The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the
morning, when I'm not quite right.
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully
and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
hello reader,
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems
annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder
where it goes in the day.
