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...and when I disappear abruptly, this is because i am no longer alone. and nothing kills a muse more than company. women seem like such boring muses in retrospect. now that this is the second night i have wifi, i can write more frequently. all i need is to sit in front of the screen and i can begin expressing...anything with a kind of certainty that's always lacking in my perpetual indifference/blankness. I think blankness is better.

it's strange how you're meant to go through an identity crisis when you're 13 and then get over it pretty swiftly -- once you're out of your teens at any rate. but at the moment, i have no idea what i am. what sounds more accurate than who. who is almost too coherent. i am glut of all kinds of things - tendons and blood, fantasies and chemicals. i think the idea of fantasy troubles me in particular. i have to live with the fact that any sense of 'self' is actually just a fantasy and i don't mean in a 'incoherently, disjointedly traveling through time' way. I mean in a what I think I am is actually a fantasy and that's never going to translate into actions. writing, at times, is the closest way i can come to articulating that self. maybe journalling gives you too much of a sense of self -- or maybe the opposite.

why do we have to go through these thoughts?

i hate deflated moments -- so many moments are deflated -- flat stale breads. tongue-cutting. but my tongue is cut 90% of the time - or at least tangled or lying fat in my throat.

these are the moments when i'm sitting in front of a screen with dumb eyes, walking home, walking when i have nowhere to go or dithering in uncertainty, when cleaning up and in the throes of dull domesticity, feeling... uninterrupted.

here is it very noisy. the sirens warble. and people get into arguments all the time for some reason. maybe there is something aggressive inducing about the lamp post opposite. people seem to hate one another. i find it baffling but understandable. there is a lot of frustration here. but it is so beautiful -- the architecture, the light, the views, the cafes, the liveliness, the relaxed touristy ambience, even the people. but there is also the hidden frustration -- the homeless talking to themselves, shouting at strangers, screaming their frustration at the world during the early hours of the morning etc. etc. 

i want to get rid of the following words 'love' and 'hate', 'happy' and 'unhappy'. i find my mental tongue sucks on these words so often, too often, and it's dangerous. the lens of 'happy'/'unhappy' is too simple. what if we had neither? what other possibilities are there?