Monday, September 17, 2007


Monday; September 17, 2007 4:44 PM

...there was also my father's apartment, I think probably in the same building whose tenth floor had the strange lift arrangement and which I've visited now so many times over the years. The rooms were hexagonal, there were stairs going up and down the place and there were people in almost all the rooms. I couldn't find my father and ran into Mark 'untermensch', who would ask me what I would have with my dad, did I think he wanted to speak to me and I had to reply I didn't know but needed urgently to speak to him. The fact that I was holding a conversation in Spanish with Mark was not remarkable, I knew he'd learnt some while travelling round South America, but the fact that he was speaking on behalf of my father who I couldn't get hold of and who apparently didn't want to speak to me was more strange. He kept asking me what I wanted and I would ask back, as I did not know, where my room was, I did not know which room had been assigned to me in this labyrinth of rooms and stairs, all hexagonal and all leading in many seemingly impossible directions. And every time I walked in a room there would be people in it, engaged in different things and glaring at me for the intrusion. Obscurely, this was my house. More obscurely, I was definitely not welcome..


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