Book: Diaries. Page 3

Cried over the report of the trial of twenty-three year old Mary Abraham, strangled by the need and hunger nine-month-old daughter Barbara men's tie, which she wore instead of the garter and removed the legs. Quite banal story.

Enveloped in the desperate cold, the changed face, a mysterious people.

What am I? Miserable I am. Two plates screwed to my temples.

The border zone between loneliness and communication I crossed very rarely, I settled even more firmly than in isolation.

I don't think there are people whose internal state is like mine, however I can imagine such people, but around their heads flew around my invisible Raven, that I even can't imagine.

The possibility of happiness is becoming more and more impossible.

The last memory of her hostile grimace she made when I was in the hallway of her home not be satisfied with a kiss through the glove and undid it and kissed the hand.

... all hazardous finds reinforcement in me. Finally, I'm getting older, change is harder. And in all this I see great misfortune for themselves, which promises to be long and hopeless; I have to trudge through the years, receiving your salary and becoming more and more sad and lonely, yet strong enough to withstand.

The monotony, the regularity, convenience and lack of independence of my lifestyle tenacious hold on me to stay in that place where I was.

Empty, like a shell on the shore, which can crush the leg of any passerby.

Various forms of nervousness. I think the noise will no longer disturb me. However, I do not work now. However, the deeper you are digging yourself a hole, the quieter it becomes, the less fearful I get, the quieter it becomes.

... it is therefore wrong to say that I know the words "I love you", I know only the silence of expectation, which was supposed to break my words "I love you", but what I have learned, nothing else.

You can't reach anything, leaving yourself. But what else do you have to lose by staying in the circle you outlined? I would say the following: it will allow to beat themselves in this round than to beat someone out of it. But where the hell is the circle? Some time I saw him on the floor like a chalk painted, now it just hovers around me, and not even hovering.

My good condition no time and rights to natural development; the bad, on the contrary, they are more than required. I now suffer from a condition with the ninth number, nearly ten days how to calculate in the diary. Yesterday I again went to bed with a flaming head, and was about to be glad that bad time is over, and already begin to fear that I will have trouble sleeping. But it passed, I slept pretty well, and awake bad.