and I didn’t give a damn who killed who so I told him, told him everything I knew about where I’d gone before and where I went after I’d been up to the ministry and then everything was as it should be, then he’d gotten what he wanted and then he could go away again, leave again and I never wanted to see him again
but he didn’t go
he did things with me I can’t talk about ’cause they’re much too terrible to say with words, things that are so horrible you can’t even mention them and when I think about everything he did I go completely dark inside for I don’t want to tell what he did with me, Sam Gazelle, but he did it over and over again and he never got enough and I screamed and I cried and I fainted and dreamed and woke up and he was still there and said that he’d come up with something new that he wanted to try and sometimes he laughed and sometimes he was serious and I don’t know if he saw me at all and the pain was…the pain was so enormous that I almost couldn’t feel it despite the fact that it was so great that it caused me to faint
but it wasn’t the pain that was the worst it wasn’t when he did what he did that was the most terrible but rather it was just before he was going to do it just before in the breath before he said that he wanted to try something new
can’t understand it can’t understand it can’t understand how you can want to cause such pain such pain such pain and tears don’t help because I’m freezing because it’s cold, it’s always cold cold down to the marrow and stuffing and it’s burning, the cold, it’s burning and it’s on fire and it hurts so bad it hurts so bad
and I screamed and screamed that I would tell everything he wanted to know and there was nothing that I wouldn’t tell if he only asked me to and I cried and screamed that I’ll do everything you want and I’ll tell everything you want if you just stop stop stop I’ll tell tell tell but he told me to shut up he told me to go to hell he didn’t give a damn what I had to tell, he said, and my desperation was greater than…
and I screamed and I screamed
and I told and I told
and I fainted and woke up and fainted and woke up
and finally I fainted again
can’t understand it can’t understand it can’t understand how it hurt so bad so bad so bad and tears don’t help because I’m freezing because it’s cold, life is always cold and life will always remain that way until the fire catches up with me and ignites me and consumes me and eradicates me and only then will I stop freezing, perhaps I’ll stop freezing then perhaps
TEDDY BEAR, 3
I move about freely. I am living a free life.
Eleven paintings in narrow, white wooden frames hang in the corridor on my floor. Abstract art. Painted with a lot of water and a knife’s edge of pastel paint. I don’t like them. I never would have chosen them myself. But in that case, would I have made things too easy for myself?
These paintings, in particular the two hanging before my door, counting from the stairwell, irritate me. Irritation stimulates reflection. Reflection develops me.
With paintings that I appreciated I would have stagnated.
My room is my universe. My bedroom and my bathroom.
I take my meals with the others in the dining hall one floor down.
Every week I go into the city. I take long city walks. I keep myself up-to-date. I know they’re performing a comedy by Bergdorff Lizard at the Zern Theater. It’s a tragic piece that must be carried by the individual efforts of the actors. Every other week I visit Mother and Father. I call them in advance and tell them I’m coming. I don’t want to surprise them at an unsuitable moment. I know that Father thinks my visits can be trying. I wish he himself would choose to see me.
As it is, he chooses not to.
Eric comes out to my place to visit.
Mother and Father never do.
What is more absurd than the life I’m living today is how defensive I get when I have to describe the life I’m living today.