too many too many
and too much. Not four days ago I was saying 'so muc'h and 'so' many things. Life just like stars and superlatives. I don't know what I am doing here. All I know is that I crave my writing. I need my computer, I need my words. Those I was writing for myself only because I had ceased to hope that any one would come and take me away from myself. I have always felt I was living in Hell.
I need my words, I need to write, I need the music of my tongues and the twisted harmony of my lines.
I have always spelt Life ambivalently. With a little L or a Capital one. I have always felt atuned to the title of this book: 'Mes nuits sont sont plus belles que vos jours'. Yeah they are, more definitely. But waking up is a fucking bitch.
My days are blistering. Scalding. Arid. Noisy. Meaningless. Useless. and in the end so very bitter.
I wish I knew nothing. I wish I was not.
I feel like crying. Crying rivers of blood.
I have always felt like disappearing.
I don't know if any body is listening.
I don't care what they think they understand.
I don't understand a thing myself.
I want to lie down somewhere quiet and go to sleep. I want to go back to last week when a fantastic beast bowed its head before me, lay down at my feet so that I could touch and caress it. I want to make this moment eternal.
I am still Sand. I want my beach and my tower back. I want my Loch Ness Monster sleeping beside me on the ground. I want this hell I am living in to vanish, burn, blow up, explode, I want to shout, and scream my throat raw. Because I know nothing,
Tonight my house is a wreck, my life is in shambles, I want to go away.
I am scared of my peers. I am scared to discover that I am only just what they see when they look at me.
I have always been so scared of living.
Bleue is for blow, and blues, and go and lose.
Blue is for Blood.
I am drained.
Happy day in the wasteland.
To whoever is reading. This is not a good day. I have no gospel to say. Where were you all when I was in the dark, and people abused me?
Bleue Fleur de Baffe.
I am a rose of clear blue sand. I am supposed to be a woman.
I am nothing. A lonely mountain, eaten away.