2001-07-13 - 10:59 p.m.

"La gloria di Colui che tutto muove
per l'universo penetra e risplende
in una parte piu o meno altrove"

Elsewhere. Altrove. My balm and my spices are 'else'. They are outside and without and I cannot begin to reach them. Not the end. Not the beginning of the end. Not the end of the beginning. I have not yet begun to live, begun to fight. I am searching for a mistress. Why was I not created a rabbit?

I am meagre and slight. A cosmic feather. The ugly duckling. I wait for her. I lionise she who is gone. I find no shame in these histrionics. And if another were to appear in her place?

Iris. Dame Iris. Sophia. Wisdom. Where is my wisdom? I cannot even grasp a mere declension. But this is nothing to do with happiness. Life is not particular. I litter my life with invectives only to troll the ground. I relapse into weakness. A recidivist.

Is it my fate to only 'know of'? I want merely to neglect and omit my memories. Where is there my cup? I want to drink anew. 'Salute'. To my health. To yours.

I am an intrepid curious visceral cub. I shall always be a wine merchant. I warn you not to mix old skins with new ones. Begin, Begin, Begin. Do as I say, not as I do.

troilus

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