"there's no heaven"

so Austria is marked with loneliness. I spend so much time thinking with fear about the time that will dispel everything I cherish between us that I guess it will eventually have to come true. I try to ward the bad predictions off, but her silence only bolts the door, I can't go back, it's all grown quiet and empty. it's been only four days without her and I'm already confused, because my senses have forgotten everything they had experienced before.
so Austria is like an open-air museum. now I know I like Germany better. it has more guts, which makes it more real. I can't think clearly in a town of dolls' houses. elaborate grooves in the facades of every building and cafés perfect in every detail bear some insincerity, this is not life. what about life? – what life? it's only a broken line on the hand. – and God? – there is no God. there are only crosses by the roads. I'm from Poland.

the forest is humid and deep, the rhythm of my feet puts me easily in trance. yet I get annoyed just as quickly, somewhere deep inside me I keep on waiting for a word from her that would calm me down and give me hope.

since poetry is like a cup of espresso which invigorates mind, I grabbed Handke, but it's, well, Leben ohne Poesie. bitter chaos. so hard to believe he's Austrian.
Austria, what kind of word is that at all? Russia is a tempting severity (not to use the austerity word...), like in the Moscow letters from B.; a country that makes you apprehensive and yet fascinates you. Slovakia, graceful Slavism. Czech Republic, bawdy, likeable. it's all in every word. even Greece is pure dust and thick-leafed olive trees. but Austria? there's totally nothing behind the word. it discloses nothing. it's transparent.
these perfect indoors, the streets like taken from a dream of a conservative urban visual artist... it's impressive with its unearthliness for the first thirty minutes you see it. but sooner or later you'll get troubled by the lack of human nature which is not perfect – and the dream, well, it's not even close to it. these sweet decorations, these blissful corners are soulless.
so I felt somewhat satisfied when I heard the restaurant chansonnier singing about some tender romance for the guests and their Wiener Schnitzel. it was like kitsch and junk sticking from beneath traditional Tirol outfit, the Austrian kind of disco dance.
poor pale Austria, I take my sudden loneliness out on this sweet little country. O. writes I should pull myself together and stop blaming those who rode all the 1,200 km to get here with me and try to make use of what I have instead. so I tried today in the morning. I managed to make it half way through my breakfast.

I wanted her so much not to lose me.
I wanted to continue with what we had so much, in spite of how absurd the idea was.
our five days together were five gigantic steps forward. and now she's not there for me.

Handke won't help tonight. maybe only a few pages from Katharina Hagena and a long night sleep.
Heaven? there's no heaven! there's a gap between the skyscrapers. what about heart? it's not heart, it's only a piece of flesh.