SHIFT

When he says, “I just don’t like him,” I am shut up sharply — no particular he — a closed deal, no context, but a seemingly frivolous postured stylistic intent, in a most minor pitch, a determined nonchalance, specifics precluded with its intact deliberateness countering any response — this brevity held in a designated exteriority that cuts expositional allowance. Even “fuck me now” provides the this and that. His sentence designates a condition remembering nothing. It is exciting how this fence gags a shift to “just” familiarity and leaves a control that stays. There are better fuckers than he and certainly others who do not provide a reason for me to favor, but his “I just don’t like him” is prescribed in functioned particulars, disjointed takes with nothing elusive, but that is not enough as my discursivity attributes nothing to nothing sustained to fuck or like or form.