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- Last activity:
- Aug 27, 2015 at 4:31 PM
- Jul 14, 2011
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Möderätor, Male, from Toronto
... I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content. Aug 19, 2015
- Baraka_Guru was last seen:
- Viewing thread What books are you reading right now?, Aug 27, 2015 at 4:31 PM
Signature“I can't remember anything. I remember only ideas and sensations.”
—James Joyce, Ulysses (1922)“Humankind cannot bear very much reality.”
—T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton,” Four Quartets (1943)
The details of my life are quite inconsequential. But very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical — summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring, we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it —