tanja

I can only descibe today's overwhelming sensation as a void - not a feeling, necessarily, but rather an absence of one. It's a hideous absence of feeling.

My life is moving along steadily, albeit uneventfully. I have not been doing much writing - I find myself composing fantastic sentences just as I am about to take a dive into my dreams. I tell myself I will write down my luminous thoughts once I awaken, but I inveriably forget them by the time morning has arrived. Who knows whether they even existed to begin with.

And there really hasn't been such a thing as morning lately, actually. I sleep for a few hours, then awaken for another few, and I never feel completely rested. Morning, afternoon, and evening are becoming only vague concepts in my windowless office, in my neighborhood that never sleeps.

I can't help but feel I am only existing to witness some kind of an end - my own, or the world's. I feel as though the world is slowly closing its curtains, this incomprehensible act of humanity slowly coming to an end. Every morning I watch the laborers dismantle the Ambassador Hotel, and I am reminded that history is only in our imagination. There is nothing real but the present, and there is nothing in the present that is really there.

I remember to amuse myself; it's necessary that I must. I have no choice but to entertain myself - like the band on the Titanic about to drown.

And tomorrow won't be as woeful, I know. Only fifty or so years to go.