Just a little pre-sleep blogly attempt at experimental psychology. Benights these days I tend to engage in fond fantasizing til the wee hours. This is bad because a) it means I sleep not, b) the fantasized in my experience seldom becomes reality. So, to indulge in some very paranoiac thinking, if there is something I want to happen, I shouldn't think about it. I feel the urge to rilkean italicize, for the Rilkean italics are about Leben, Sein. die, die sind. und ich bin nicht. I don't deserve the italicisation. You can feel it; well, I can. He wrings out the word sein. It's painful for him, the pained poet, to poeticize being.

die sind

By all this of course I mean i'm butting up tho not sexily or even really against the spectre of living girls, whose living pains me to no end, the un-murderableinaconcept other people. They suck. And another week roles by. Now heed brain, i'ma stop typing. Stop dreaming!