Thursday, October 31
Transcribe again a poem of Dambudzo Marechera from his collection as a meditation. I appreciate the whole poem and every line of it. Just to make clear there is no plagiarism to find.
Throne of Bayonets, page 46ff, Cemetary of Mind, First Africa World Press, Asmara, Eritrea, 1999

Wednesday, October 30
Actually there is nothing to complain about. Sunshine and a crispy air. Even I feel sad inside. But tears will not come out. Life is going on in its relentless way without paying attention to me trying to slow down - I look like an owl...

Tuesday, October 29
As a matter of fact cannot sleep. Too much worrying, oscillating between dream and reality. Finishing body and brain. Anyhow, hope for a productive day.
The day will be fine... contemplating

Monday, October 28
Three bottles Quöllfrisch (1.5l), Greek white wine Samos, 2 glasses (0.2l),
9 cigarettes, 1 jo. When I am drunk I do things I don't comprehend as reasonable. Different perception, childish. Stubborn. Destructing what I set up before. Yes, drinking is destructive. Us, Western educated fastidious offspring, don't know better. Eventually, we drown in selfpitty

i've almost finished -mad about the boy- and got a lesson about nowadays' kinda communication. What about that one: I'm all pleased with myself because I won the 'see who can keep the texting silence going longest' competition. (page 328) For me that is not a solution to deal with communication problems. I find it ridiculous.

Sunday, October 27
Don't know, but think finally I'll give up that lavish body sensation. No more kisses, caressing, loving. Free myself from desire. Forever. Leading a nun's life.

Dinner with friends. Wine and a lot of talking. Also about genes. What kind of information do scientists get out of our genes? Actually there was no geneticist among us, so we could only contemplate our own ideas. The main issue was about the character of an individual - how it is build, what is heritable.
............................
I want you to like my body, and I want to feel your body.

Saturday, October 26
For sure, this diary is me. Bridget Jones is fiction. Finally it doesn't make that big difference. Because for everybody than me my diary is sort of fiction too.

A friend asked me: What does it mean to be in love?
Actually, I didn't reply. But that moment - it was like I paused for a second - and after two days he made me think about, I come to the conclusion that an absolute definition cannot be the answer. An individually shaped description of something that mutates continuously is to enter into a collective formation, which oftenly is termed as cloud nine.

Friday, October 25
I wish I was somewhere, where my being there made sense.
(I'll come with you later)

Yeah, the solitude that the internet implies for the individual behind the screen - I guess - is a result that was not planned. But humanity looks for a progress to improve life conditions on behalf of technical inventions. People are becoming more like machines. Heart pacemakers need to change batteries every five years; to give an example that is typically machine like, I mean not organic.

Thursday, October 24
My flight to nowhere is going today. Hey Mister, welcome in that virtual world, which seems to be so real. Though, the physical touch of the other that is not you cannot be an issue. For, at the moment it is out of question.

Wednesday, October 23
Me, myself, I still do small artwork - to beat the odds. I am on a drawing of the jungle. It needs me long time to get through it.
My stomach is becoming better slowly.

Tuesday, October 22
My stomach is still bad. Have watched a French documentary about Queens in New York. Must be a nice place. I was there long time ago, but it has developed a lot. If I had a chance, I would like to travel there.

You love so nice, so tell me why I'm sad...
If love's so nice, so tell me why you hurt so bad.
... I'm leaving the ship too ...

Our creative process depends on what we do every moment.

Monday, October 21
Me still alive - sadly, not a heroine.
I woke up this morning and realised that my life will never be the same - how the body to all... Hey, my stomach (or is it my whole body) is paining like shit, burned down to ashes. Network sucks. I know I am just woman, i cry. Sorry, I am part of your world too... doors are closing like a coffin lid.

Sunday, October 20
I miss the understanding of what it means to be normal. I don't think that I am crazy, but there is no relevance for an insight into deeper realms. Spirits aren't with me at the moment... Question: Have they ever been with me? Don't think so, because as soon as they enter I run away to get back the logics I am used to and hide behind standards.

Saturday, October 19
Jimi Hendrix: Starting from Zero
- The one thing that's very important is people to talk with. But since I first came to Europe I've met one in a hundred people who let me talk about what I want to. Everybody asks me how old I am, if it's true I have Indian blood, how many women I've had, if I'm married, if I have a Rolls-Royce, or more of those jokes. The people who dig me don't want this at all. They want something different. They want to feel something inside, something real - revolution, struggle, rebellion. They know where you're at without asking questions.

Some diaries I trashed
some I keep somewhere buried in the attic.
I tossed away some
to go fast forward.
Pastures new had to be examined.

Temporary Sanity

Friday, October 18
2 cans of beer, a lot of smoking.
A lot of thinking.
Knifes appear dangerous.
My Yoga Teacher gave me a picture.
Just in mind. Taking photos is not possible during her lessons.
She held a skeleton of the hip bones sektion in front of her stomach
to explain how we should deploy the inner sides of the ischium.
She smiled and looked beautiful.

Talking Blues doesn't help actually. When I've talked to my working collegue in a way of indeterminacy this morning, she immediately put me aside. Uttering my feelings oftenly comes out to be totally misplaced. Criticism to myself.
-----------------------

I am afraid to be loved. I am afraid that it stops.

....when we are chatting, it's like kissing...
summertime in a kingston - that is a holiday, good party

Thursday, October 17
I am going to buy a sketchbook, notebook or whatever - a journal. Let's see if that helps to pour down what should come out.

The Guiness did it's work: Last night I got a nightmare. It started slow. First, two men entered my flat, just feeling home, like it was theirs. But suddenly many, many people were crowding my residence. They asked if they could have this or that, clothes, food. Some used the shower, some were pissing just on the kitchen floor. Blood on the walls and on the mirror in the sleeping room.
Then I had a hysterical attack screaming everybody out of the house.

Wednesday, October 16
3 bottles Guiness

At my working place (msueum's clerk) I just feel minor and petty. At the same time I know we shouldn't even complain (I hear the chorus of my family's voices) - because of that job I make my living. I can eat, drink, we not homeless, at least. No, there is no need to be ungrateful.

Talking Blues will not stop next days.

It's just sometimes I am surprised when it stops. Suddenly I realise life is nonetheless going on and for this moment my heart stops weeping - bleeding. Just a few seconds, but nevermind. I'll try to give these moments a big hug. Yeah, life is not all always happiness and so on. Everybody has her/his downs to come out of and find back to encounter the joy moments of life.

Tuesday, October 15
2 cans Quöllfrisch, smoking

The past doesn't matter, when you feel good now.

Monday, October 14
Hang over. Too much drinking and smoking. That doesen't change conditions and is not helping to make life better. On the contrary. Life is getting worse with it. Just for a few hours being high and after falling on the ground wounded and bitter.
Am not happy with my life, that is the point. Deeply disappointed I am about to throw my life, because nobody cares. But even when there is love, but no success, I should respect my life. I just hope next time when I am about to drown my sorrows in alcohol to be overwhelmed by this wonderful decent feeling of being beloved I won't forget network's irreliability. I am even sorry for this diary to be used for such kind of problems, but I will record my drinking habits more detailled if I cannot stop. To start for today it was 2 bottles Ueli Bier, 2 cans Quöllfrisch, 2 bottles stout Guinness.

Sunday, October 13
I had a talk with my mother about family things. She said my sister was like her and me like my father. Not easy. But I am still woman.

Saturday, October 12
I am repeating your name endlessly. That's no good. It makes me crazy, moving in a circle. Up and down, but no progress. I have to stop and get me to think about something different.

Friday, October 11
Yeah, that is a thought a long way from reality. Realisation, a question of my not giving up and lingering in despair. Just continuing in hope for suggestions, here and then.

Thursday, October 10
Every single day I think about to leave for a warm place to start a new life.

Wednesday, October 9
No, me am out of competition, I said it before.
I consider the light to prevent me from death.
Still there is you who I long for.

A refusal again. It's like they want to say:
we already know you work about Africa.
Why not change topic. Maybe then,
we will accept you.
haha

You, her, him, she, he, me, your, her, his...
Living with his shoes. I don't know. Ambiguous feelings.
But more about crying.
My motherly side is weakening.
Her father told her to send the first child
for the others to survive better.

Seven thirty in the morning, still dark. And that is only the beginning of a cold season to come. Everybody should enjoy who is going to be at the most benign part of the world.

Tuesday, October 8
Seun Kuti, wow, what an artist, such great music. I tried to make pictures, but my camera is too small for this. I adore him, I love him. His musicians, Egypt 80, terrific.

Monday, October 7
I had an erotic dream last night...
When I used to going to therapy in the 90s, my shrink told me that people appearing in dreams were exchangeable and rather myself. I don't intent to analyse it here, not even tell it. It's just to get in tune.
Last Tango in Paris. Amour fou. An obsessive passion.
Hundreds of love songs on Youtube. Multiple choice.
Adrenaline, cortisol, dopamine, norepinephrine, oxytocin, serotonine, vasopressin.

Darkness a Bird of Prey

Sunday, Ocober 6
It was to strengthen the power of resistence. It shouldn't happen.
Now I feel pain in my stomach.
I've encounered a blog of a German artist Wolfgang Herrndorf, who suffered from brain tumor and finally shot himself. By now I made it to chapter six. It's difficult for me to read it.

In the morning: Lost and lonely.

Saturday, October 5
What a surprise in the morning. An artist friend asks me to go with her to an opening in the evening. On show a German artist; skulptures and drawings. He is too big to get jealous. What do I miss to do the art I want? Recognition and acknowledgement on first hand. The other hand follows with self-doubts. The big Why that blights all attempt in its roots. Nobody interested, no reason to do. When I was young they called me a nihilist. That time Satre was my favourite. I haven't absorbed existentialism consciously, but it is there.

Friday, October 4
I was supposed to be humble. As soon as I erected my self, people were disgusted, told me my tongue was too sharp. They considered me defiant or rebellious, cheap. They didn't like that I had all the answers, and they called me Medusa, Xantippe, snake, spider, butch, hoochie. Actually, I shouldn't be here on earth.

No, no more day dreaming. It is cheating over the indisposition I am in. It hampers further changes by simulating a content life. I wanna escape a life full of irrelevances that determine my daily life.

I feel cold, frustrated, empty.
Depressive. Short. Incomplete.
Puny. Red. Vague.

Thursday, October 3
Americanah, page 69
Yes, how would you translate your name? Did Obinze tell you I do some interpretation? From the French. I am a lecturer in literature, not English literature, mind you, but literature in English, and my translating is something I do as hobby. Now translating your name from Igbo to English might be Made-in-Good-Times or Beautifully Made or what do you think?
Ifemelu could not think. There was something about the woman that made her want to say intelligent things, but her mind was blank.

Wednesday, October 2
Another day, different feeling. The state of mind stays the same. The mind controls the feeling. If we followed our feelings, life would be different. Not emotions tell us what to do, but our mind. Anyway, even Immanuel Kant overcame the pure reason long ago. Mind and soul should agree on viewing the nature of things. When something goes wrong our soul is the first who tells us about a wrongly taken path.

Wednesday, October 1
Yes, i will change that. No more serving, just now and then, when it's not only a duty, but joy as well. A song I loved in my teens - Blinded by the Light (Manfred Mann's Earth Band) - comes to my mind. Gosh, it's really long time ago that I've heard that song. And... its magic vanished. To add some more: Boston - More than a Feeling, U2 - With or Without You, The Police - Every Breath You Take,
Fortunately a lot things have been happening since then and times are different now.