Zufrieden?

I ran in bewildered with a young woman on my arm. The male friend from me met us and we were happy. Then in with the language straight away and no more signs of the one of mysterious origin. Language and language with so much tolerance that calmed me and helped me. Some fun and much education and a little worry tinged with friendship. That was the mountain of pork. We ride without care. I scare. I love it. Onward with them both who I know for two hours. And into pools of delight and horror that drugs produce and with nothing but the clean air and delightful smells of soap and food. I change very much within myself and lose it all in the fight with the old. I will never win. I will always have the better of myself. But that delightful little one is there and pleasing me and only in the gloom of friendship am I soured by a green feeling. I can only blame myself. The city, dear Berlin, covers me and I breathe it in. I never discover it is not air I am breathing but I know after a while. Upon my cheeks a salty creek dried by a rush of blood and a smile. I see Hitler. I talk to Hess and strain for Bach but His moustache tickles my ear and I see no further than his fetid hand in angled salute. Andrew, I apologise. This is for me again. If you get one tenth the joy from it that I got from writing it, you're on drugs. She rolls over in her sleep and breathes in slightly and I feel the slight clenching in my stomach. The sign of life makes this a reality and the situation reveals to me the beauty and the terrible desolation. I dream. I dream. I am locked between the worlds and fighting with no muscle. I have lost it because I have become too good at what I was never good at and I did not know to stop improving. I have unbalanced myself and the only way now is older. Why the sickness. Always. ?. I ask you again. ?. There will never be an end. There is no circle just an amorphous mass that eats itself and vomits and the vomit is the mass. Hate this and I won't love you.