A hot, very hot, Sunny morning.
Peace on Clapton Common.
Seventeen years have eclipsed my existence since that strange dark day. Mark would now be twenty three years old.
It all remains... his room... more or less as he left it. The white plastic donkey still hangs on the wall, pull the string it still plays a few bars of Chopin. The model cars, all the usual paraphernalia attached to children still kicking about the floor. It survived the various upheavals of various female faces who found it suited, the room, made adjustments to it. Yet Mark's stamp refused to go. The hall cupboard still has his left over bits of train set, the odd remains of medicine Jennifer used to give him as a baby. All this has only just occurred to me. How it survived the seven years with Susan and Jack, the couple of years with Ross and a few other females who's names I cannot recall, not forgetting Cathy, who on one of my famous parties for lonely cab drivers went through twenty seven men in about three hours in that room. Gave her the odd cup of tea at intervals. The end of that Marathon she was quite cool, sat cross legged on the bed smiling to herself and at me, looking most composed, cigarette smoke drifting... We laughed when one of the old boys wanted his money back! ...The mentality ..Dear God! Jimmy Skinner complained bitterly (our man of Bangkok... my partner with our lovely lady!) complained, pacing up and down, a twisted, aggravated look on his face, still immaculate in his collar and tie... that he always drew a high number making him wait until almost last "Didn't we know that his wife was waiting up for him.?" indeed, we did.....
Mid day now... Very hot... Hardly know which way to play it from now on. Time ebbing fast, besides, I am tired of this incessant sense of being intimidated by forces almost beyond my control... that I have to sit here rather than downstairs at the Pub, under the Sunshade, other people gently getting pissed, warmth on their backs, Young women showing everything they have to offer to anyone who cares enough to look. Black Velvet skin shining against sharp Sunlight, wide mouths revealing bright, pink tongues, pure white, flashing teeth.... enough to bring dead men back to life.
May well be looking at another planet from up here. have lost all touch , just the plants and I in this flat. Cynthia made a remark, something about "Was I sure they weren't also using me?" There are a few plants here that have gone the full distance ... thirty years.
Since my sojourns in Bucharest, quite a few ideas hitherto only played about with have surfaced. What I have been unsure about ... Romanians take in their stride... apparently up to their necks in Black Magic... what else can be expected from the Land of werewolves and Vampires! Received a letter from her today ...about how empty her place was after I had left... "how the tree was knocking on her window searching for me..."..how the "Water lilies had faded in their bowl.." how my ring "kept turning round on her finger" knowing I was in a bad mood. Such thinking, rather a long way from other females I have known.. Unable to recall anyone who has come slightly near to this view of life. Certainly, Buddhist young ladies believe along these lines, but communication is sparse... mostly revolving around the eternal "Three Hundred Barts" hand held out, little else. Nit possessed a very deep understanding but became totally committed to making money once her eyes had been opened by my Barclay Card.
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