and everything falls too easily into place.
The Indian woman tells me everything - her family, her hopes, her motivation,
her desires, her soul.
It's a familiar confession. A familiar conversation. I know, from here, how to find my way.
I can have her.
It does not feel good, the way I thought it would.

The German stands a little way from the group. There is a sadness. She holds an anger.
It is not my fault.
But it does not feel good.

Anna sends her messages.
We agree to meet up on an island.
It's so many steps back.
Jack says: why not? Just don't let her trick you into getting her pregnant.

And right now, Jack is out, cheating on his girlfriend.

The other German calls and says - it would be good if you can come on Monday.
And Gaelle calls, too, to say be there.

Everything falls too easily into place.
This reminds me of 2007.
All the men slap me on the back.
Every word brings laughter.
The kind and the weak fall for me.
I behave selfishly and without honour.

I deny my god.
One time.
A second time.
A third.
And I do not stop.

This reminds me of 2007.

I am washed away by my own success.
I feed off the eyes of longing and admiration.

The Polish girls says - come visit.
I say the gods are against us.
She says the gods are mischievous.
She sends a picture to make them blush.

I stand on the balcony and feel like a cunt.
The way I should feel.
The married men with young children look to me and I,
I want to tell them about fraud.

It does not matter what you have
so much as how you hold it
or hanker after it.

Me,
I do such damage.

I was walking with the powerful.
I have a seat at such tables.
But I am corruption.
I am the corruption I wish was never visited upon the world.

Women seem to line up.
Stars appear to align.
Even women I used to sleep with return, looking for affection.

I want love
but I chase after something else.

I take love from others.
I take hope.
When I am not cowering in self-loathing and honesty,
when I am not writing from a holy place of humility,
I am a bastard with a weapon
committing every crime I taught your children to despise.

And this is life.

December, 2013.
I don't know what I'm doing.
I'm doing everything.

Every time I hear my voice,
hear the words played back to me,
I want to cry 'liar', 'fraud', 'deceiver'

And every woman that looks as though she might agree -
well then,
I'll do everything to have her love me,
everything to have her take my fraud as gospel.

I was better when I was crippled by loneliness and loathing.
Now, in power, I am much worse.
It is no longer just myself in danger.

That I can know this makes it worse.