He is def mad at me. You know.
How frustrating it must be dealing with Alice. She doesn’t make sense. But lives inside the mathematical absurd in a way.
Alice is a semblance where absurd delights in mischief and horror, is down the tunnel of love and its a crack up. But there is something of her that is everywhere in time. As a fable. I want her gales to run through my sails – its that old adage of writer and actor alike – at certain points of inflection, delirium becomes about focus, and there is no me any more. I am out in the nutshell. Much like philosophers but I call it fiction.
Supposedly if I had character enough could hold the bell tower up against the 13th hour chimers – Tepid peevish freak.
But the exchange of “divine fluids” is occurring inside the wonder wall. Only exists there. As started by The Hungry Hunter just Shooting Rabbits.
Thats its beauty, thats what it is.
I know this. Its not about normalization, working through things yes, but aint gonna help me out of closet. Hello.
Thats what gets me about it, everybody gets after me about the absurdity of it and yet – there is nothing to it but mystery for me. Nothing at all to go on.
Nothing to get straight about. Its a wind tunnel searching for collusion, imagery, killer treats.
Abellard helped Heloise adopt to regulatory behavior after the wild letters. When first read Heloise’s letters was such a windfall. That and Emily’s Master letter. Capture so inclemently and true where I’d had fallen into.
Tonight gonna reread.