I am tempted to publish this web log with nothing to say. But i had some things to say, unfortunately. I was captivated by this title as absolutely cataleptic, possibly apoplectic. Such an immediacy and insistence, just like "a moment of intense anxiety" in a previous entry: is a kind of sick immediacy. It takes the notion of friendship one step closer to psychosis: immersion in the corrosive water of the solution (etc. etc, sorry Oppermann). There is an intense, screaming, borderline personality disorder level of dysfunction in this web log that I find entertaining. Perhaps I can let it out here without being too much of a nuissance or a pest to anyone. I simply had to have a moment to articulate a borderline or manic sentiment from a thousand miles away. I hope Oppermann is having a good day, whether he is writing a web log or not at this time. There is a certain perverse comradery writing a web log at the same time. It is as though one could say that this activity is not only permissable and particible by one person: an act of sometimes pathetic technological raking of dead leaves: but also a kind of communal searching for enough warmth through the dead leaves. Perhaps there is something beyond this little pittance of warmth that always threatens (sulfur) to become a raging bon-fire. There is some manner in which the search for warmth is inscribed in some baroque manual: at once an indictment written on the walls of death: the attorney walls of the law: cold death: and it is also a story requiring the laughter and genius of the cultivated human soul to get laughingly through.
