Diary

  • Friday

    Sometimes I’m dumbed down by emotions, by a continuous spontaneity that resumes the consciousness of many consciences. I’m not sure if I’m explaining myself well, but I just mean to say, when will the last drop of abstraction overflow the cup.

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  • Wednesday

    Having to compare and contrast the past with a present that continuously regresses. When can I escape? These buddhist… one forgets. I have had a long day. I can’t remember how long. It was long. It was insidiously long. I want to think nothing of it. To think of nothing. Nothing that has to do…

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  • Tuesday

    Women of noon, voluptuous sun, the nothingness of emptiness, emptied of the weight of the hair… sinks.

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  • Monday

    It’s been almost a year since I met K, or so I think. I don’t doubt that I was happy then, and that I still am. I believe in many things: in drunkenness, in the kinds of dreams that daylight doesn’t reveal. An illusion is not the same as a dream. An illusion lingers, it…

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  • Sunday

    Today is a new day. I think it’s going to be weird. I have to take it easy. Someone tells me that it is just a day and that there’s nothing new about it. But something is new. I know that something is new. I don’t know what it is, but I know something is…

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  • Tuesday

    pause of a pneumonic sound–a cough.

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  • Sunday

    To speak from within and out of something. A part. A word or idea that assumes more and more words and images. An image which becomes more and more profound. And a profundity which becomes more and more deep. For example, forget. Or its opposite, remember. Or dream or sleep or night or white or…

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  • Monday

    I am not you, nor the illusion of you. I am nothing, something, the things of no which sums a thing.

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  • Saturday

    Drive My Car. Mother’s bar. Uncle Vanya. The most obscure in the most common. The most ordinary in the comical. Uncle Vanya… Dreyfus. Is the night tender? Volo. Secret bar in the corner. You wouldn’t think of it. Rags of red air in the afternoon

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  • Friday

    11:00. Scarbourough. Park. Snow. Wet shoes. Dry. Walk. Sushi… Omakase. Bar. Warm second floor, dimly illuminated with birdcages without birds. Window looks out the street… Do you remember that no why dont you Why Yes, why Something new. To be Yes i don’t think you should To be something new Why Because One gets old…

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