10.09.2025
‘Do you think other people see you as a poet or a genius?’ Alfonso was drinking a gloriously pale pink shade of something. I looked at the label: Still lemonade with cherry blossom and yuzu. I had tried some earlier and it was delicious because it had freshly squeezed lemons in it.
‘No. Others cannot recognise or acknowledge genius or reward it.’
‘What is it that makes you a genius?
‘The unfinished book that is in its first draft. The construction of madness in society. What no one can see but me. Originality. Vision. Analysis. The greater truths of this society.’
‘Quit the blurb. You have fanciful notions.’
‘Only truths. Do you remember yesterday that you said that our eyes did not meet on the moon, nor our minds?’
‘Yes. That was truth.’
‘Well look again. I took this photo of Lady Moon all undressed. Now, whoever reads here, their eyes will see the same moon that I do. And our eyes will meet on the moon. We will meet on the moon.’
Alfonso laughed. I laughed as well. He kept on chortling to himself. ‘You are the lover. In love, you are a genius. I have to give it to you!’ He clapped me on the back.
I looked at the moon and whoever looks at the moon looks at me.
diary of a lone man 