...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AA
agreed, especially in lieu of her disliking of Suki;
finding her stuck in a perpetual novelty, she said
about Suki and her Art. It never occurred to
Antonin that he should doubt Suki’s intentions. I
always remember that time because of that. And
since Felicity said those words, perpetual novelty,
I’ve often thought about their meaning. I often
repeat the words to myself slowly: p-e-r-p-e-t-u-a-l
n-o-v-e-l-t-y. Because it rolls off the tongue in a
way I find amusing, plus it kind of imitates a
realism I found to be a devastating analogy for
much of the life considered true.
Odd Representations Brought On
I decided to try and do nothing, and late
afternoon crept into the evening whilst I
inadvertently kept wondering of the Architecture
of a moment, oddly represented by eggs. I had not
truly slept a month; I had only taken very few
short naps that did little to amount to real rest or
even deep sleep. Hashish, Kif, marijuana and
bottles of wine sat on the table in the small
kitchen area along with the two note pads, and a
few more books I brought from London. I just
looked at the books: thoughts machinery in the
evening time quiet, disquieted by a pacing: up,
down, open the tiny fridge—the same contents the
last time— close the tiny fridge, and repeat. Yet,
this wholesome nothingness seemed like the only
agenda at times: calculating happenings, I
thought: I also shower, and I dress, and I eat and
then I fall into a resolute melancholy, only offset
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