Dear fucking diary,
I haven’t spoken to you in a while, but I’ve thought about you a lot and often.
It’s Tuesday night, pouring rain. Lately I’ve not been able to sleep until 4-5am. The night just flies by, even without much activity to preoccupy me. Remember I used to tell you everything? Ah, those where the days. In most ways, those were the days.
I usually don’t leave the house now, unless it’s for a meeting or mandatory errands. Sometimes it’s 4-5 days without stepping out. It has become the normal. A few other things have also become the new normal, like only having about 2 or 3 people in my life in various degrees of what resembles closeness but not actually. I can’t talk to you anymore as I used to and it’s a shame, because it was a release. Now I can only lie or at least not tell you the truth. Or anything for that matter. Just know that nothing, literally nothing is working out.
I just deleted what I just wrote.
Anger.

Θα περάσει λίγο αργότερα και θα φέρει τούρτα.
looking into boat tickets.
mentally, already packed.
σχετικά με Κασσάνδρα,
όλο αυτό, ευτυχώς τουλάχιστον θα αφήσει ανεξίτηλο μώλωπα.
hopefully, each time, becoming less human, for next time.

μόλις με πήρε τηλέφωνο η Μαμά μου, πέθανε.

εξακολουθεί να ζει.
τον είδα στον ύπνο μου, δεν μπορούσε να κολυμπήσει.

Mom called, said I should come see Dad. That if I wanted to see him, now would be the time. I heard Dad in the background, yell “help”.

I told her I did not want to see him.

Ο μπαμπάς μου θα πεθάνει όπου να΄ναι.

Quite possibly / definitely Josef von Sternberg and Sean Young are aspies too.

Around noon, I got an idea that I should get drunk and unwind. Got the red, cheese, nuts. Gotta do it right. Ate the whole block of cheese, ate the nuts, sipped some wine, am now bloated and gassy, but not even near tipsy. Always sucking at alcoholism.

created a campaign for the Onassis Cultural Center staging of Strinberg’s Post Inferno / To Damascus
more photos and text: http://donteverloveme.com/direction.html

[click for color]

so often that i can’t recognize people by the face
and then i can’t remember what they said

feel guilt ridden when a nice breeze touches my body
always feels i haven’t earned the good things

what happens to their websites after people die?

I am in a play, “Περί Φύσεως”, in Athens.

Movers are here. 9am. Downed half a bottle of red.

I had forgotten it’s christmas today
amidst tissue paper and boxes

6pm Manhattan.
The noisy, rancid, obnoxious stampede on the subway of office robots getting off work, the sour fags at the David Barton Astor Place front desk, the blaring 90s meth queen club music there, having to wait in the squalid foyer until 15 mins before the class to sign up for it, the haste and struggle for the good weights and a nice spot on the floor and then here comes the reward; 45 minutes of utter torture. Then the same, in reverse, to get home. How is it that nothing is pleasant anymore? Everything little fucking thing is a fucking competition in New York and without much to show for it.

The doctor says I have Asperger’s.

2015-16 Onassis Cultural Center campaign
photographed & art directed by Thanos Samaras

color photos and text: http://donteverloveme.com/direction.html

slips through the cracks

I literally care about nothing except dollar pizza.
It’s come to that.

[9/7/15, 5:36:37 PM] Thanos: είναι πολύ vague αυτό που λες, δεν καταλαβαίνω.

[9/7/15, 5:37:49 PM] ΧΧΧΧΧ: εγώ τη μόνη επιμονή που βλέπω είναι ένα απέραντο self loathing και κατ’επέκταση μια συστηματική προσπάθεια να απομακρύνεις όσους σε αγαπάνε και να κάνεις τη ζωή σου πιο δύσκολη, επειδή υποσυνείδητα πιστεύεις πως αυτό σου αξίζει. Αυτά.

Nadia Sibirskaïa.