Yes, of course, I am an Aristocrat--

This morning I experimented with being a saint.

It didn't work, I had to have coffee first which precluded the attempt.

Then I tried to map out a future, reaching out beyond myself to others, but it turned into a plot for a children's book, a category I'm unfit for, and no one would answer my email or my texts.

People think I'm a hack writer, if they think of me at all.

At the dinner table last night, I discussed Gilles Deleuze with a philosophy major.

The philosophy major was enthusiastic about Deleuze, though admitted he was difficult to read, writing in a way that 'kept readers on their toes.'

When he tried to explain Deleuze's philosophy to me he used his hands quite a bit, more than you'd expectfrom an explanation of a Continental philosopher by a philosophy major who admired his thinking to the point where he'd written a paper on Deleuze as his master's thesis.

The impression I received of Deleuze was an impression of speed, randomness, eccentricity, chaos.