Wednesday, March 15, 2017


Nothing makes me sadder than disembodied voices on a phone and just hearing them is a painful betrayal of every philosophy that ever was so I turn away - aghast and shaking my head - at what I see or what I witness and the cutting down of trees is just as awful a murder as slicing that man's throat (him over there with the bright red tie and the cufflink in his mouth before the mirror) for the preening bunch is the first to go - or should be - and yet before the crowd even begins lining up they've taken pictures of the crime scene or the Pope's last breakfast or Johnny Waldo's Oldsmobile Toronado 'the very car in which he died' and the rotogravure is often apt to overcolor any scene it gets ('everything looks worse in black and white') and that's the essence then of what we live : the ghost of material witnesses and all their third-hand stories told over again with slightly different variations every time yet because of that there are trends to doubt and doubts to be refined into negative components of someone else's poor reality and I doubt there's ever been a trend I didn't doubt.

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