in the backalley by the dead cat

im not this is not i am not you are not this is not for you. hell is other people, life is elsewhere, minor miseries of men on paper. meanwhile the rest of us suffer them as genious render ourselves fools.

i have a fever the heater has been on all day i heard it snowed in my nannas town and i think snow , snow is good. the temptation is to save face to swallow up my self in a footprint sweeping action head bowed face to ice. but i dont . i read another chapter of racial theory , another five pages of crusoe and brush my teeth with really bad safeway herbal toothpaste. i havent drawn anything or written anything for weeks creative constipation.