absolutely dog-tired. look at the french horloge. black pollutants under my fingernails. jakarta looked late afternoon in the ’80s all day today. pollens rained down from trees and hit my neck, exposed under half-face GIVI helmet. cheapest model on the market. the pollens hurt. i imagined them boring into my neck. blood splurting like engine oil from under my vespa when it had its 1000k check up the other day. nothin wrong with it just that i brought her in at 1591k. thats a bit cruel. so said the mechanic. who was a young man in YAMAHA uniform. but The Book is ready. few minor imperfections. annoying as hell, but the hell with it. i feel like steak tonite. like sacrificing an animal to the gods of mestizo lit. aimé fernand césaire, ezra pound for pound my fave of all time, saut situmorang. i felt like killing someone in the past few days. some men can be such boys. some boys can be such boys. some boy. but its been 4 years and not too many months since i sat outside, a few yards from where i am now and realised that i didnt love someone as much as i thought i did. i loved myself more. and the infinite possibilities of my ideal self (R C TM jessie wallace). now im happy. the three of us. the unitary indivisibleness of a kind of walking on air contentedness. one of a kind. i look forward to things. more of me being born into this world. her hands in my jacket pockets. us slicing thru this citys warm night air. not unlike a hot couple thru butter.