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Shell Shock
I want to take you with me, to where I've been.  I want to show you.  But of course I know better.  Writing about being in Costa Rica is like writing about being in love.  I think, "I could never show you this.  You must see this for yourself."  And you are thinking, I don't want to hear about it. 

You are jealous of me.  But, see, I am jealous of me too.  So we're even and as always we are in this muck together.

Four days back and I am already feeling the boredom and anxiety of the city.  But is it the city?  The winter?  My period?  Fuck. 

How quickly and easily one loses one's convictions.  A week ago, all i was doing was waking up, reading, writing, drinking coffee.  And i was thinking "This is it. This is life. This is all I need." 

Now I am doing the exact same thing, except I'm here, and I am thinking "Is this it?! Is this life?!  Is this all I need?!"

When I was alone in the dark, I could bare it.  I could more than bare it, I could embrace it - love it.  There was nothing around me, or at least nothing I could see. When everybody is alone, no one is alone, and I become no one, and I am very happy.

Now there is light on all sides and I can hardly breathe.

Everyone is in love but me. Everyone is happy but me.  Everyone is together, and I am somewhere else.

I find the city quite lonely, and all I want is to be alone. 

So how will I be satisfied?

It will take me a moment to readjust to the light.  That's all.  And then I will hold your hand again.  And then I will look you in the eye again.  And we will be okay, again.

Next week, pictures and revelations from the underworld that some call Paradise.  And perhaps a word or two on Lost, though I think it's speaking for itself these days...


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