I am [ ]

: the blank space a provision for contingency, perhaps it is exigencies. I know words, there are many words, the best words. Hiccius doccius.

Stabilized; shifting; numb; resigned; balanced; homeostatic; concupiscent; tremebund.

I was expecting sound. I awoke and thought there would be sound, eventually. Perhaps they were mornings, but I am unable to say anything by way of predicate about that. It may as well have been evening, or midafternoon, or twilight. The [

]. Let us speak no more of it.

In any case, it happened there were no sounds. Nothing to speak of. Scraping, no. Nor clanging, nor bellowing, nor caterwaul, nor obstreperation. If I say, “it barked,” I dissemble. It is a concoction. You have been warned, not that it matters.

Not that it matters, ha! The joke is on us, mon semblable, — mon frère!

Caesura.

A panorama before me of uniform numinous eigengrau. It may be before me but I have begun to suspect it is within me. Yes, within; yes, suspect. When I say begun, understand it could have been at the time of Herr Nichtszen, but also much earlier, or later. Bufo marinus rolls off the tongue, prodigiously. True. Are there phosphenes? False, and nothing to speak of. “Alas, thee majestik biophoton,” as the poets like to say. The goddamned, godforsaken, gobsmacked, fecking poets.

As for the tangibles, you want to know if I am a devotee of Onan. Yes, I know you are wondering. It’s the first thing you want to ask, every time. Well, then: let us parse the matter. It is a question of thelematics. I wish not to be held responsible, hence the bind. Statisically we are nearly all devotees of Onan. It is one of the few things in this marvellous world that we share. The rest, as the joke goes, lie.

Did I mention concupiscence? Yes, but for another day perhaps. Other than this I can feel nothing. There is nothing.

Taste and odor are connected via olfaction, the dual sensory modality. Firstly, in sensing objects in the external world; secondly, in sensing objects in the body. Yes I advert to the sputa. From this I derive all that is required for the slaking of esurience. Thirst, I do not know. The matter in question, the alignment, or modality, if you will, the Gleichschaltung.

Konkordat of the sense. Pay attention, not that it matters.

You assume there is a meaning, or that we deserve there to be a meaning. I dissent, if that is a word. If there were sound, I would laugh. If I assume that somewhere the sun is rising, if the sun, if rises, if is. If I am indifferent. If the words, the best words, if Herr Nichtszen Heil Nichtszen uber alles der ausgezeichnet Nichtszen.

If not the gun. If not not the gun, the gun. If not not the gun not the not gun no the gun the gun nothing but the gun.