Thursday, July 4


SUCH STASIS! NO movement, nothing, so that everything is stagnant, decomposing in the margins. Even now I return to writing about my coffeeshop… I was minding my own business, stamping my foot on the floor – in part because I felt compelled to, and also because it might irritate those around me – when the Irish girl took my order (taken aback by the extra drink but, yes, it’s for a gentleman in the office!) and my name. I stood there, waiting. When I am surrounded by people I like to stare at an object and focus on it, to protect my nerves, most certainly; otherwise I should be overwhelmed with anxiety. It was very busy, you see, and there were beautiful business ladies who, when I looked at them, made me feel very sad so that I clenched my hands into fists. What a fool I was! So then I wondered why I couldn’t just get along, like everybody else, and why all I could think of lately was my own peculiar, unjustifiable suicide. It seemed to me to be ridiculous. I was in the middle of my flighty daydream when I thought I heard my name being called. I approached the young lady behind the till who held out my two drinks –
‘Are you…?’ and she said my name.
‘I am, indeed!’ I answered, offended.
Hurrying off, I was filled with contempt. How dare she question my identity! For the rest of the day I didn’t make a sound.
At lunch I took a walk across London Bridge. All I could think of was Helen. As much as I try to forget about her, to hate her, I cannot. It is futile. Every scene I witness reminds me of her in some way or other. I think of her and want to throw myself into the Thames. As it flowed beneath me (and thoughts plagued) I wanted to leap over the balustrade but I knew that at least one bastard, hoping to make a good impression on his girlfriend, would jump in to save me. It was no use. I held myself in the highest contempt; loathed how I have been poisoned by lust; and, more than anything, wished that I was brave enough to do something about it. The sun didn’t shine. The sun doesn’t shine. It’s just grey, though above the clouds the sun shines strongest; an aeroplane taught me that once upon a time at thirty-thousand feet.
It becomes difficult for me to find beauty in anything these days. There was a time when I found beauty in a great many things. I saw it all around me, when I first started to write and so I would write about it, the blandness of my day occurred to me most romantically and I could not get it down fast enough. However, that has all ended. Even women, who once shone out to me in the frozen meat aisle or on the precipice of a tall building, have become dull and my biggest torment. My personal opinion is that when beauty ceases to present itself, you’re done for; you are every other person marching to work, every other person who goes to school, gets a job, finds someone stupid, gets married, breeds, dies. You’ve lost everything about you that was ever interesting. I don’t want that to happen to me, no, sir (or madam).
Tonight I found beauty! I was sitting in the garden, in darkness, just staring at nothing in particular, listening to one of my favourite lieder very loudly … when I heard a page of sheet music being turned! It churned my stomach it was so beautiful! Maybe to you it is nothing. Maybe. Though I hope it would stop you in your tracks like it did me.

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