Nowadays I'm spending my time by myself. Time spent with B, N, C or A doesn't seem to register. It flows quite easily and you don't even realise you're there in that moment. I long for sunny days, empty parks to smoke packs of Gold Flake and not get addicted.
I'm glad. Things were a little funky but nothing that really got me down. I'm becoming a camel. Or a grungy, old, male vagabond. The kind who hasn't bathed since two Junes ago. Nothing seems to register so the question of mattering doesn't come up. I simply know that I have to lumber on irrespective of what you do around me, how you dance or plead or how you sit by yourself looking restive (where people just have to ask you what you are thinking of).
And my skin is becoming very dry. It feels like old paper. Pudgy old paper?
There is less and less scope for long lasting emotion. You should boil it with oleander leaves. Lots of them. The white flower is beautiful but the plant is one of the most poisonous there are. And if you distill anything with it long enough, in a pot over a flame, it too becomes poisonous. Oleander time lovers kill each other and blame it on the wind.