ABSTRACT
One evening as the moon is waning radon, I spy the telematic form of a blonde on blonde goddess at the cinema. Maybe I’m s/he. Her filmic body ablaze to my projective pleasure, her bare legs sex lips ass open to the always only partial visible “ends of Man.” For the price of a ticket I get to participate in a dreamy bending of industrial taboos escaping HIStory. I feel at once anxious and numb. This is fascinating. I watch myself watching myself watching my fantasies while watching my fantasies watching myself. This is I. Just look at the statistics.
