Friday, May 21, 2010

Journal 21.05.10

It is almost June, hatred for father can only grow at the pace desired by despair; as days go by I feel a lot less contemptuous about myself and overridden by a feeling that wafts from pity toward hate and then the other way around – the language of indifference can be beautiful sometimes, when we show no deference toward it. I feel tiny pangs of madness… The deep-seated unwillingness to live this life or any kind of life that holds onto this one as a precedent; then there´s also my bad sight, the headaches and from yesterday onwards a permanent disinterest in food coupled with sleeplessness… My sense of tiredness is excruciating and it levies on me at every moment of the day; I wish I were somewhere between asleep and dead but still fully aware of it. It has become a burdensome task to open my eyes in the morning, because at some point I am no longer asleep but then I am also unable to move my limbs or to open my eyelids in order to stare for the nth time to the rustic plaster in the walls and the ageing shutter hanging from above. I don´t really want to die, there´s so much I still want to do, but thinking about it, imagining that I could be as well be dead very soon is such an interesting prospect because it releases me from the obligation to have to move through this house. I wish to go on sleeping and sleeping…

The end of the month is near… “What a thrill, what a shock, to be alive on a morning in June, prosperous, almost scandalously privileged, with as simple errand to run” (The Hours).

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