cloistered in my room on the eve of season, on the edge of reason, reading about the Counter-Enlightenment and mourning Giambattista Vico. plagiarizing strippers and contemplating De Sica. my night is rife with dead Italians, but this is besides the point.
the point is that i spent the morning in meditation, and when i opened my eyes i thought to myself: this is not the way i left this room.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
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