By the way, how's your mother? 

Idle know, my calls go straight to voice mail. For days and days. You know she's in a place, it's like a bardo in central Florida. The Villages. 

Bingo.

Yeah, Bingo Bardo, heh.

 

 Guilt is the central feature of our captivity. 

—Marcela Lagarde

I'm gonna try to read Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. I tried a few bites before, and though old Ludwig said it's all self-evident, I couldn't make heads or tales of most of it, but the damn thing keeps creeping into my head, and it's a new translation, supposed to be imbued with fluent yet cryptic grandeur and awe-inspiring opacity. 

Ha, you sound like a blurb writer. 

I'd like to hear some Arnold Dreyblatt right about now. 

Oh, which piece? 

I'm thinking Dirge Relations. 

Nice.

 hmm, this fruto's a pretty good book.

 Here's the thing—it's completely fake, a simulacrum, a privatized neoliberal representation of a public park. 

 We better bury this shit before it blows.