Another old journal entry: Amiga is a dog

I should be sleeping. This knowledge keeps me awake. This, and the cold, and the full full moon. So here I am, lying in front of the heater, blessed warmth. It’s just you and me now, words. We don’t need love, warmth, cuddles. Heaters and words, they don’t lie awake, thinking about how much they need to be alone, but jumping at every creak and rustle, thinking that it may be a certain person coming to lie with them. Objects, concepts, sitting in smug silence. And then, on the other hand, there is Amiga. Flying through the house faster than her legs can carry her. Crashing into things, making noise, waking everyone in her desperate search for love and attention. I am more like Amga than I am like the heater, though I would like to be the other way. Really, everything is fine, well mostly. I guess if I was going to imagine what I’d like my girlfriend to be like, I’d start with someone who was happy to see me. I think X is, sometimes it’s quite hard to tell. Mystery.

Words escape through cracked lips like weedlings through chapped concrete.

Pen on paper. This is a kind of alchemy. My four-colour pen has just this colour left, my least favourite of all. No-one likes the red pen, it is the colour of tick and cross, and other such judgements. Normally red things entice, excite and invite me, but red pen hits my eyes, the red writing is the uninvited guest whom you were nonetheless expecting. The remarks of one who is telling you how to write, how to express, how to be.

I know a girl who makes me lose my cool. Where did it go? I had it a moment ago, and now she asks me to produce it and it’s gone. She turns me into myself, horror of horrors, and leaves me to deal with it, to babysit myself until the cool comes back. Coffee, alcohol, cigarettes, destruction. The thought of being healthy is repulsive to me just now, what the hell is going on? There, it happened again, just hearing her footsteps makes me lose my cool. Rattle, rail, shake those chains. I would like to sleep now, but I am so alive! I should like to write myself sleepy. Lots of loud noises and angry voices happen on the street outside, a thousand terrible scenarios play out in my mind. Slep now, young Ivan, worry less, fear less, let go, sleep. They will sort themselves out, they are apt to fight their own battles. Listen, now they are laughing.