Faceless babies crawling up the tower. I stepped outside and had to stop and stare. Conqueror race swarming over the tallest monstrosity in Prague. The latest addition to evolutionary discoteque. These babies see everything that goes on under city roofs. This tower used to be filled with Soviet espionage technology.
21st birthday recipe: pivo, prosim (a beer, please), czech cuisine (meat and cabbage rolled inside roasted dough), conversations about Wittgenstein and paths in general, wondering around Vinohrady, trying to get a grip on this strange city. It doesn't work. This city is, for an absinth deranged maniac such as myself, untouchable. If I wanted to CONNECT with these streets, I needed to live here: study, do some real work, wash dishes, work at a construction site, after a hard days work walk around, smell the parks, go see movies. The normal stuff. Adventurers are left out and leave empty handed. Their internal beat is deranged from the outside it wants to concuer. This conqueror worm will burn fast. This is a fact.
I'm starting to get a grip on this language. It's not easy, Ive gotten slow.
Mind control keeps the pressure away. We need to forget the fall that waits behind every step, keep from watching cliffs. Hangover doesn't actually help.
I've visited the same pubs Saarikoski did in 1967. I'm tracing his footsteps by accident. Apart from him, I still havent bought a notebook. Thoughts vanish before the fatal grip, I let them go, there is nothing to report, I am sailing away from reality. These waves that pull me away are beyond words. Prague will be a memory, not a collection of deranged and cryptic scriblings that serve only my need for self-therapy, need to cut these knots with pure reason. But what I write...There is nothing reasonable.
But I'll buy it anyway. It would be interesting to make sketches of these sights, for later use, maybe research for a novel. Something to do besides listening to tourists.
This hostel is full of musicians and maniacs. Party every night.
Dear diary, yesterday I drank tujone spiced absinth. It didn't make me insane, sadly, only really festive, which is rare these days. I ran for four hours in the cold night looking for open bars, pivo, prosim, and left. Met a few social locals, they bought me and my friend a cola-absinth mix and set it on fire. Don't think I've drank anything burning before.
Slow monday night. Now my throat feels sore. Don't have the energy to sit in a cafe.
Absinth was an interesting try. It might be the relaxant I've been looking for, best served after that hard days work that I'll never have. I don't think I was born to do, just to BE and look. Flesh and blood, still only a walking camcorder. Maybe with capacity to project.
From a swerven shore to bend of bay,
just as easy to die on a bright sunny day.