I am fabulously fine in my world of absolute and beautiful solitude. I detest the sexocracy implanted by the fucked-up television culture and its new and detestable accomplices called semiologists, semioticists, communicators, and other propagandists of this insipid reactionary scum, which it has so recently become fashionable to defend. In more glorious times, in periods radiant with intelligence, the whole world knew that television was as hollow as the infamous skeleton of capitalism, and a man and a woman with brains would spend long hours making love together beside a pile of libertarian poems and a bottle of Genever. Since that day I have loved her a little less. It was pitiful to see a goddess in a studio filled with recorded laughter together with a jackass in a wig at the end of the sixties asking the same fatuous questions that the same jackasses clutter the TV airwaves with twenty years later.
Nothing remains of that flake today.
The fact is that it's been five years since I got laid, and everybody seems to be worried about it except me. My children, who don't live with me. My friends, cordially married. I'm going to tell you what my place is in the chain of production and what was the motive for my earnings in the past. In other times I was a professional wanker, but let's take it in steps.