A disciple of Dionysus

Would you say you’re upset? No, I wouldn’t; I have no reason to say that I’m upset. Maybe you’re upset about your work – you haven’t been doing quite as well as you wanted to now have you? Yes, but I haven’t terribly. I’ve only just done a little worse than I thought I  would. You see I have never fallen below the top grade before, and to see it happen twice this time is depressing; it dampens my spirit immensely, insofar that I am no bereft of any will to write properly. I can’t even write properly now. My sentences just don’t make sense. And even my writing itself has lost its usual fluency. A friend read my work this evening and told me that disagreed with the manner in which I had structured some of my sentences; yet, I could see nothing wrong with them. They read perfectly fine in my mind. That’s the tragedy I’m most worried about; that I might one day lose touch with my fluency and write without realising how badly I’m writing. This is why I’m upset. I am upset because my writings have failed me. And why writings fail me, so do my thoughts give up. This evening I wrote a terrible essay. But I just can’t be bothered anymore, because I have lost my will to write. My writing knows it has fallen from the eyrie.

Did I tell you what happened the other day? A remarkable coincidence happened. I was driving towards the car park when I had to stop for a girl (who happened to be from one of my classes) to cross the road. A few hours later, when I was on my way back to the car, I had to cross the road, and a car stopped for me. And behold, that same girl was the driver! My classes have since ended, and I don’t think we shall ever see each other again.

I am incapable of doing anything. I am incapable of being anything. To sum it up, I am nothing. And indeed I feel like nothing tonight. My chest is a vacuum; not even the beating heart gives me life. What is life? It is foreign to me. I am not living; I passing through ether.

I feel like crawling into myself and hiding there for a month. I don’t want to have to think about anything or worry about my inadequacies, about my future, and the person I must become. I want to be cocooned in absolutely silence; and I want to gaze into the silence, into where the universe is absent, and


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