In Brussels - Eté 2006

Coming back to Brussels hasn't been easy. In some respect, I was safe in Italy. Miserable, but safe. Except for the last days when I wasn't miserable anymore. I was just safe. I could think, I could write. The censors were sleeping. The world was asleep.
In Brussels, I was given a slap in the face. "Hey sleepy head, time to wake up" the voice said. There was a war in Lebanon. There was cancer on the photographs. And the girl had a big smile and no hair. I felt vain. I felt loathsome.
I figured I had come closer to my self, while drifting away from the world. It was a safe place to be, I'm not sure it was what I should have done.

I haven't been writing much here. In Italy, I remember, I was complaining about my inability to get a grip on the underthoughts. Here, I can't even manage to get a grip on the thoughts themselves. Maybe I feel guilty for my thinking. Maybe I feel vain. I know it's the best way to sink into depression again, so I'd better take my pen and write any thought that comes through my head. And set the butterfly free in the open air, on the blank page.