Greta > Recent Status Updates

life played out as a sitcom, a blank canvas that reconfigures itself into a soap opera. It's an isolation ward that serves only to expose my own severely impaired capacity to feel. I am at its center, out of season, and no one ever asks me for any identification.

‘…lost in my own private maze…’

‘…and when she sees me, standing over her, naked, I can imagine that my virtual absence of humanity fills her with mind-bending horror.’

There wasn't a clear, identifiable emotion within me, <..>. I had all the characteristics of a human being flesh, blood, skin, hair-but my depersonalization was so intense, had gone so deep, that the normal ability to feel compassion had been eradicated, the victim of a slow, purposetul erasure. I was simply imitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning.

‘Life remained a blank canvas, a cliché, a soap opera. I felt lethal, on the verge of frenzy. My nightly bloodlust overflowed into my days and I had to leave the city. My mask of sanity was a victim of impeding slippage. This was the bone season for me and I needed a vacation.’

‘And though it has been in no way a romantic evening, she embraces me and this time emanates a warmth I’m not familiar with. I am so used to imagining everything happening the way it occurs in movies, visualizing things falling somehow into shape of events on a screen, that I almost hear the swelling of an orchestra can almost hallucinate the camera panning low around us, fireworks bursting in slow motion…’

‘A curtain of stars, miles of them, are scattered, glowing, across the sky and their multitude humbles me, which I have a hard time tolerating’

‘Since it’s impossible in the world we live in to empathize with others, we can always empathize with ourselves’

‘’Lunch at Hubert’s becomes a permanent hallucination in which I find myself dreaming while still awake’’

(…) and then she kissed him until the sky seemed to fade out and all her smiles and tears to vanish in an ecstasy of eternal seconds.

The sunlight dripped over the house like golden paint over art jar, and the freckling shadows here and there only intensified the rigor of the bath of light.

“And courage to me meant ploughing through that dull gray mist that comes down on life—not only overriding people and circumstances but overriding the bleakness of living. A sort of insistence on the value of life and the worth of transient things.”

“Carlyle sighed and was silent for a moment looking up at the gathered host of stars blinking like arc-lights in the warm sky. The negroes’ song had died away to a plaintive humming and it seemed as if minute by minute the brightness and the great silence were increasing until he could almost hear the midnight toilet of the mermaids as they combed their silver dripping curls under the moon and gossiped…”

‘’Tiny arteries of moonlight bled between branches”