Crooked as a Foreign Hat on a Foreign Head

A fascist does not like to be spoken to. When others have their say, he takes it as an impudent interruption. He is impervious to reason because he recognizes it only in concessions made by others. -Adorno

What’s the matter with the way I write, asked the fingers to the hand? I must admit I still feel a little shiver when I remember the gate ajar to the panther’s diorama and no panther. The dust, the biddy spoke to no one, will settle in most particular ways. It pays, she explained, to dice the jalapeños fine and without remorse. Inside the circles of piety there are more circles of piety. The dream of closure, without death, is an odorless zoo. For me, Amsterdam will always be the city of cheap port and torn ACLs. Fantastic, chirped the herd of wrens from the eves, we were in the mood for chicken skin. Crooked as a foreign hat on a foreign head, I danced with the wine meeting the waters of my mind until the darkness of the city fell on its two knees. All of the animals have gotten loose and no one seems able to represent them. Significantly, the diamond necklace I ordered never arrived around the neck of my beloved.

(from] "What is to be Said”