Herra Héri

Again. I feel haunted. Again. Altough the day started so bright, the sun and the flowers in my garden gave me an enlighted feeling, yes, I felt some of the joy of living I know I was able to feel in my heart just a few years ago. I blinked, I enjoyed the impression of the little yellow, red and blue flowers, the sky and the little bugs scuttling over my bare feet, flying occassionally, digging, living.

But by now I am sure it was merely an illusion. It is dark, my friend, so dark I can hardly stand it. Yes, it is true that I tried to reach my old friend Piet Rosengrün in order to ask him if he walled me in – together with a bottle of wine and my most beloved jewelery. Yes my jewelery. The rubins, diamonds and smaragds. I love it to dip them into wine and taste their eternal colour. How spicy, how lovely, how exclusively tasty they are. I like my Ivory Coast diamonds dipped in a Bordeaux 1893. Oh. Mh. Yeah. I love the taste of smaragds with a lovely Soave – Italian dolce vita and eternity. Fugacity can taste so eternal. Yeah. Fugacity. Yes. But unfortunately Piet refused. Someone sold him to Asia. Cannot imagine who.

“Fugacity can taste so eternal”

So I have to continue suffering. Though I know the reason. Anxiety and fear are gnawing the last bits of my soul. Blackness is all that is left behind by the nagging mice of despair and death. Yes, it it is time. I should decend to the caves. Open my last bottle. Have the last symphony of stone and liquid. It is just. I feel. So tired.