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You’ve never quite decided if they can see through to your vacuum.
Will Postwar be nothing but “events,” newly created one moment to the next? No links? Is it the end of history?
No one here can love or comprehend me, They just look for someplace else to send . . . me . .
It no longer matters now how loudly the metronome ticks. A stronger stimulus no longer gets a stronger response.
using party fanaticism to cover a lack of ability.
“Want the Change,” Rilke said, “O be inspired by the Flame!”
can feel the bitter lager of Yearning begin to prickle behind eyes and sinuses
Outside, through the dirty periscope, gnarled fog unloosens from the bright zone of frost that belly-bands the reared and shadowy rocket, where the liquid-oxygen tank’s being topped off.
responsibility.”
All civilization is is a reward system for work
freak saffrons,
mint fumes
Sometimes, rarely, there may be tantalizing—not words, but halos of meaning around words his mouth evidently spoke, that only stay behind—if they do—for a moment, like dreams, can’t be held or developed, and, presently, go away.
excremental kisses
He must base the major part of his life on the probity of men charged with acting as interface between what he is supposed to be and himself.
as they fuck she quakes, body strobing miles beneath him in cream and night-blue, all sound suppressed, eyes in crescents behind the gold lashes, jet earrings, long, octahedral,
peppy tropical orchestra
Proverbs for Paranoids, 1: You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
Proverbs for Paranoids, 2: The innocence of the creatures is in inverse proportion to the immorality of the Master.
Proverbs for Paranoids, 3: If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about answers.
Proverbs for Paranoids, 4: You hide, they seek.
lips cratered with sores.
Paranoids are not paranoids (Proverb 5) because they’re paranoid, but because they keep putting themselves, fucking idiots, deliberately into paranoid situations.
a great gush of wet amber
the history they have invented for themselves conditions us to expect
if he stays too much with any he’s in danger of losing others.
doomed voyage
there was no one she could tell who mattered.
It was nice of Jung to give us the idea of an ancestral pool in which everybody shares the same dream material. But how is it we are each visited as individuals, each by exactly and only what he needs?
self-criticism’s an amazing technique, it shouldn’t work but it does. . .
His pulse thuds in his neck.
there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything,
Two states of mind: fear of death, and guilt.
You are either alone absolutely, alone with your own death, or you take part in the larger enterprise, and you share in the deaths of others.
Each plot carries its signature. Some are God’s, some masquerade as God’s. This is a very advanced kind of forgery. But still there’s the same meanness and mortality to it as a falsely made check.
virile roar.
will
Mechanism of understanding: perception
mechanism of overcoming: will
Up
Expression as a battle for airspace, so much distorted and loud thought we must quiet it with our own, speaking so that others stop.
visual mercy.
“We have to carry on under the possibility that we die only because They want us to: because They need our terror for Their survival. We are their harvests.
faith in Death as the master of us all—is
They are here instead to trade some pain and a few truths, but all in the distracted style of the period:
convinced he could preach as well as anybody in the hierarchy even if he hadn’t been officially ordained.
The meadows hum.
film and calculus, both pornographies of flight.
stomach.
A "more favorite word" takes more stress to utilize.
A more nuanced definition takes more stress when the word is summoned.
isn’t that every paranoid’s wish? to perfect methods of immobility?
ice-cold crownfire
saddest dreams.
Zeitgeist.
Is this libido?
magnetic serpent
