02 October 2018

Bleak Moment [1995]

[A passage from my 1995 journal]
aybe this is really a Black Journal entry, I don’t know, but it’s 3:45 on a late sunday night—literally, of course, and I always have to be literal, a goddamn monday morning—and I feel that old sense of LoS—Like on Sunday. Like on Sunday. The grimmest, most barren part of the week. I don't really know why except that I’m too tired to sleep and I can’t breathe and every­thing looks suddenly hopeless. Not suddenly hopeless; just like it's always been, except that for the moment the cover has been whisked away and I can see the hopelessness that always existed underneath it. I just watched something called Angels in the Outfield and as it ends I feel something of that same sense I felt years ago contemplating the end of Make Way For Ducklings. Disillusion, I guess, the sense that one gets when watching the Christmas Tree burn after New Years. [1/2 Oc 1995]

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