Breaking The Fast.

And today’s reading, boys and girls, comes from chapter 23 of Leonard Cohen’s Beautiful Losers, page 64.

It’s wonderfully random and fitting, seeing as though today marks the second month of my venture through blog land with ‘ol boy Leonard—as well as the end of a three day fast.

My Internet server is down, as per usual. I will have to run downstairs and upload this from my front steps. This will require dressing and the possession of keys down four flights of stairs, so as not to find myself locked out of my own home, replete with dressing gown and laptop.

This particular has made me terribly thirsty.

The bowl of boiled spinach and garlic hasn’t seemed to remedy this.

I am have been dreaming wildly and wondering mainly.

I have a wedding to attend on Saturday and my sister has come to stay. Play.

I need to remember to buy moisturizer and some new razor blades.

I like it here without him now. Very much.



Dear God, It Is Three In The Morning. Aimless Cloudy Semen Becomes Transparent. I The Church Mad At Me? Please Let Me Work. I Lit Five OF The 8-Ball Roman Candles And Four Of Them Delivered Less Than 8-Balls. The Firecrackers Are Dying. The Newly painted Ceiling Is Burned. Korean Starvation Hurts Me In The Heart. Is This A Sin To Say? Pain Is Stored In Animal Skins. I sSolemnly Declare That I Renounce Interest In How Many Times Edith and F. Fucked In Happiness. Are You So Cruel As To Compel Me To Begin My Fast With A Stuffed Belly?

– 1962.

And now we ascend the stairs.

Optus may be expensive. But they’re slow.



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