So I wrote a book although I have no idea of it now. It was supposed to communicate…something…to someone. I had that in mind and I am pretty sure of it.
I had some strange notions about matters in those days for sure, because I thought of society as an organism that was somehow organically united, because that was how I had experienced it until that time. Rightly or wrongly.
God, I had some weird notions in those days. I thought writing was communication and that ideas came across.
I surely hadn’t drunk enough wine or I would have realized differently. I guess.
We’re all hypnotised in some way or another and we cannot think unless we get the vino veritas in us and then we speak the truth but only for
This is a pathetic excuse!
I have yet to do the extreme nosedive thing some day I suppose.
This is called incoherency. It matters.
In Australia, you have no idea about male bonding.
There is no rigidity, you see.
I didn’t like it that the aussies interfered in “our” selective provocations to prolong the war, but what are you to do an aussie is an aussie.
I can’t make head nor tail of this and nor can you.
That is the great relief that binds my day.
You may see them sooner than you realize.
With the dawning of the new moon!