Curtains are drawn as I curl up in bed. The only time I feel at peace. I think of all the dreams and aspirations I had and have and realise the futility of them all when I acknowledge the fact the only time I am happy is when I’m in the foetal position in bed. Nothing gives me true pangs of happiness anymore. When I think of getting jacked, sleeping with dreamy girls, I become overwhelmed with the sense that utterly it is meaningless and vapid. I don’t enjoy things. I have slept with dozens of women, have had my heart trampled on, cauterized, burnt at the stake and have just never really recovered. It’s not one thing, or one girl, it’s a general disgust with how this world is, how it works.

I read about bullfights, about circuses, about famous historical figures. Anything you like. It is all just a show. One big nothingness. I can’t come to grips with the world. I dream of being free. When a pretty thing enters my life now I don’t care for her like before. I know it will end before it even starts. I don’t have dreams for us. I don’t have dreams for anything. All I know is that nothing lasts and I can’t accept this. I wanted a wife, a beautiful virginal wife that could be all mine. Beautiful children. I wanted all of it. The fantasy. But I know now it can’t be true. The world has different things in store.

I think back to a moment in my early childhood and how I’d thrown a paper airplane from a balcony above the school grounds and watched it saunter through the air, drifting, sailing, meandering. How it had all the world ahead of it in its flight. That’s how I felt. I felt full of life. Full of excitement. It can’t be that this is it. I sit in my dingy apartment and water my plants and live a life of solitude with regular women and friends. I can’t shake this feeling of utterly being alone in this world. Nothing is solid, nothing is sure. No woman can love me like I desire. I just want to close my eyes and be free. free.