Monday, February 01, 2010

Fluoxetine Journal 01.02.10

Great ways to start out the month: Martino threatens to kill me. If I would try to say this in a less serious way, less literal, less vague, people would think I´m trying to be funny. But no, I am shooting at point range. Especially because it is the first time someone has threatened to kill me. I´ve received threats for many years: First from parents threatening to withdraw financial support and all that jazz, also threats from teachers (in particular I remember Maribel, that scary Spanish governess) that everyone´s received once in a while. Then in Ramat Gan, threats from my landlord´s son-in-law because I was late with the rent and threats from another landlady´s attorney, that rich bitch (the attorney, not the land lady who was an elderly Holocaust survivor that could barely remember her name); threats from the cops who arrested me once in Tel Aviv in compliance with Atalia´s complaint –and this was no superstar arrest, threats from Ralf Balke –this couldn´t be too serious because he was in love with me and then I turned my friendship into despise but his threat resulted very harmful for the subsequent years and I kind of deeply regret this. I was also threatened once by a bank manager, then by some ghost landlord in Bogotá that I never saw or heard (I usually don´t take e-mail threats from unknown people too seriously); and now threats from a former flat mate. If I happen not to end up dead because of this not funny threat, I am curious to find out how this will eventually end. Actually I am not. I need another pill and coffee too; this is going to be a long night. My own chapter of “Law & Order”: Tomorrow ringing up Dario to get some legal counseling, get my pay check and sort out my debts before they take me out in a bag, it´s better to be timely even under distress, and I´m not too well known for timeliness, then talk to Aura and try to get as well counseling from his father (a former cop). New order of priorities: First, second, third, fourth and fifth priority: Immigration. Then all the rest.

I´m hooked on soap operas, probably the only thing I´ll miss from this city (another angry lie). First soap operas that are like soap operas, then medical funny dramatic thrillers followed by more fictional stories of cops, lawyers, mentalists and the like. My exercises with soap operas are as follows: In the first place I try to empathize with the feelings portrayed in order to avoid my own scarcity thereof at present and then when I´m disappointed about the failed task, I succeed in guessing the next lines in the conversations, only a way to prove the mediocrity of either the script writers or of life. Someone must be guilty here.

At last I gain a sense of personal achievement which I so badly needed to pick myself up from my knees. I am happier about the article´s section on freedom than of the section on truth which I might have to reduce a little. My style of writing is different from others: I often need so much time of experience, reflection and why not say it, of idleness, in order to be able to produce something, but most likely I produce the whole thing over a couple of days, love it so badly for the next following days, then loath it and hardly ever look back at it. I´m so happy to listen to Radiohead again, music and solitude is so much missing in my life now, although I think solitude isn´t too good now because I couldn´t distinguish it from loneliness and my mind could play an awful trick. I don´t have too many ideas now, but at least I know I can think of something. I can´t imagine how can I speak so cool about writing in the face of a death threat, but then maybe it is because I need to analyze the seriousness of the threat; what shocks me and causes me despair is the mere idea that it is a threat if nothing else. I think I need to learn English again (or instead, to read literature) because my vocabulary is like that of a 10 years old. It didn´t use to be like that and I can´t blame it all on not writing about philosophy. I should weep now if I would read my journals from 4 or 5 years a go, that is why I won´t do it now. Only three hours until I have to get up but I have some sense of personal achievement, all mixed with my crazy depression, my irrational fear and tiredness.

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