Rising to a flurry of dust, or dead skin as he was told by television with shards of sunlight spreading a dust-gauze through which his anxiety would settle and his pale, flabby, fleshy gut pushed the haze out of the way as he say down to collect himself. He wanted to observe people in the city again today. He wanted to feel intimacy with humanity again today but it wasn’t like ‘today’ or anything as the days of no intimacy had began bleeding into one another like a hemorrhaging wound of purple and yellow puss and the salve intangible and the dressing inadequate like baking paper. He was a submarine. He looked out the window of his apartment in Bray and saw the coal water breaking on the beach – in and out like a foamy tongue. He made himself an espresso and thought about masturbating but he was agitated so it would be a ‘sad wank’ and one that would compound his sense of solitude under the groaning sun. Instead he tried yoga, and stretched out his arms and legs like a freak, adopting a throaty chant in order to exorcise some of that weird, primal energy. That stuff bubbled within him a lot, and his therapist said it was wise to have ‘outlets’ or ‘pillars’ as a means of coping with it. He loathed the faux communion of AA meetings, and the proselytizing nature of ‘recovery’. He wanted to master the art of self destruction and decay — not be prescribed ‘redemption’ by twelve steps and a prescriptive methodology of ‘brotherhood’ and collective therapy. He reviled sharing intimate details of his mind with people of inferior faculty. He felt cheated and he felt as though he were betraying his own mental reflex by doing so. If there a way to self-preserve and self-value without the need for invasive group-love he would gladly do it. There was a discordance in this. He perceived humanity as being atomized and fragmented — delusional and hypnotized by big business, marketing and advertising, falsely succumbing to the illusion that their consumer habits mark them out as individualistic or original, whereas at a macro level subcultures merely force the hand of the dominant ideology, which is then supplanted onto the subculture leading to trends, fads, ‘movements’, ‘statements’ and ultimately headache and nostalgia.

There was little coffee left in his cup and he didn’t really like smoking anymore so he didn’t bother.


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