Complexes (The Modern Condition#+++always occupied with itself....)

I pop lozenges like they were Xanax. I am not a phallic symbol (cymbal?). At work, when I point fingers I am statuesque and somnambulant and intuitive. I clean myself in the staff bathroom as if I’d been exposed or inflicted with germ warfare. I am a zombie so in order to think properly his/her/your brain (unseen forces) must be consumed, even if inadequate or tainted or mangled in some way, because I will never be satiated, satisfied so it will never conclude until you chop off my head as if I was some kind of many pronged modern digitized Medusa. I only drink tea on the slim chance that the crumbled leaves will offer me some wisdom about paradoxes, dilemma’s that have become inscrutable to me in the face of advertisements, chemical dependence, economic anxiety. Maybe, as a result of being resistant to suggestion and easily distracted (ADD)by shiny sexy things it is difficult to form a sentence or some sporadic revisionist poetic histories and click send click send, impatience praying like/to some kind of literary/illiterate living gods…. by Micah Zevin 2011