Tuesday, October 19th 2006

Here comes the train. I could be lying under it. This could be the end. Instead of which, I'm walking over the bridge. It is the train that's under me.

I think of Julie Gianni, in the blue room with the music (and Dubois has just died). She was the saddest girl ever to hold a glass of... whatever it was she was drinking. I'm not drinking anything but I figure that out of the blue, in the blue lights and the oscillations of bodies, and the swaying of hair on the girl's back, I figure that I suddenly want to cry. I don't know why but it is so.

Melacholy fit. I think, as I'm walking in the streets, walking fast, after I ran away. I ran out of the room with the music, the blue lights and the girl with her hair swaying on her back. I ran away... because of – another - melancholy fit. I shoudln't allow this to happen. I shouldn't allow myself to be overwhelmed by it. I should struggle against it. I think of Lucy She would have acted cheerfully, she would have wiped it all away. I did not. I had – again – given in and acted melodramatically.

But they were far away and I felt I could not dance. And I was far away and I felt I could not be. For I was so fucking ignorant and unexperienced, so far away. I hate when people discuss sex and I have to laugh in a silly way, pretending that I understand what is being said. Or I have to look down to hide the fact that I don't understand a thing about it. Get thee to a nunnery, hmm. And I felt upset by what the guy had told me, the thing about me not looking anorexic (because we were talking about the fact that I didn't finish my brownie). And this offended me, I don't know why. I guess it is still une corde sensible. He then added something like "but you shouldn't take this badly" (maybe I had a stupid look on my face) and of course I shouldn't. But, I wonder, do I want to look anorexic, after all ? And am offended because I obviously don't ? Or is it something else... Does it mean I thought he said I was fat – but I knew he didn't mean that. I really have no idea. But the thing is – I thought about stopping eating altogether and I saw blood on my arm. So I was upset – adding that to the fact that I couldn't dance to forget, that I was fucking stiff and ignorant. So when "Lonely Murder" started to play, I just said I didn't feel well (which was the truth) and I was off.

I walked home, thinking of how stupid this really was, because Lucy would have stayed, she would have had fun that night and I couldn't even do that. And when I reached the flat, I saw my angel... She told me to work and wipe that silly stupid melancholy away (and I do not have any real problem, I create them myself), I thought I'd better not stop eating (assuming that I could manage to do so), and would not scratch my skin red or anything self-destructive, because this was totally pointless. So I went to the kitchen and put on some cheerful music, and I washed. Dubois is still dead, I still don't know why, and I do not give a damn, because I had a look on the stage and I saw the light – blue – and I felt my mood – even more blue, and then I was trying to wash the dirt off the plates instead of wining or scratching my skin, which was a good thing, some kind of spiritual progression, you might say. I'm growing older, I guess.