The Prismatic Self: Male Arrogance

Okay then, I’ll admit it. Yes, I’m lazy. Not quite the hardest worker ever known. My talent is a Motorola phone: to drink the colour of a mountain daisy or taste a mirror (doesn’t that sound crazy?) I need to keep it charged: I have to hone those Pasolini “pentals” of my own (“that’s mental petals”, says the Bolognese). I enter things without the least compunction: no sooner enter, than believe I’ve won: no sooner win (excruciating pun) Narcissus-like, than find the photo-function to say that, on reflection, it was fun: like playing chicken at a railroad junction.