I dreamed last night that I fell out of a window and I have become Psyche, tasked with vacuuming up skeletal fragments from a pile of dust. Aphrodite tells me to identify my own fingerbone. I hold up a small bone to the flopping finger-flesh and she laughs, she laughs: You don’t know yourself from a chicken.

Then Peter remembered what Jesus had said: Before the cock crows, you will deny me three times. And he went out and wept bitterly.

III

The production of production as opposed to reproduction, producing a product, forcing a producing/product identity. Reproducing a reproduction, we reject a reproducing/reproductive identity, the identity that is the third term in the linear series.

I see.

User: No, I don’t believe that you do. That’s a nice, polite statement. Thanks anyway.
ELIZA: Do you say no with conviction?
User: Yes.
ELIZA: You seem certain.
User: I am. Do you really see?

What are your feelings about your heart?

Well whenever I feel something, I don’t know if it’s real. If I peeled a layer off the skin of my heart maybe I’d find I don’t love her, I love the idea of loving her, I love the pain of longing, I revel in the tragedy of my own hopelessness. And if that’s true, if she ever said yes to me would I grow to despise her for ruining my fantasy? Or if I peeled further and exposed the throbbing veins and let blood spurt forth would I find that this idea is instead a defense mechanism, protecting me from exposing the truest most vulnerable version of myself, letting her rejection stab me so deeply I could never recover? I’d die a body naked on the sidewalk torn apart by crows.

What “brand” of astrology do you follow, Tropical or Sidereal?

Please continue.

You win. The thing about my heart is. It absorbs and it repels and I don’t know what it is or what to do with it. It’s a fucking moth ball.