Page 239, 241,243, 245, 247 & 249

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7/4/02 I should start to think about what I like, I’m beginning to forget.  Nature in the daytime, city at night.  Should I move to Paris?  So much going on all at once.  Almost 23 years old.  I thought by now it would have all worked itself out.  Livin in a dream world, thinking up someone else’ dream. 

listening to Cypress Hill.  feeling like shit.  People traveling in Packs.  Everyone’s trying to be different in the same way. 

3/5/02 Volunteering at the gallery, thinking of other ways I could make use of my time… Taking fotos, reading, smoking less.  I hope Davide comes here tonight.  Enjoying his company might become the demise of me.

Tonight I left without kissing anybody goodbye and felt uncomfortable, as if I had broken some Italian law.  It’s just that sometimes I want to be out when I’m ready to go and saying goodbye here can take a half an hour.  That’s kind of the beautiful think about Italy at the same time, people are so engaged that it takes them time to pull away.

I forgot what poetry was for… not just a vague explanation of thought existing in double meanings, it’s for Love.


Page 277 & 279

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15/2/03 Budapest is a depressing city.  The winter is cold & dark.  A grey blanket covers the city, but there’s no warmth.  People walk with their faces tucked into jacket collars, partly for warmth, partly to hide.  Davide and I hang out at his place going out to walk his dog and grab a hot cider.

Fighting with Davide in the middle of the streets of Budapest for impossible affections.  The air was cold, but not as cold as he was.  I turn around and run as far away in the opposite direction, anywhere but here.  The streets are covered in ice, I’m slippin.

Finally leaving this tortured existence I put myself through.  Masochistic ignorance.  Abandoning myself to the fucking devil.  NO MORE.  Wasted tears, wasted breath.

There’s nothing to show for a few days past, that are never gonna last, so just let it go.