My old apartment is completely empty ex for an almost empty bottle of Windex. It’s been less than a week since I left it and now it’s unlocked. I like to go down and visit. There’s something strange and special about an empty apartment. Besides the echo - it evokes a number of things for me. The past, the future, quietude, melancholy, loss, Last Tango in Paris - where Brando and the young French sexpot both check out a beautiful empty apartment and I think Brando rents it and they meet there and have wild sex and he makes her promise to never say or tell him her name and vice versa and it's such a wild fantasy, two nameless people flooring it again and again for good or bad underneath a night skyway in the City of Lights.
... LIFE. It grew into a very sad day this day … began with my computer failing me and calls and calls to Apple and Spectrum and texts and e mails and incorrect passwords and low batteries, recorded voices and stupid stress inducing muzak and erasing everything on my machine and reinstalling and promises bout retrieval and on and on and I lose everything at first except fotos… documents folder is empty ... including my plays and seventeen years of journal ... twelve hundred pages and it feels at first like my memory was erased and then I thought about this year and people losing their lives, and homes and livelihoods and minds, loved ones and so many things more ... and it grabbed hold of me and made me contemplate tonglen. Compassion and empathy. Turn things round. Utilize adversity. Yes, that's the way too proceed but still blue and feeling stupid for not having been more taking care and I go to genius bar at Apple and say to a long haired smart guy with good teeth ... I'...
Friday the 20th … 5:33 morning … one more week. I will make it a good one, a great one. It’s nice to have someone ask you if you’ve had breakfast, how you slept, asking for names, asking lots of questions I’d never think to ask. Been a minute as they say - those people known as they . silence. nice. The light at this way early time is so scumptuous - everything definite … nothing mushy or shy … soft. Like the lively air. I am reading Women in Love and I missed the movie on TCM round midnight a night or two ago. The writing knocks me out. In the back yards of several dwellings a miner could be seen washing himself in the open on this hot evening, naked down to the loins. His great trousers of moleskin slipping almost away. Miners already cleaned were sitting on their heels, with their back near the walls, talking and silent in pure physical well-being, tired and taking rest. Their voices sounded out with strong intonation and the broad dialect was curious...
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