The other night O.O. visited a friend who was tending bar and serving him free drinks. He returned to the hotel at 5:30 am slightly intoxicated, at which time he shared these thoughts with me:

"I'm like a gyroscope. I will not spill the water. I have the charism of (not) spilling."
He also noted that if holding a small child ("womb fruit") requires skills similar to those needed to holding a drink despite being intoxicated, he would be very good at it.

"I'm a whore to the animal aesthetic." This thought preceded a discourse on the glories of teaching a child to slay an animal, and to put his hand into the still-warm guts of the beast.

"Listen to that." (clicks his tongue against his cheek.) "That's my tongue roving through the tongue fields."
He then went on to describe how the new phrase that he had coined, "tongue fields," would help him to make new friends.

On the fact that I would later blog his drunken musings: "My students will read them, and they will say, 'My God, he was drunk, but he still cares about prime matter!'"

No comments: