I saw a Pathan Jimmy Durante today in my walk through the Mutaredh Oasis. Jimmy Durante had popped into my mind a few days ago when I wrote those attempts above at Surrealist writing, just the exercise of automatic writing to get me warmed up, a gesture I sometimes make to get back into the habit of writing. There he was his hulk approaching me as I neared the mosque on the edge of the oasis. His eyes looked like black buttons and his face the color of a polished yellow sand like leather shoes almost caramel but not quite. I had just drifted past a group of Arab boys playing football in the street outside a typical walled accomodation. I say drifted past because I was like a wraith as not one of them even glanced at me, that exercise Burroughs talks about, of remaining invisible by looking, thus deflecting gazes at you. However, more than likely foreigners especially whites are gazed at intently, from a kind of passive well of water from which not even a bucket of water can be fetched, a gaze some whites find unnerving. It goes to prove that we are all in a mental state in which it is subjectively certain that these states are objective. I can say that they did not objectively see me because they were in an induced state of sleep out of the mere habit of playing football in the street, language being the soprific and subjectivity inducing factor. If I had had some sort of rehearsed tape playing in my head such as oh stop that you nasty boy why did you deliberately kick that ball against that car I might have intruded my thoughts and thus my presence on them, that is subjected it/me on them. By merely saying this it was a thought though wasn't it? But the magnetism did not emit, mine. However, earlier, before I entered the oasis I had approached another group of boys playing football in the street and my tape began in my head those boys are antagonizing a cat but when I saw what they were actually doing well I discovered it was retrieving a ball from under a car. The boy may just as well as been a cat because the small boy under the car was like a cat hiding under a car, so my supposition in my tape was not half wrong. Usually the Pakistani workers in the oasis, the caretakers, are suspicious when we pass each other on the cobbled tracks through the oasis but one talking on a mobile raised his hand in a wave as if he were greeting me from a great distance or relaying or exuding the same happiness he was displaying futiley to the one on the other end, end of the line? how stultifying language is in describing reality, at the end of what? I exited the oasis at an egress that I had never exited from before. I believe there are five ways to get in and out of this oasis