Thursday, 31
I'd rather start today and at this very moment I am aware that it won't be easy - every day. Of course I have a certain interest...
- to reflect about the wishes we have to make our life existent
Wednesday, 30
One month passed like nothing and the year is also finished. So let me kill two birds with one stone. To get over my writing laziness, I make a vow that could be something like this: next year I will make this blog a real diary with a daily entry, whatever that may be, but it has to be something and if it is only a sign of presence. If I don't have internet access, I take notes on my iphone and submit the entries when the connection is restored. With this in mind, I wish everyone a Happy New Year - 2021 (I tell you, when I see or read this number, I can't shake the feeling of being in a science fiction film.)
Tuesday, 1
November I didn't write. One or the other approach popped up in my head here and there, but never seemed to have the importance of pursuing it. Or it was a thought that turned out what seemed obscene to me because of its triviality and I had to discard it. Now it's about not letting too much time pass.
It is still the worries that keep me from being creative. Do I move adequately within the generally accepted framework so that I do not fall out of society? And then the question of why the fear of not being socially accepted at all. I think it's the fear of difficulties made by others and the outside. And then again the desire to be with people who understand me. Yesterday, I saw a man not far from my gallery, who was pissing more or less in front of our entrance. I passed our shop row and saw a liquid flowing in an arc at the end of the corner next to a hairdresser's shop. I was surprised and at first didn't know where to place the source, because the man was hidden behind a pillar. But very quickly I realised it might be someone pissing. One of our neighbours from Western Union came from the other side, where he had bought breakfast. On his way coming back, he had the pissing man, who now crouched down in front of the hairdresser's, in full view. He was very upset and let down a speech in a language that I did not understand. I think he was trying to explain to that guy that he shouldn't do like he did, especially not in front of shops. The clochard - that's how he would be called in Paris - was very reluctant to clear off, his pants still below his buttocks, which is fashionable among the youth though. Yes, that is my fear that I will no longer be able to move socially. A few days ago I watched one of my favourite films from my youth on the Internet. The lace maker. Back then my friends said that Isabelle Huppert was looking like me. And, actually, at times I felt like I was seeing myself. Pomme, the leading actress, a very introverted young woman, mostly follows the others, always trying to avoid arguments. At times I also showed this behaviour, being there for others and help them. Being needed, so to say, especially later at my time at art school, where I received little support even though I worked hard. I often took refuge in drinking because I couldn't find support anywhere else. Of course it made me unhappy, just as Pomme absolutely fails because of her inability to communicate properly. Her boyfriend, from a wealthy family, and a student of literature and as matter of fact eloquent, tries to persuade her to do something for her education. He is unable to take her as she is. He can't understand how to be satisfied with a hairdressing apprenticeship. And for this reason he leaves her. He feels disturbed by her because she doesn't confront him and challenge him intellectually. Pomme, for her part, is unable to overcome his decision to split up and withdraws completely into herself until she ends up in psychiatric custody, where she indulges in her own world and in lace making. The demands of society, whatever they might be, often hinder me from writing. Then, I already hear the criticism in my ears and prefer to let it be.
---------------------------------
sometimes questions come to my mind, questions i would like to ask certain people. though, the moment they appear in my consciousness and i go through them thoroughly, i discard them, as the asked persons wouldn't answer me honestly, but rather evade in order maintaining their superior position.