1. i ran out of money about ten days ago, however here’s a life lesson for you young fascist bucks from Old Dog Elberry: even when there’s nothing left in the bank, even when your wallet is empty, there is still one fund left, one last source to turn to in your distress. Is it the Nazi gold you buried in the backyard? Is it your signed photo of the Führer? No – it is the jam jar where you keep coins for the washing machine.

i found 25 € in said jar, and now have about 70 cents left (i should get paid either tomorrow or Tuesday). Most of my unnecessary expenditure is on food and alcohol – i probably spend about 300 € a month just on things like smoked salmon, whisky, gin, fine-ass cheese, nice wine. However, i was interested to note that i can survive and even have quite a fine repast on 2 to 3 Euros a day: Edeka have a good Nero d’Avola for 2.70 €, canned stews for 1 €, and a bag of pasta is 1 €: i merely had to train myself to eat only once a day, at home, and i could get by on about 2 € a day. i even managed to lose a bit of weight and my belly no longer wobbles with its accustomed obscenity.

i ran out of gin a week ago and have since been making strange and frankly vile cocktails from the many ingredients lying about my flat. i had to think carefully, how to mix the various alcohols so i could last till payday, and behold i am now enjoying the last cocktail of my lean days.

2. i’ve been enjoying telling everyone how poor i am, and also exercising restraint and control. i typically organise my life so i don’t really need to make decisions of moment, or to exercise self-restraint: if i don’t have much money i just don’t go into shops, because i know i may see some exquisite waistcoat at half-price and can either buy it and then have no money for food or public transport, or i can not buy it and think dreamily about the waistcoat of glory and What Could Have Been for the rest of my life.

Not possible with food, so the last ten days have been an exercise in daily care and thought. A magician does not live idly or without attention. His life is controlled; like a submarine in deep oceans, he maintains his integrity against the terrific pressure of both the demonic and the material. The deeper he goes into power, the more exigent his tolerances.

For the last ten days i’ve lived in a daily web of concern and attention; it is personally inconvenient and spiritually useful. During this time an important prayer was answered, and i have felt myself inch closer to understanding the gods. i also had a new student – a very decent Jewish Psychologist with whom i’ve enjoyed some good conversations about religion, Christianity, mysticism, Nazis, and the nature of god; this clarified my own sense of religion, my sympathy for, and distance from, Christianity & Judaism.

3. i hope to soon publish a new volume of my writings: a play, my last five short stories, and a few thousand words of recently-written aphorisms and racist remarks. It will probably come to about 30-35,000 words and have a suitable title like Why I Am Your Führer; the aphorisms were all written by hand or on typewriter, so i’ve been typing them into MS Word, and then decided to go through what notebooks i’ve accumulated in the last 8 years (i also have a load in a friend’s garage in England) and see if there was anything to add therefrom.

It was a strange experience, to spend the whole of today re-reading my own journals. i tend to write down unusual dreams and occult occurrences, most of which i had forgotten, some of which make more sense now. i came across the name of a girl, let’s say “Veronique Rabenwald”, written without explanation, and then remembered – at the time, i suspected it was a girl i fell in love with while i was doing my Master’s. i saw her on the campus quite often, a tall German girl who knew one of my acquaintances; i talked to her only once or twice, recognising immediately that she was quite happy with her Greek boyfriend, that i wasn’t her type, that we had really nothing in common except her beauty and my sense thereof. i wasn’t even sure of her name, which was sufficiently un-English that i only had a vague idea of it and spent some time, back in my unemployed days, Altavistaing and FriendsReuniting until i decided she was probably Veronique R. Back at university, perhaps because i knew i wouldn’t even try to get to know her, i allowed myself to regard her with my full appreciation, and she always responded with the most superb grin, totally transforming her face from an impassive Teutonic gaze to a childlike pleasure and warmth. It’s odd to think that i don’t think she knew my name but would always, when she saw me, smile with this spontaneous delight, because i think of my own utterly simple perception and appreciation, my vision of her. She was i guess about 5′ 10″ to 6′, with a graceful, powerful walk, and looked a bit like Irene Jacob.

4. She was the third girl i fell in love with, and the first where it was merely joyous contemplation and dream. Because i never really got to know her, wasn’t even sure of her name, i never managed to fuck things up by e.g. carving runes on my face as a declaration of love or offering to kill people for her. For a long time after i left, she stayed in my mind – not as “someone i could be happy with”, but more as a sign of how beauty could be – and how we could respond to beauty, without complication. Even with my last relationship, with Juniper, i unconsciously strove to maintain this same simplicity, which i think is the reason we came together and are still good friends today.

Veronique, then, was as important to my development as Castaneda or Tolkien or TS Eliot; in the realm of beauty and desire, more even than Plato.

4. When i came across her name i decided to Google it, and found she married her Greek boyfriend and they have several white children and live actually not too far from me, relatively speaking. There were several photos of her, looking miraculously as she did 16 years ago, even after several childbirths. i saw the same spirit in her, and felt my old delight in her, and a new delight in the evident bliss of her life now; and that her genetic line will continue.

5. This was a little strange, as last week i dreamt repeatedly of another girl i knew at university, a year or two before i met Veronique; let’s call the other girl Iris. My memories of Iris are uncharacteristically vague and conflicting; itself very odd, given my memory’s usual rigour and pedantic attention to detail. As far as i remember, Iris was in a seminar i had in my 2nd year but i don’t think she ever spoke. i don’t know how, but she next appears in my memory of my 3rd year where i think i saw her with my an older undergrad (a minor TV celebrity now) and for some reason she gave me a copy of Paul Simon’s The Capeman and a letter where i found her handwriting identical both to the now-TV celebrity and to the first girl i fell in love with. Incidentally, while going through my journals i came across handwriting samples from two girls who were simultaneous incarnations of the same soul: the handwriting is similar but clearly from two different people.

i recall, in my 3rd year, being struck by Iris’s beauty – vaguely Scarlett Johanssonish, but more androgynous, with striking grey eyes. She had an air i sometimes found among the English upper class, the kind of quiet, friendly confidence and maturity which comes from having a family you can trace back to 1066, and enough money to travel, often with a Patrick Leigh Fermor-esque recklessness and idealism.

All i could think of was Pallas Athena, and indeed at the time i found her strange: her appearance seemed to change depending on the angle and light, and there was a quality of beyondness to her, which along with her unsolicited friendliness left me a bit baffled, and rather pleased.

i hardly thought of her after that, perhaps once every couple of years. i remember Googling her two or three times in the last 16 years, and finding almost nothing – all i could find was that someone of her name had worked in a magazine at some point; then she disappeared.

After these recent dreams, i wondered if she had existed in the first place. The weird vagueness & incoherence of my memories of her suggested something amiss. i even wondered if she had existed but was non-human, since i’ve found they often leave a strange trace in the memory, and don’t seem to be perceived in quite the way we would perceive human beings.

i Googled her again and found, through a bit of fancy Elberry thinking, that she got married and has a different surname – and then i found she has two white children and looks very happy.

6. i’m unsure what to make of these two very similar occurrences. While the answered prayer (which was purely to do with esoterica) and the Jewish student seem to me Odin’s way of clarifying certain religious matters, i have no idea why i have come across these two women again, in such a short space of time. Often, patterns of this kind seem surface manifestations of a deeper working, like the orchestra shifting posture before a new movement, and the working is deep enough to make no sense in our terms.

Its effect on me, now, is complex: i feel half-lost in memories of my youth, when i had hope (i didn’t yet realise that my odd character would render me conventionally unemployable, bringing me to the point where i only have 70 cents left), and at the same time i feel exceedingly glad that Veronique and Iris are happy and have children to continue their genetic line.

i am at present disconnected from the present; for we are normally living in the recent past (the last few seconds or minutes) and our expectations for the near future. i am now living 16-17 years ago, and assume the West will collapse into war in the next few years, and so my 70 cents are of little significance. What is of significance is a distant past, the past which birthed Europe, and a future for these children.

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