… who am I kidding? It’s horrendous. I absolutely abhor anything that comes to paper, computer, mind, mouth, or any other means of protrusion. Simply dreadful, that’s for certain.
My posting in this journal is in quite a disarray. A good portion of me longs for stability however the other section craves its sporadic tendencies. Unpredictable, I suppose. Just like going to the Met to find fucking Seguchi.
I don’t understand how I’m still alive – if the gun didn’t do me in then he should have. Would have. Too tired to write coherently; certainly tomorrow I’ll cringe at this log.
But really… Seguchi.
How many millions of people live in New York? How many thousands of people go to the Met daily? How many people walk past “The Horse Fair” by Rosa Bonheur (my favourite painting and painter of all times – bless this woman for she would disguise herself as a man in France during the mid-1800s in order to go to the square, ride, and paint)?\
I’m half-inclined to think that I dreamt the entire thing were it not for the missing notebook and hospital bill.
ETA: This is the only copy I could find online that somewhat gave it justice: