15:30 IST
The Parents' Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India
Being a lazy daisy has never ever done anyone ever any good. But it is a part-and-parcel of my personality. To be lazy is to be me.
No more excuses for not being regular in maintaining a record of the pointless existence. External reality has not been very exciting as of late. The usual affair - gym (hot instructors!), shower, sleep, food, sleep/walk, interent, telly with the sisters, dinner, walk, read, sleep. Had a harrowing week last week with the American family. The cousin was fun - all of 19 - girls, alcohol, music, sex - all that jazz. Fun talk real talk. The cousin's father was a total whore. A boring whore. A boring whore who wouldn't stop talking. A boring whore who wouldn't stop talking about how wonderful and amazing and supremely clever he has been and still is and to be him is to be the greatest thing on earth. Wanker. Relieved he is gone.
Been reading this book called Women. A fifty-year old alcoholic poet writes about the women he encounters - some he falls in love with, some he doesn't. Has sex with pretty much all of them. Very physical descriptions - of their movement, their hair, body. Objectifies his women. Gives them shape, colour, a flow. Talks about their body language - the way she swayed her hips as she turned to smile, or talking about the things they say. Love. He sometimes feels like he is in love. Goodness. Understanding. The decription of that comes forth in his objective superficial description of the things they do and the things they say. I like this guy. Seems like a misogynist, but I like his honesty.
The internal world - no job nor strife in life. Hence it is relatively empty. His presence hovers as always. Thoughts about working in an orphanage once I get a job. Thoughts about a dramatic nightmare involving autorikshaws and rape and death in Delhi. Been put off going outside because of that. Thoughts about the book. I need to get started on that. Get started, Quit wanking.
The Parents' Room, Inderpuri
New Delhi, India
Being a lazy daisy has never ever done anyone ever any good. But it is a part-and-parcel of my personality. To be lazy is to be me.
No more excuses for not being regular in maintaining a record of the pointless existence. External reality has not been very exciting as of late. The usual affair - gym (hot instructors!), shower, sleep, food, sleep/walk, interent, telly with the sisters, dinner, walk, read, sleep. Had a harrowing week last week with the American family. The cousin was fun - all of 19 - girls, alcohol, music, sex - all that jazz. Fun talk real talk. The cousin's father was a total whore. A boring whore. A boring whore who wouldn't stop talking. A boring whore who wouldn't stop talking about how wonderful and amazing and supremely clever he has been and still is and to be him is to be the greatest thing on earth. Wanker. Relieved he is gone.
Been reading this book called Women. A fifty-year old alcoholic poet writes about the women he encounters - some he falls in love with, some he doesn't. Has sex with pretty much all of them. Very physical descriptions - of their movement, their hair, body. Objectifies his women. Gives them shape, colour, a flow. Talks about their body language - the way she swayed her hips as she turned to smile, or talking about the things they say. Love. He sometimes feels like he is in love. Goodness. Understanding. The decription of that comes forth in his objective superficial description of the things they do and the things they say. I like this guy. Seems like a misogynist, but I like his honesty.
The internal world - no job nor strife in life. Hence it is relatively empty. His presence hovers as always. Thoughts about working in an orphanage once I get a job. Thoughts about a dramatic nightmare involving autorikshaws and rape and death in Delhi. Been put off going outside because of that. Thoughts about the book. I need to get started on that. Get started, Quit wanking.
