Коллекционер

           wasthere,too,andotherpeople,forsomepeculiarreason)andthepicturewasinshreds—greatlongstripsofcanvas.AndMwasstabbingatthetabletopwithhersecateursandIcouldseeshewaswhitewithrage.AndIfeltthesame.Themostwildrageandhatred.

           Iwokeupthen.IhaveneverfeltsuchrageforM—eventhatdaywhenshewasdrunkandhitmeinfrontofthathatefulboyPeterCatesby.Icanrememberstandingtherewithherslaponmycheekandfeelingashamed,outraged,shocked,everything...butsorryforher.IwentandsatbyherbedandheldherhandandlethercryandforgaveheranddefendedherwithDaddyandMinny.Butthisdreamseemedsoreal,soterriblynatural.

           I’veacceptedthatshetriedtostopmefrombecominganartist.Parentsalwaysmisunderstandtheirchildren(no,Iwon’tmisunderstandmine),IknewIwassupposedtobethesonandsurgeonpoorDneverwasabletobe.Carmenwillbethatnow.ImeanIhaveforgiventhemtheirfightingagainstmyambitionfortheirambitions.Iwon,soImustforgive.

           Butthathatredinthatdream.Itwassoreal.

           Idon’tknowhowtoexorciseit.IcouldtellittoG.P.Butthere’sonlytheslitheryscratchofmypencilonthispad.

           Nobodywhohasnotlivedinadungeoncouldunderstandhowabsolutethesilencedownhereis.NonoiseunlessImakeit.SoIfeelneardeath.Buried.Nooutsidenoisestohelpmebelivingatall.OftenIputonarecord.Nottohearmusic,buttohearsomething.

           Ihaveastrangeillusionquiteoften.