Tomorrow i’ll need to wake up early and visit the uni. Drop off headphones, sign into the uni email and suss out my accommodation. No stress.
Not really, well maybe a little.

Kramer being a racist.
The power of perspective – the rattle and dispersion of energy when someone enters a room or changes. Subtle or otherwise.
Writings at a bus stop.

Cornerlius Babel-Elba.

He only a satin robe. His man servant’s name was Baskette. She was a simpleton, but a talented seamstress. She would tiddle away into the evenings; weaving and knitting. Their roles could easily have been reversed, her as the master while he the one to set the table. Bread was a feast for the household of two, though really neither is what you would call a breadwinner. They lived a simple life, with few wants and needs, life moved along slowly. Their minds never opened up to one another through words, nay glances with any ends with ideal means. Cornelius’ furrowed brow, skinny legs and bumpy, notched veins ran down his entire physique. All over his body like dividing mountain ranged.

Sex is awkward.
rarely wanted.
My life is too much of a mess to include others.
sex is mostly unenjoyable as an idea to be desired.
People are dishonest.
Freud was a fraud – “he abused his parents”
“Nero was misplaced, and the first caesar to commit suicide”
“Hitler was a greenie”
Niagra falls looks great.
Flights are long.
accommodation is cactus.
Packing is hard.
I got a lot of sun today.
My hair is a state.

Poetry was great this evening.
A great war poet.
Wilfred Owen.
Died a week before the war ended, shot in the head.
Moving into murky waters here.
Gas! Gas!
&
The old Lie: Dulce et Decorum est

“Sassoons gritty realism”.
All fabulously good stuff.
Was Owen a homosexual? He talked much of leaving a love.
Ladies and the undertones of sex.
I wonder. Time spent thinking on this and not others.
Picking Eden up tomorrow from the airport at 10:15. Better take a book.
fucking airports. Fucking pickups. fucking timing.
Muses. Masteries. Focus. Qualities and skills.
Bullshit.
Exist. Then die. Forget it all. Its pointless and worthless.
You will not be happy with your death.
It will not be great, or unique.
and if it is, it will be too late to celebrate.
You may go down in the history books.
So what? For whom?
Selfishness. Socialism.
The pronunciation of Receipt.
The nun.
none.
None of that one. Un-won.
Won-un-done-fun.
Shungunrunbunmunt..

Zippers and sweat.
Roll and claw.
Bit, scratch, suck.
Ogle and fuck.

Heat, strain, kiss.
Rip one another.
moan, bend, shudder.
Pull, push, hiss.

Dance, leer, vibrate.
Shake, hit, hurts.
love, lust, hate.
Hot goo spurts.

After glow, struck
Sheets run amuck.
Silky, supple skin.
Sex, troubles, sin.