SHE

(when I propose myself to my own desires, it is because I have become an object for myself, a moonlit narcissist with a mermaid's body to which a certain kind of attention compels my lover's gaze, into whose mirrored and mute immobility I must now introduce the lasciviousness of a dreamed unfolding with all the elements of everyday experience retained after the expenditure of physical and mental strength throughout the day to produce in me My Consciousness, this fixation on perceptions not dissolved by disinterest that will situate me in the somnambulant language of the unconscious, and with which I communicate with myself through loose waves in the formless, nameless astral luminosity that acts in the unfolding --- a small struggle here (perhaps, Clarice Lispector) to "not lose all consciousness and enter," incomprehensible, into that flickering tremor of lines and dots of so much seen and experienced (and READ!), from whose phonetic fragments emerge (is there someone with me in my mind????) voices and entire discourses, alive in their quality of becoming visible and, therefore, all-encompassing, forcing me to “act them out” almost hallucinatorily, had I not equipped myself with a house, room, work and a regular schedule for everything in life, they would be completely hallucinatory, that is, not at all concealed and very exasperating --- It's just like that, in social life, and it happens the same everywhere with me, any poetic complaint transformed in my mouth into a siren song about the carrion of failed things, of minor observations after some insignificant resignation, capable of relentlessly visualizing the defects of others and measuring them against their pretensions, or approaching the entire prevailing atmosphere of competition in a syntax of terrible dissolving power that only I know how to manipulate, and that always gives me great satisfaction when I have to attend a party or work meeting, just to be able to use it with others)