Summer evening. Sitting in an apartment far away from the studio, well, maybe not so far away but far away enough. What to do? Watch TV? Yeah, sure, long time since I did that, or surf the Internet, or cry a little. Life sucks. I miss that girl and I realize she’s not good for me (& I’m not good for her either I s’pose). Skies looks so cold. Fuckin’ headache. Too many things to do. Well, happy I haven’t been sleepin’ in the studio since last week, but I s’pose I’m back there tomorrow, and frankly, I don’t like the thought of that. Suddenly I feel so old; will I die soon? Would be nice. Maybe should leave town, maybe it’s time for that, going down to Lonesome Town where the broken hearts stay, yeah. Can I find another one that I can love like that? It took me about 14 years to feel that strange thing again, well, except for an innocent night with Martha last year, hotel in Norway, drunk since long, long cold winter. Now four months has passed since the end of February. Woaw, straaaaange feeling! No partying for almost a week. Why should I? There’s no reason as far as I can see, and in fact I’m sure that if I meet her (& I will for sure) the pain will be unbearable. No more pain for me, please, enough of that stuff by now; can you believe that I still can get hurt? Sun goes down, days are getting shorter, warm summer evening and no love in sight. Who is my baby-darling-lover? Who’s the one I miss the most? Can’t say, everything seems to have happened so long ago, and I’m so old now, I don’t have the right to live. Made some sketches, another strange bird and a strange couple. Not in the mood for painting, even if I should. Well, no canvases left, gave the last one to Boel, but then it was great to see the way she treated it. Seems so long ago now, about three weeks, an eternity. Nina is living somewhere around, don’t exactly know where, maybe I should call her, or maybe not. Maybe I should call Boel and ask her what went wrong, if she knows, I’m not so sure of that. Need a drink, now!!! Or something else, whatever. Don’t wanna sleep, I can do that when the winter comes. Or when I’m back in the batcave. Or when I’m dead. Fragile clouds…