eg. or ie. Invitation to poverty

Allow me to dazzle you with a showcase spectacle, a voyage far from the comfortable security of your living room or office. You have already embarked, even though I have not been granted permission.

Overcome, center, almost daunted, here I go quiet. Dear reader, how can you read without seeing the spaces? What is this gap between the words, after, before, always there, yet never noticed? Can we ever presume to be able to comprehend it? Ought we ever even attempt? This is where I am lost. To find me you must search here. I cannot even find myself, outside of action. I seem to be losing myself to inaction, seeking to be found, reached, touched. I don't mean touched as you think you touch me, not seeing who you think you're touching, I mean me, and really touched. Enjoy thinking you're helping me, touching me...that can touch me, but touches more what you know not, what of which I myself am not even aware. To find me, A conquest! A labyrinth.

You, I see, Although you can't see I see. Here I am. I must be self-motivated. I want a swimming pool and a majestic garden: both formal and informal. Two jobs, or three. All three pay; I can't value either more, even though more beneficial. In the end, another false blog, just exciting another pathway.

Orpheus, Monarchy, Schopenhauer

It's been a while since I've posted a blog. A real blog. Not just musings on Echo around and about the fantastic life of the penis, trying to "make" love. A sort of default masculinity defined by a culture of the image: Louis XVI searching for his father's mistress in his Marie Antoinette, wanting almost to create a what in a who, when what that who is is already what one wants. But one always already wanted more, especially her, even though it was from this image, and with him she had to create. But now he must, without falling captive to her inquisition, strengthened, which seeks to realize he wants to create more that he wants in her, to show her, without her seeing it, how to play a role. All this is nevertheless the role of the penis as professor, which must be done, but ought not be a way of life. Seek to find, I hear, for to make remains always physical, confined even after construction to a world one always already wished to be free from, if one had not yet left. Orpheus, looking back, appeasing satan, cannot turn around, walk away; he is resolved to succeed at all costs, for dread of life with a harmonica. Circumstance prevents an ascent. Regardless, it seems he must succeed, even if it means losing the goal, in fact deliberately discarding it, immediately after success. A series of conquests. Another false blog.