Another day, another paper delivered through the doggy door. Here we go again. The news has got it wrong. When will they learn? Skip the pigeons. Give me the hawks.
I’m in the mood for taming the exotic. Which means another fasting period has begun. I’m going to look so different when this is all over that I won’t need this disguise anymore. It’s the best shot for this fugitive. A fugitive must be worldly and exotic, but most importantly, isolated.
I have found plenty of ways to preoccupy myself. All or nothing. I’m all in: boarded windows and black shades and deep thoughts. Try to stir me from this position, brother. Shake your stick and throw rocks at the window. This flagpole doesn’t budge.
On the other side of the window, the suits and badges are going on break. They’re tired of my games, at once both self-aggrandizing and self-effacing. Obscurity through volume, is what I used to call it. Personal ecstasy; self-imposed exile. Another shoot-out is on the way. At least that’s what the news claims.
• Joachim Montessuis: http://www.autopoiese.org
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