My lonlyness

I found out that all my obsession is to keep me in one place, my lonlyness, and to make it so beautiful so I dont wanna leave the place and finally wanna die in there. But here in Dublin the walls of my lonlyness are slowly going to pieces, so there I am with my lonlyness, able to feel it, which I was not before.

Because of all the ideas, the beauty, and me building all the time.

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You might be tired of my father but perhaps all this lonlyness-in-beauty-building was a revenge, because he rejected me, I was going to build me such a beautiful lonlyness and die in it to make him unhappy. Or I dont know if its my father, perhaps I wanted peace and to rest in peace.


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I was thinking of my first play this morning, about three person, she, the other and a person in a glass bowl. The person in the glass bowl gives comment all the time but they cant hear her, she seems to have no feelings and want no drama, the focus has never been much on her, more the conflict between the others. That is a love-conflict. But perhaps the person in the glass bowl is the key. She is the master of them both. Letting them going into circles and they never can be able to contact their true self because they are not aware of her.

They never step out of love.

They are not aware of the lonlyness, so there is kind of a missing link, a missing part, and if you are not aware of that part, this part start to control.


*

The person in the glass bowl is like a greek philosofher, although she comes up with all kind of comments.

And that remdind me of two things: When I went with my mother to the Arab-country I could feel how lonly I was in my western culture, based on the Greek.

And secondly, few days ago I asked a German student to be my audience, I would sit at the statue of James Joyce and play that I was a writer that must decide if he was going to publish his story this year or not.

I sat there and afterwards I asked him what he had seen, and he said, you was like a greek philosopher, heavly thinking, I saw a writer that will not publish his story.

(Not this year, maybe later.)

The funny thing was, I was sitting there very seriously, looking at a little tree in the street and above the tree there was a spider, making her web.


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