At the reception

Testis unus, testis nullus, nobody gets very far with one ball

She reminds me of a papercut, a fleshwound and a salesman

Yesterday it was a whole mainstream but now the only thing I can feel is a slight burning feeling, nothing very serious

I was working for a big company. The girl on the ground floor had some strange way to consider me from her tiny and low desk, as if her mind was at the same time inside a deep secret of the corporation where I had a role to play, and also outside a kind of time frame which I was not sure to be part of either. So when I used to get into the building through the secondary entrance, I could catch her stare right in the mirror from afar, as if from behind and afar I was violating her privacy. No communication mode, no clear prescriptive, only a deep feeling of calm and emotional retention going through my veins. The mirror was slightly smoked and I heard « I will smoke you » coming from her lips. And mine were open and remained for several dozens of second in the same state. The calm was meadowy and my attitude, shallow. I was acting like a frantic playboy with figures and codes in the head, a big pinkish head up on some solid shoulders. The playboyness came from a certain inner feeling of sexual self-containment, self-rigourous-disciplination of the incarnation of my pinkishness under the layers of tissue. It was hot like a hot code, programming code, a kind of hysterical but rigorous self-declamation under some initialized objects defined in a more general class. The girl was yet far but it was already familiar like an old meme coming for the return of its sovereignty. I was recovering each morning a bit of my meme memory for the sexual sake of my rebirth through this person.

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