The man who posed as a prophet.
“He may be one.”
“Not without doubt.”
“That’s just typical of you.
Maybe he got the nod from God.”
He found faith in the name of. Backward-looking. The rest of life self-supporting. Locked into position. No more wrestling. Retired to camp contentment. Who needs to find himself? 
“You’ve got over them before. Naturally, you feel gloomy at the moment. But look what you did last night. Treated yourself to a good meal with wine. You felt better afterwards, didn’t you?”
“But I’m still at a loss. I can’t help it. I miss her terribly. Do you think if I begged her? Promised commitment? It’s the thought of not sharing myself with her anymore. It really depresses me.” 
Badiou & Habermass?
Is that a department store?
I’ve frequently been dubbed.
The brain turns to silt.
Will somebody please stimulate me?
We sink into conformity.
Feels like the future.
It’s just a matter of time.
How would you interpret it, Doctor Freud?
A watched watering can never fills.