Five

Borders. As you get close to the border, the skin between the hospital and the outside world things get more aggressive and sad in equal measure. You can feel yourself being called to belong to one or the other and cannot claim citizenship to both. There is a small cave near the border that seems to exist only because of architectural error. In this cave I saw Plato. His green hospital gown was strewn about him pell mell, covering his fading and hairy body like a tattered toga, IV drip in tow. A strange sequence of bells sounded from him that I later realized must have been his mobile phone. He presided over a group of much younger junkies and drunks.

I was afraid of this cave and just passed them into the hospital to shit. I used the toilet just inside the border and closed the stall door to see graffiti in German that spelled the words for Black, Jew, Turk, and Chinese that were next to a crude drawing of a person hanging from a gallows.

Are they such a sunless people that any color will do?

Today Karim came to my room. We went out and he bought me a lemon drink at a café where we sat outside under an awning as it rained and shared what little tobacco he had left. He had no money on his phone, and once again I was aware of what a poor city we live in. We had a nice talk with some laughing. Karim seems so full of promise. Smart, curious and creative. I was happy from our short visit. I then went to John’s. What a good man he is. There is such an unfair burden on him right now for which I feel awful, both relating to what he has seen me like crumbling these past few months as well as the work that has been required of us. It occurred to me that he has saved my life more than once over the years.

Waiting for Stefanie in a grey mist by the canal. No swans, ducks, crows or dogs…just a mist. The hospital faces the canal, arms open. Directly across the water is one of those housing projects that conceived of in the 1950s as one man’s utopia in the 70s were finally built as cages for the poor. Stefanie and I walked to a café and talked quietly. I was so tired. I am so tired often, but feeling alright now as I write this.

Hard time going to sleep as usual. Woke from a nightmare that woke Franz.

I veered from purpose due to well-being. A list;

I am in a hospital

Looking down a polished floor

The plants are predictable

There is a clock

Time

Over 40 years of sadness

Halt

The traffic roars across the city

Strange I do not hear it when outside

Was I lost or am I lost?

What is “lost” anyway?