Part Tree-Siks

While Man has turned his back on me, making me coffee so I can be on my way, I ask the Phantom Ape some questions.

"Should I give my characters names?"

- They have names, you just never write them down. The Bride's name is ******. The Vampire is called ********. The Undead Soldier is *********. The Man in the Chair is the same of the Man you are writing about now and his name is *****. The Pink Lipped Harlequin you call ******. Should I go on?-

"No please, that's enough. Why do I have trouble naming things?"

- Because you get nothing in exchange for it. Once you name it, it becomes unchangeable. You will lose all the chaos you crave and the object of your interest will be locked within it's name. You'll have power over it. You wish for everything and everyone to have a name for usage and a true name, a name that should be hidden and secret. You know the philosophy behind that as well as I do.-

A conversation in between:

Ursula -Slaapwel, bisous.
Gaylord -Bonne nuit madame.
Ursula -Bonne nuit à le singe!
Gaylord -Il est plus populaire de moi!
Ursula -He's got a sexier ass.
Gaylord -Bon, laisse moi un message pour samedi prochain. Good night.

I am sleep deprived. Every time I sit down to write I feel like peeing. Tomorrow I have loads of psychological test with my psychiatrist. His favourite mental disorders for me are a form of autism and something that starts with shizo-. I think he would get a kick out of seeing them both manifest. I have to buy my chihuahua a fucktoy. I'm thinking -stuffed elephant. It's morning now and I'm so glad the crazy cat lady is keeping me company. Man is bugging me, I secretly think I'm a disappointment and that I should work on my act, but I just make it easy for myself and say Man is to blame. We're restyling the apartment and decided we're going to spend New Years skiing. It sounds eighties prep, but it beats being bored at a party. I'm surprised with how many of my friends have never seen any of the Star Wars movies. So far I've counted seven.

I was sitting in my living room, looking at the book shelves, wondering what I should read. I picked out a random book and it's title was 'Astral Entities Around Us'. The next two I picked out were 'A History of Erotic Literature' and 'Anna Karenina'. My first thought was - I should stop buying books impulsively- and the second was -If you combine these three, you get an interesting story. A Russian saga where horny phantoms try to speed up divorces, the morbid decadent downfall of aristocracy.

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle keeps haunting me. I swear I could hear a girl humming it on the bus. It reminds me too much of the house I destroyed. Of the Bride I killed. Is she dead? Could I bring her back? Is that girl telling me I should bring her back? Prends garde à toi.

I'll bring her back.

Part Tree-Faif

I'm in the bed of Man. The only thing masking my nude form is my pearl earring. Man is lying with his back turned to me, snoring softly. A flowing rhythm, a gentle wave covering me with sleep, uncovering me, covering me, uncovering me, making me want to cover me again. Man has confessed his love to me, but I could only smile at him. What is love without truth? Who's still looking for truth? Who can still love when truth is overlooked? Questions don't really matter now, all what comes next is morning, my cup of coffee and the journey afterwards. The Phantom Ape is sitting on the cupboard.

I ask the Phantom Ape; 'is it safe?'
The Phantom Ape answers: 'think of the cat."

The Cat. Man has a cat. When the morning has come, after my cup of coffee, I'll leave Man again. Until I miss Man, will want to see truth in his green eyes, will present my body to him so I can feel the waves, caress his stubble, forget the questions, hear the stories. It's all about the stories.

The Phantom Ape is waiting patiently until the sun comes up, until the naked bodies cover themselves with shame again and the morning game can begin.