PRECISION SCREWDRIVER SET/arid states

I've started work on a manifesto. The next few nights I'll want to re-read the Futurist manifesto. I remember only the feeling of forward movement and a sort of trashing of the past. Ignoring the mountainous egos which presently seek the glory, calling them out on having no vision of what the future is, and is certainly not. Just a good amount of effort in the recent past, but past all the same. In an effort to get in the mood I trimmed my hair down short, my beard a notch longer, cut my fingernails, washed my best jeans. I don't know if the concentration of a manifesto as a "we will" should focus on the future, or how in the future we will deal with the past. It's most definitely reactionary either way. Today my boss-lady said I was really smart. Score.

A manifesto is a communication made to the whole world, whose only pretension is to the discovery of an instant cure for political, astronomical, artistic, parliamentary, agronomical and literary syphilis. It may be pleasant, and good-natured, it's always right, it's strong, vigorous and logical. Apropos of logic, I consider myself very likeable.

          --Tristan Tzara, Feeble Love and Bitter Love, section II from 12.12.1920

I also have great love for the De Stijl Manifesto I:

In an exact manner. In an exact manner. That's right.

Of course my manifesto, if ever finished, would suppose a smaller attitude. Instead of a great wink, a muffled giggle. And I'm sure there will be something "sexist" in there, something about handcuffs and unachieved pride.

Waking with a start realised I hadn't spilled the wine in my hand. Good thing. Didn't know I was that tired of it. Credits were rolling, couldn't recall what I was watching. Stumbled out for a smoke, no cars, must be late. Remembered writing a blogpost about something or other, trying to stick to my 15-minutes-or-less rule. Must have been a hard five minute nap or something, caught me off guard. Guard, what guard. I've got a fortress. Not drunk, must be exhausted. Turned the heat off, checked the alarm. Didn't remember the order of the days so set it as if I had to work for posterity. In the morning I look at the alarm. 7:40am and a jingle. I have never been able to read the word "snooze" in the morning. It gets all mixed up and other letters are added in, like Steve Jobs is messing with me. Complete habitual singular instances of dyslexia. I can stare, rub my eyes, cough, look again, focus, wait a minute... doesn't matter, I simply can't read it until after I get out of bed. Then there it is: SNOOZE. The first time it freaked me out. This morning I think it looked like this STIHLL
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Written by RALEIGHXXX at 8:39:00 PM

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