he's getting big. 7 going on 8.
it feels like with every passing year I know less and understand less. how is it that my maternal instincts are waning rather than waxing? there's something seriously messed up with that. all I seem to get is resistance. it used to be much simpler - just point and shoot. now I keep getting error messages and refusals and bounce-backs. overexposure. underdevelopment. the photo analogy can go on, but it's laming out with each syllable.
point is. is. i have no idea what i am doing here. could very well be raising the utmost cynical manifestation of my own self. could be poisoning him deeply. could be pushing him towards the very thing I want him to stay far as hell away from. it's easy to blame the father. it's easy to say "your absence is the very reason for all that went wrong, man!" ('boy' is more app. here). but that leaves no excuse for my waning will these days. I'm just lost. and coming all the way to this end of the world, it seems to be revealing itself to be nothing more than an undercover mission on my part to mask the reality of the fact that I can't bare watching myself fuck up over and over again, so perhaps being out of the scope of the usual onlookers makes it less embarrassing on a mass scale. aka: coward.
how do I keep from letting the poison spread to every cell in my being? I know I want to. I know I am frightfully aware of all of this. the restlessness, the dreams, the scattered thoughts, the nervous twitches... I don't even know who I am anymore. but i am still sane enough to be conscious. ah - that's the bite of it all. the ultraconsciousness that is actually and ultimately the culprit for the very tragedy that I am consciously witnessing: the demise of my own vitality. sanity (though I am reluctant to use that word at this point, since its relevance is prone to be relative).
go eat that with a cracker, will ya?
there's a terrible shortage of tofu in hungary. damn it all to hell.
young man. I'm tossing you into the flames of hungarian juvenile society on monday. iskola. school. good luck, ittle man.. I'm sorry. hopefully this will make you tougher. in a way, I wish I could do what you are doing. for me, it's easier - I just continue to hide away indoors pushing pixels around on this machine. minimal social interaction. just the way I've strived for it to be. nice one, n... you've dug your own grave already. I know better. but...
did I mention that tofu is scarce here? yeah...
end it, already. now it's just becoming toxic waste leakage again, n.
dig
