another note to self / 48hrs kind of entry.

met with a colleague today who is very desperate, so desperate that he could not enjoy what is given to him.
he couldn't hear a word I said.
I was vaguely trapped, like smoke in a room, with him for hours. I was slowly seeping out, but was still for the most part stuck there, sort of hanging in it, a bit removed so that I did not have feel the full impact of his manic edge and gnash intolerances with him.

i know i have behaved the same way he has -- loss and fear and scarcity, not a hunger for nourishment twd health, but a clawing gluttony that reminds me of old demons, moving cars I have leapt from. I went there feeling low from lack of sleep, and left there feeling lower from being a bit exploited by a bitter person who wanted to prove he was 'doing ok'.

It's very hard work to be a living crucible, to turn so much anguish and fear into a sublime -- and a sublime legible to others, or even something someone else would like to have a piece of or even 'own'. Why persist at this. Is there a line of work that does not involve as much wrenching, and for such bourgeois stupid reasons....? As much as I felt abraded by my colleague, I wanted this for him, and for all of us.

yesterday I was channelling my dad, taking out my work frustrations on the nearest woman relative. This cannot continue. Today instead I took time to thank anyone who behaved compassionately, and explained to them how grateful I am that they maintain a graceful compassionate public affect.

I thought I was closer to zion, but zion is upon closer inspection, not where I left it.

my mother has fallen down in the road, and I am helping to dress her scuffed knees.

/>Tomorrow is the magazine launch, my suit is pressed, shoes are shined, fab sexy date confirmed, pseudonym chosen.

I can't wait to get out of Toronto, city of condo infection and negative reinforcement. A few more studio visits and back to real life. Any time I feel worn down by the humanity of others, I think of Fania, and the other Holocaust survivor ladies we met, striding uphill from one disappeared Jewish site to the next, and laughing about how slow we were at keeping up.

Di Goldene Pave c. 18th C.
The golden peacock:
'The golden peacock came flying from a faraway land. She lost her golden feather with great shame. The golden peacock flew and flew over the fields. She lost her golden feather in a faraway land. Bitter as it is, dear mother, for a lake to have no fish, so it is bitter, dear mother, to eat from a stranger’s table. '