19 Gigantic Spaceship Wires

"Where have you been, Shimmy? I'm afraid I've missed you," Guy Debord said. The smoke from his Gauloise cigarette forms a parasol before it falls down and cries. "I see the wicker newspaper box pulled away from its hiding spot beneath the bed."

"Cats will live on the surface of the earth even when the wicker newspaper box is taken away," I said. My paws are quite fat. Nothing is sweeter than an injured bat in my mouth, scolding as I eat him.

"Or is sleeping underneath the bed itself an act of meretricious escapism?"

The black buttons on Guy Debord's chest rise and fall as he breathes.

"They had a 'party' last night," I said. "Those giant shoes gathered in a circle around the ottoman don't know everything, Debord. Their giant shoes in fact suggest their own irremediable inferiority. I ran underneath two sets of legs outstretched on the ottoman and brushed them with the tips of my lavish fur. Giant shoes are a constant, incarcerating lie."

Smoke crept outward from Debord's nostrils. Smoke generated by nothing other than total historical movement.

"Once the White House loses its 'faith-based' community," Guy Debord said, "it loses all the reference points of truly common language until such time as the divisions within the country at large can be overcome by the inauguration of a real historical community."

"Bat bones mingled with my saliva."

Debord's cigarette loves darkness because it can grow more and more dangerous when it cannot be seen.

As Guy Debord becomes conscious of himself as a whole, he tends to go beyond his own cultural presuppositions and thus to move toward the suppression of all separations.

"Shimmy, transcendental Jesus, who is the common language of twenty-first century social inaction, rustles himself into materialist language in the modern sense. Faith-based communalism's declaration of independence is the beginning of its end."