I've had a nice quiet monkish day today (7th August 1997, Vienna)

I've had a nice quiet monkish day today. I'll have a nice quiet monkish day tomorrow. Resume my totally preoccupied air.
It's like trying to unlock the frozen water under Europa's surface, warm it up, make it flow again, and teem with life. I'm such a long way from the Sun; it is impossible to warm me.

If you want to be a writer you can't talk to anybody (5th August 1997, Vienna)

If you want to be a writer, you can't talk to anybody. Total silence. Eyes down, distracted, preoccupied. Be yourself. I DO WHAT I WANT. BE A MEAN BASTARD.
"Withdrawal from society and inability to interact with people."
I'm in such a safe, protected position.
While reading The Daughter of Fu Manchu in the bath, I found myself thinking sexily of Jo, in the style of Madonna in that black dress; also thoughts of Dr Petrie's big breast wife Kara.
I live a quiet life, like a monk. I'm happy. It is learning how to be happy with very little.

I'm like Camus's outsider (4th August 1997, Vienna)

I'm like Camus's outsider, I can't feel anything. He is executed not for the murder, but because he showed no emotion at his mother's death; you've got to show emotion to please them. If your emotions are numbed and you cannot show them on the surface, you will be punished viciously. I am emotionally dead, numb. I'm frozen. Camus's outsider wants to be abused by the crowd as he is hung, I understand this perfectly.
I have abnormal psychology, I can't feel anything.
The governing impulse of my life is to stay away from other people at all times. I know my lack of feelings will invite their incredible abuse and punishment, so rather stay away so they never find out. Keep the mask on so they don't see there is nothing underneath.
A little elastic band hasn't become a big elastic band. As soon as our 50 minutes is up, and you let go, it snaps back to being a small one again. We live in your little make believe world, and you try to kid me it's a big elastic band. It's still the same elastic band. Wouldn't it be better if we both accepted that reality. You pretending the small is big. Perhaps you think I'm pretending big is small. We see things differently, obviously.
My brain is full of holes, like Swiss cheese. I can't grasp things, and form coherent relationships, everything breaks down, fragments, falls apart. There's big empty spaces between me and other people.

Very dark and stormy (4th August 1997, Vienna)

Very dark and stormy. Leave it till 12:30, then decide. I do want to look at Maxim, etc. But I just don't want to go out yet! Can't I stay in hibernation for another 4 weeks? I will only miss one round of films.
I'm a Grafologist. My area of study is myself. An endlessly fascinating study it is, too.
If I want to spend my life going to Aphrodite, Sphynx, floozie, what's wrong with that, and writing my little stories. When the money runs out, fine, go back to work for another six months, to earn some more. That six months at the Post Office has brought me twelve months of complete privacy and freedom. It's fantastic. Write to the Post Office again in October.
Aphrodite is only good in winter, when you can spend the whole day up there, when it becomes my private kingdom, when you can leave Aphrodite and go on to floozie, or on to Sphynx. I can't wait for September now. Four weeks. This long August begins now.
All I need is pen & paper, and some plants.