Bokelskere.no

Et slør av lysende stjerner er spredd utover himmelen, og de enorme antallene blir jeg ydmyk av, noe jeg har problemer med å tolerere. Hun trekker på skuldrene og nikker når jeg sier noe om former for angst. Det er som om sinnet hennes har vanskeligheter med å kommunisere med munnen, som om hun leter etter en fornuftig analyse av hvem jeg er, noe som naturligvis er en umulighet, for det finnes … ingen … nøkkel.

Tilværelsen var og ble et tomt lerret, en klisjé, en såpeopera. Jeg følte meg livsfarlig, på randen av berserkergang. Min nattlige blodtørst rant over til dagtid, og jeg måtte ut av byen. Min maske av normalitet var på nippet til å gli av.

En slags eksistensiell avgrunn åpner seg fremfor meg mens jeg kikker hos Bloomingdale’s.

I've forgotten who I had lunch with earlier, and even more important, where.

There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

I’m loosening the tie I’m still wearing with a bloodsoaked hand, breathing in deeply. This is my reality. Everything outside of this is like some movie I once saw.

This was the geography in which my reality revolved: it did not occur to me, ever, that people were good or that man was capable of change or that the world could be a better place through one's taking pleasure in a feeling or a look or a gesture, of receiving another person's love or kindness. Nothing was affirmative, the term "generosity of spirit" applied to nothing, was a cliché, was some kind of bad joke. Sex is mathematics. Individuality no longer an issue. What does intelligence signify? Define reason. Desire-meaningless. Intellect is not a cure. Justice is dead. Fear, recrimination, innocence, sympathy, guilt, waste, failure, grief, were things, emotions, that no one really felt anymore. Reflection is useless, the world is senseless. Evil is it's only performance. God is not alive. Love cannot be trusted. Surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in ... this was civilization as I saw it, colossal and jagged ...