Try, in your fatalistic dim, to remember: not every doll interrogates every inch of hell’s rosy air. Try to see through your own relentless queering of the heavy jalousie: to proceed unpremeditatedly begs penance only occasionally. Know you don’t need anything to get you going. Know you need a distraction from your doing. He says you can’t cure your depression by laughing at it. I say you’re telling me, lipstick on ever-visible teeth.