August 25th 2008

Apparently there's a pink dog in London. I intend to visit Paul next weekend, who's been systematically divesting homself of all core ego via the ingestion of Alexander Shulgin's entire pharmacoepia - specifically those shadow phials hitherto untested by human palate. I gather that last week in the pursuit of further cosmic excellence, Paul hunted down and killed a shaman of some prestige, hacked him into thousands of corpulent, illuminated little morsels, extracted an eye and had it sewn into his forehead, directly over the part where the pineal gland lays, literalising the third eye, and his since been experiencing some form of compound-identity syndrome. So, I'm hauling my weary, fatigued self up there to assess just how Benway things have become for Brother P.

In Poland, the new trend is to have prominent internal organs tattooed. Wozchjiek, 18, died in Zakopane last November, suddenly, without any apparent cause; upon autopsy, the surgeon found entire paragraphs from the literary works of Stanislaw Lem emblazoned across his uncoiled colon, specifically certain pivotal sections from Solaris. This, I gather, is not an isolated incident.

I've been working the entire weekend, my energy unspools at a trickle, and I'm entirely inclined to sleep upon return from work, hence the absence of two day's entries. My arm, thus far, has not yielded to a web of spidery red lines, so I'm assuming I'm clear of infection for now. I painted my nails with boot polish and wound a hundred-ish paper clips into my hair last night. Tonight I'm gonna attempt to write an entire journal entry onto my torso - backwards - so as it can be photographed, if this is successful, I'll post the photograph here under the designated entry heading.