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he didnt think he was so affected  affected beyond seeing the staple the paleblue chalk-coloured cubes of three four apartment was  ruined  boarded up with plywood sheets where windows and doors were  he didnt think that he would be contending with feelings for the structure  not their tenants  for the building itself   

                                                                      and these    feelings  he had to admit they were feelings   feelings  for an inanimate clutch of square domiciles which coincided with passages he read by two writers that very same afternoonreading as he did one book after another and another  an anotheran another as some people might channel-surf cable without getting up off their ass  except he had to get up to get a book from a shelf or laying on a table top a bedstand the back of the commode books scattered throughout the housethat he knew where each particular book was was something of a feat  then wanting something other he fetched like a dog books from bookshelves in the hall or lining other rooms  and while he was well-stocked with books that wasnt to say he had nearly enough to satisfy him   junkies never are  thats why they overdose
                                                                 he read in Moores Sacre Bleu “How do we even know that we exist, that we are alive?” “A question that often plagues me; if you’d like to accompany me to rue des Moulins, I know some girls there who, if they cannot convince you that you are alive, will at least help soothe your anxiety about being deceased.”  Le Professeur talking with Toulouse-Lautrec  and from Andrew’s Brain Doctorow “So life is taxonomically without limits but with one intention common to its endless variety . . . one intention to define it in all its minded or mindless manifestations -- its pathetic intention to survive.”

these parcels  one tragicomedic  the other almost scientific  made him laugh out loud

both followed late and in the shadows and footsteps of Hendrix(Dylan) "There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke . . ."

Life is pretty damn funny

Xistence
             exist   alive   dead   a pathetic intention to survive

they summed up the gamut he thought  like razors furrowing ones flesh  it split it bled it provided the visual the technicolor confirmation of ones presence their xistence  even if cutting only to prove it to themselves
                                                                               yet his affectation
for the pale blue cubed being aligned with its pathetic attempt and intention to survive 

when he looked closely he saw it wasnt static at all
                                          its sides heaved subtly with breath  the wrap of aluminum tubing holding inside it electrical wires for the outdoor lighting fixture above the doors expanded and contracted like blood vessels connexed to a distant beating heart  sometimes the windows blinked the doors yawned  it was scaled with aluminum awnings missing slats and were green with lichen applied like eyeshadow  and to complete its dressing  atop it lay a woven blue poly tarpaulin that undulated like a sea surf  billowed  that seemed a great blue oxygenated lung not yet aware it had been hewed detached and put aside  it also pathetically intending to survive 

and like the yammering of those who are inclined to accept that our post-human existence reclines in the embodyment of ourselves inside AI  or Artificial Intelligence  when once it glimmers its existence it will also serve the imperative all beasts must  “(the) pathetic intention to survive”  if a machine can beat a man a Chess Master in a game of chess
why not just wantonly ultimately beat Man to death

this has been ongoing for a few days prior to 0829,  Saturday,  11  2. 17                                   1439 days or fewer remain

All Along the Watchtower  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLV4_xaYynY