Belief is still at Copy Quick.
I'll try, to keep the daries short from now on. Not only, because diaries are crap (as Bridget Jones said so beautifully). I already have about 70% erased/thrown away my diares written throughout my life. And it seems more economical to me, when I keep a job short, if I destroy them sooner or later anyway. I can see it in my remaining pages of about three hundred diaries: I shy away from work, to filter out a few good passages, because I – so that this is possible – have to read through all that crap again. I have the same problem with this channel; he has plenty of crap and little that is acceptable. From a literary point of view there is no doubt: everything, up to the “Belief” could be deleted …
… but I'm typically not sure, whether the literary point of view is still my point of view. If he ever was.
My writing came about through the circumstances of my life. And especially from middle age, this no longer happened voluntarily. But those were the years, where my metabolism crashed and went into hibernate and I had no choice, where exactly I WANT TO BE PRESENT. You are only ever physically present, there is no presence and visualization of the inorganic, the body must produce the content, and that is a physical process.
I would have liked to have become a druggist. This occurred to me in middle age. Between thirty-five and thirty-eight.
From the age of thirty-nine, I hardly ever sat down at a table to work or eat, because the blood flow no longer allowed it.
Today my blood flow is very bad and small. I can feel it in the numbness in my abdomen and the pressure in my head. Surely a result of about 700 Meter, which I spent yesterday with my parents at the Wohlensee, always sitting, long pausing, something walking.
My mother couldn't help it, accept, that i have a belly, but no longer have a waist, a fact, which seems to me to be made for a diary, in which only crap is written.
In my work I can already see her LINK TO THE ORGANIC. a kind of residual waste though: I also see in this link the rejection and dislike of a literary establishment. I haven't had much to do with him in years (because I had to work, understood, improve myself!), think but, that this establishment HAS SWITCHED to SYNTHETIC somehow. I mean, I don't want to screw up shit, but the times, since Günter Anders lamented the mechanization of humans is almost a hundred years ago, today's benchmark is a brain of MUSK or ASSANGE. so people, not particularly concerned with the ORGANIC, this old hat, have on guard.
I do not know either, like it now, BY BELIEF, goes further for me. Both the day and the night have very many hours, that need to be filled, if not with sleep, I through new experiments like Dormikum, Entimum, Melatonin and all the gucks I'm trying to bridge …. but …. and just as an example:
I'm in my fifth hour right now, nicely dressed, done there. But it doesn't go any further.
One life, in which there is enough strength for the most necessary tasks and you can dress and apply make-up so beautifully with your own hands, and, even lie in the sun a bit …
… is none, that fulfills the provisions/ideas, that are in the successful exit request!!
I get it! understand, that 24 Laying there for hours with whatever damn symptoms a dignified life must be, and in the eyes of those, who squint from time to time, because her professorship requires it.
Shorter diaries, I said. shorter …..!!!!
— Oki. i love the sun!! I can't say more about today. When the Sunday excursionist wanted to get his dog back into the car, he refused, to get in. At the front of the disabled parking space. “come over, hop in! hop in! cried the Sunday excursionist. And when the dog finally jumped, was the coffee in my pot, outside on the patio table next to my deck chair (where my really deep brown, Marron-brown dress lay … together with me), already cold.
Gerne würde ich wieder an den Wohlensee mit meinem dicken Bauch und ohne Taille. Gebe dem Blutfluss ca drei Tage Zeit zu einer lächerlich winzigen, partiellen Regeneration. DON’T GO BEYOND YOUR BORDER, MJS. DON’T DO IT.
(26.3.22)