pagan, with occult tips

December 5, 2016

foggy-morning

Diary 5th December

Slightly jaded today. A little hungover, perhaps. Feeling very pagan.

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‘I love you more than yesterday,’ I said. ‘And yesterday I loved you infinities…’

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My mission should I accept it, is to obtain carnal knowledge of everyone in this house who is still breathing…

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Drown me in December gales…Or bury me in snow that is blanket thick, and the colour of a wild swan’s feathers. Oh, do, please do…

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Freezing fog the other day. It came nearer and neared, seemed to flow round the house, sending tentative fingers into the frontporch.

Glancing up at the window she said, ‘It’s very foggy.’

She relaxed and sighed. After our lovemaking, she always goes limp, drained. The fierceness of her, though, when we are loving makes inscrutable the sane. Me, I remain malleable as worry beads. Know what I mean?

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Gabby asked about the latest story. It’s not finished yet. About a simple-minded young boy who sits all day in front of a tick-tocking grandfather clock. The clock is the centre of his world. He ignores his mother and father. Sees them as abstract distractions from the reality of the clock. In desperation, one day, they remove the clock and hide it in the attic. The boy’s life is shattered by this sudden and unexpected absence: he’s convinced the clock has died and that his parents are responsible. They have hidden its body. He leaves home, goes in search of the clock’s final resting place, while planning a suitable vengeance on these clock killers, his parents…

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