Коллекционер
Chapter 2
Theywereverylow,twitteringallaroundus,allflyinginthesamedirection,lowandhappy.AndIfeltfullofhappiness.Isaid,howextraordinary,lookattheswallows.Itwasverysimple,theunexpectedswallowsandthesunandthegreencorn.Iwasfilledwithhappiness.Thepurestspringfeeling.ThenIwokeup.
LaterIhadanotherdream.Iwasatthewindowonthefirstfloorofalargehouse(Ladymont?)andtherewasablackhorsebelow.Itwasangry,butIfeltsafebecauseitwasbelowandoutside.Butsuddenlyitturnedandgallopedatthehouseandtomyhorroritleaptgiganticallyupandstraightatmewithbaredteeth.Itcamecrashingthroughthewindow.EventhenIthought,itwillkillitself,Iamsafe.ButitsprawledandflailedroundinthesmallroomandIsuddenlyrealizeditwasgoingtoattackme.Therewasnowheretoescape.Iwokeagain,Ihadtoputonthelight.
Itwasviolence.ItwasallIhateandallIfear.
December4th
Ishan’tgoonkeepingadiarywhenIleavehere.It’snothealthy.Itkeepsmesanedownhere,givesmesomebodytotalkto.Butit’svain.Youwritewhatyouwanttohear.
It’sfunny.Youdon’tdothatwhenyoudrawyourself.Notemptationtocheat.
It’ssick,sick,allthisthinkingaboutme.Morbid.
Ilongtopaintandpaintotherthings.Fields,southernhouses,landscapes,vastwide-openthingsinvastwide-openlight.
It’swhatI’vebeendoingtoday.MoodsoflightrecalledfromSpain.Ochrewallsburntwhiteinthesunlight.ThewallsofAvila.
