I see ads all over the city bragging about how McDonald’s uses grade A eggs. Let’s hope they’re not using the Harvard grading scale. Most people admit to not understanding economics, but it would take a psychic not to see the direction things are headed now. Religion and comedy are the tragically separated Siamese twins that could not survive apart, having one eye apiece and sharing all their vital organs. The 10 Commandments must have been thought up by someone who didn’t know gossip. Don’t look too much at faces looking back at you, they give you a distorted image of yourself. Get too big and powerful and you split into factions–even within a single person’s mind. The body is a concentration of destiny. I have the same relation to geometry that a drunk has to the lines of a street. The higher divinities shouldn’t need to actually exist to work their wills.

My name is there not for others to recognize me by but to help me recognize myself. Because as Joseph Brodsky hinted, the mind is totalitarian: whichever of the vying factions wins out in any particular internal debate insists on monopolizing not just the acquiescence but the volition of the entire self, and often manages to dupe the outside world as to the unanimity of the whole through that reverend organ of propaganda, the human voice. Or maybe not; I sometimes think writing aphoristically is like pressing coffee and only keeping the grinds. I’ve lost my taste for waking up in the dusty barrio of a hangover. At best, it flattens out, at the end of the day, into a mopey ocean climate.