I stayed over at a rooming house in Hackney where I hoped to finish Blood Rites of the Bourgeoisie. I was grooving to the story until page 94. That was where I saw my name in the book and my third eye opened and I understood. I was merely a very minor character in a story. Everything - my trip, my blog, my Self - all this, was a subplot in an extended narrative that existed beyond the book.
And now, I realize my role in this narrative is finished, and it is time for me to go. And I am gone.
3 comments:
Please come back and tell me whether I am a woman dreaming I am a ventriloquist's dummy or a ventriloquist's dummy dreaming I am a woman. Since discovering the answer may be a little upsetting for me can you also have a nice dress (size 10) ready wrapped to give me after breaking the shock news..... that would really cheer me up!
The Old Doctor said: Actually speaking, we are in a swamp warp time, otherwise known as a dump I took ten years in the future. You will be that kernel of corn that I was convinced will be eaten as an ingredient of a stew that is cooked up three thousand years ago when we will both be priestesses at the Horus/Bast bi-millenial Opening the Way for Frater Perdurabo Sand Lube Orgy. Hey, any time, always happy to help.
I hope, it's OK
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