Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Fuck up an omelet, call it a scramble.
I imagine the architect who designed the building in which I sit, sitting at his drawing table, asking himself out of the blue one day, 'why would someone in an office want a window??'.
A park down off Edgcumbe, a rock to sit on, a line of trees to look at.
Vladislav Delay, 'Utility and Liability', knowing how to forget, bike shop, yak momo, jogi-takari, Epicureanism, Chance the Rapper, open windows.
Coffee that stains the mug black.
What is Nietzsche's vivo for?
I saw the woman with the big big dog again!