The flow of the erotic things that terrify me was interrupted by the chiming sound of the intercom security system. It was a young male artist. He wanted to take a digital photo of our groovey glass staircase he had built. He needed it for his c.v.
He left. I washed the stairs by hand in a mechanical way. I was hungry.
I walked to the Central Market. I thought I saw someone I knew. I called out. It was a model that looked like a women and was dressed as a man.
Everybody looked at me.
I saw the headlines of the City Messenger Press. Harbison wins Adelaide City Council election for Mayor. Another said: "Harbison: the way to go for Adelaide is to have lots more car parks."
Did I just want to be a tabloid headline?
I saw a book on Bataille in the secondhand bookstall at the Couger Street entrance of the market. Bataille says philosophy is at fault for being divorced from life. Life refers to sexual activity.
I buy the food. I walk home. I write my excursion up. I had found the flow.
It was not utility.