August 13, noon

Indecision, getting swallowed up in reading:
these are the things I like to do with my day, apparently.
Maybe it's not that Boston is boring,
maybe it's just that I have no motivation
or swiftness in decision-making.

 midnight

                                                                                seeing of the surrealists
the canticle of dreaming is the ability to not-dream, to go beyond the premise of hips and buns and fringe ass a naughty mix-ed up unconceived this is what we shall do we shall make a new beast of ourselves what is the ex. called if exquisite corpse is something else how do our sentences permutate if there is no permanent reflexion how many cliché phrases or how else do they seem to naturally already fit together in my mind?