And We’re Back

*coughs from inhaling probably weed* you don’t want that shit.

-conro orbest, as heard in the outro of the Desaparecidos song “Mañana”

Light from unlight. Or light from light from light and so on, ad infinitum. Remember what the professor said: there is nothing logically inconsistent about an infinite causal chain.

Light, here.

Lanky legs illuminated and full pubes too and boy blue in his bedroom naked as his dick laying on his bed, mostly legs, almost arachnid, reading james joyce’s a portrait of the artist as a young man thinking the only good pun i can come up with for my magnum opus which will inevitably cleverly allude to james joyce is a portrait of the fartist as a young man and that’s not even close to being good, or clever.

And then remember how david foster wallace talked about being twentysomething wanting to be clever and how students who want to be clever are like literally the worst. and then think would mr. foster wallace think well of father john misty? and think too didn’t dave predict this whole trumpian dystopia and–fuck–i wish he were still alive to help me.

think a bit selfish, maybe.

Pause put the novel down and think jesus time is moving pretty fast huh, already july. We’ve come far. The beginnings of existential dread as the mind constricts itself with thoughts of past and future, wrapping itself in unrealities,

and then ha woops catch yourself bud, ha there you go, no we must not get rapt.

Pick the novel back up and continue reading and let the mind breathe and maybe a pun better than fartist will come to you.



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