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The sermon for Jan. 31, 2003 is: α � � 4:18 p.m. At some point soon I hope I'll be lose this enervation, and rouse up the necessary connexions in the old corpus calloseum (calloused with all the scars of failed connexion, communications cut short) in order to write a proper entry. For the nonce, I'll simply tell you a little of what I did last night in between cutting myself: I was watching a film called Love Is The Devil on DVD. It's about Francis Bacon, that splatterer of nightmares, my patron saint of housecleaning, played with tongue-waggling dissplendour by Derek Jacoby. At one point I randomly pressed the "α � �" button on my remote control; what this does is pick a start-point (α) and end-point (�) in the movie and loop it, endlessly. I had happened to do this during the scene when Bacon is photoghraphing himself in one of those funhouse photo-booths: he turns his stylishly shaggy head from sadly left to right, while his voiceover singsongs, "Trying to measure the distance..." The endpoint, totally random mind you, comes with the flash of the photo-booth camera. Thus: Bacon faces left; turns right; "trying to measure the distance"; flash; repeat. I let this loop the entire evening while performing my autopsy. In my mind it took the dimensions of a video installation, a Damien Hirst or Bruce Connor or some other morbidly mannerist art technician. It was like the I Ching, utter randomness yielding a transcendental meaningfulness. For at the end of the evening, when I finally grew weary of Bacon shaking his head and singing at me, I let the DVD go on, so that Bacon could complete his sentence: "...of awaiting one's lover to die." Is this indicative of the morbidly gruesome whatever that's happening to Valerie and me? Is it an omen? An augury? Just random start-point and end-point. That's all.
 
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