A guy with brown hair. A guy with blond hair. A guy from down the street. You’ve seen him at the grocery store. A lawyer from Pasadena. A narcissist. An android. Do you remember when you thought it would be so fun to date an android? A screenwriter. A man of thirty-eight. The persistence of memory. A fake profile. Another fake profile. A series of personal daydreams. A leisurely discussion of love. I should at least like to show you the path that leads from our talk of fantasies to the problem of literary effects. A ceiling tile, slightly decayed. Drugs. A neurotic. A character from an 80s horror movie. An attractive young man who is working on a degree in Critical Studies. A guy with blue eyes. They are very nice blue eyes. A series of trances. The abyssal dimension. Desire grows around an object that fulfills a psychological need. A guy who loves dogs. A guy who loves traveling. Someone with a large cock. The concept of a “false proposition.” A dark forest. Something like an animated skeleton. The object of desire is also the object of anxiety. How does the algorithm work? Is there something at your window? A bird? Some kind of smoke? The primordial Real. A guy who is interested in different types of beer. The Aristotelean dialectic. Another android, this one even hotter than the first. It is futile to reconstitute the past from the present moment. Who else? A nineteenth-century detective. Someone trapped inside a video game. A look of regret. A guy who is open to sexual experimentation. The extremity of difference. Your mother’s closet from when you were a child, the way it smelled like her perfume. Immanuel Kant. There’s something I haven’t told you. Something I’m never going to tell you. A guy who plays tennis after work.
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