I eat this couch, penumbra'd and exclusivized-- what is here doing with me? We, this we that we are, is anti-social enough to kiss; protecting properties and friendful, a skyful of earth, a mocking silent tone, I'm a human whiteboard, the frank verisimilitude of Kafka; the cliff diving monotony (like a head rush). People me: I'm not history yet, but what matters more than matter? Boiling water or the fire? Blinking or the eye?