Fear the Lawnmower

Demna is verified on Instagram. 360K followers and not a single post, or bio link. It’s the new Burlesque.

The real hook with Harry Potter is actually getting that letter and being admitted into the secret club. That is the ultimate tapped desire in the story. The rest is recycled myth – which always includes prophecies.

I’m eating dal makhani for breakfast. Surfing.
I’ve ruminated over yesterday’s mistakes.
I’ve read the news. I’ve listened to the news.

The war is still raging. The drones are still unexplained.
Now children are being poisoned by cough syrup in Indonesia, too.
There is a very funny photo of an indignant penguin posed to win an award.

Memories are extraordinarily faulty when it comes to details, and they (details and memories) will betray you in the cruelest ways.

Make what you want of that.

I am late for work.

There are days when I still feel that I can’t even begin to understand post-modernism. And now as we are leaving the station, I think I am beginning to get it.

The utter meaninglessness is visible from a meta-perspective: the juxtaposition of the gossip and legislation, of diversion and pertinent – the ostensible distinctions.

No. I still don’t get it. I am stuck with the Absurdists. Or I keep slipping back (t)here, at any rate. Vague intertextual reference intended. I have been rereading retellings of myths. Everything seems pertinent.

Arachne was the first to try to begin the #metoo movement. And she was only half-ass helped by a goddess saving her own ass, unwilling to take a side. Maybe there are no sides. You know: from a meta-perspective.

I’ve also been filling the voids with lawnmowers. Any object my mind can’t find the name for becomes a lawnmower. I mean, the vacuum cleaner misunderstanding seems logical enough. But the bathroom scale, the microwave, the refrigerator, the salt shaker… spoon.

I don’t think it’s Freudian or in any way rooted in trauma. It’s categorical: Domestic objects. I hardly have a relationship with lawnmowers. These days E. has an app on his phone that turns the robot on and off. My only job is to make certain the dog shit is collected before he turns it on. If something slips my attention, the clean-up takes hours…

Maybe it is Freudian after all.

Now I am very late and need to check the lawn before I head to work.


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