Nearly Mid-night.

She smiled – looked again – and smiled. Sorry. No. She looked and then looked again then smiled. Should it matter; the light of lucifer – she carried – refreshed one’s memory of what can be done if the good betray their lust of supposed vanity – cherished by the ever presence of idiocy (Even of the aesthetic). She did not fit in: The world fit in for her – she smiled differently. That is all that was apt in my existential experience with her.

She remembered; recognised me. The nausea of one’s existence, flew away – not to never return – but to return with something like her. Maybe just her. Can it be just to feel this right now ?

The relative justice of poetry slips in and out of the fantasy world: “We must live the fantasy and symbolic… Life would be shit, you know ?!,” said the blessed Tony.R Coheran. Can I – oh I dare – may I fantasise about her; her fantasy: Infuse it with the symbolic world, oh universe. Though I know you may not work for me – only an individual.

Oh I feel like a Lesbian nun; an alcoholic priest; A religious gangster.

Is it in my best interest to feel this way. What is happening. I am not nauseous. I need her to remind me I exist.


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