An exhaustion for *this
City and the Enthusiasm for *this
Exhaustion
The Thing was, *this Exhaustion
felt perfect with nothing adding nothing on it, which was to say, keeping my
Hands from away from *this. Still, there was a Problem and part of the (parting
of) the Problem was that there is no Shorthand for what I want to say about
*this, about Exhaustion, and perhaps you wanted to say, even though, what you
would say, would most likely Oppose the Idea of what I’m saying about *this thus---------àI Oppose
the Idea of You
saying anything in *this for You haven’t yet lived what you want to say about
*this. Thus, *this becomes,
increasingly, a Paradoxical aspiration of a Soliloquy--------àThe Drive
towards a Form of an Isolation isolating
its own Isolation----àhowever,
knowing the chance of *this Life being a Forgery, there is the potential that
everything I say is purely Fictional or, in a way, I hope to become so-so Fictional so in Order to
experience the Ecstasy of being a Figure split in Two times Two, so to stave-off a bit longer, the impending
Collapse, the folding-in-the-within of
Exhaustion.
