage is straining to grow and ends up in quite a bit of pain. I am not sure what that is all about or even if dreams are about anything other than random thoughts and perceptions from one's day but on the other hand I believe firmly that one's random thoughts and perceptions can be however meaningful one wishes them to be so that really it's all grist for the story isn't it those dreams. because what are we but meaning machines. behind it all is less than nothing which is something like saying the depths are so deep they aren't even shallow. someone said that already but I felt like saying it again.
what else can one do. even so I didn't get it right so here's this and that is that what it all means is the most important thing in the world and doesn't matter one whit as they say the sun will one day explode and unless we have made it at least as far as Neptune that will in general be the end of meaning but look at what will go on without it. or what won't given what going on entails. the unconscious of everything will outlive us all blind and always traumatized but never suffering. hope springs eternal or at least until the day after tomorrow.
at this point one might wonder why go on about boys and girls and I certainly wonder except that my life at times depends upon it. or them. or something I don't know what. hear me.