#23

I'm afraid of the night -- not of the dark, as though the former precludes the latter.

Tonight, I'll shoot Andy Warhol. I'll redefine time: when my years and months differ, when they become null -- not that they currently aren't, the conniving septum teases september, not to even mention october -- aren't we already at the signifier without the signified? Run free, my metronome watch lands a whole lot more consistency.