Recent state of things, creativity override, feeling a surge of inner fire again. I feel something big is about to happen. Mid-April check-in and thought process. Fragment of a story. I have created an archive of characters and stories, and so many tableaus that seem to interconnect, but I can’t seem to find the thread.
Dora refused to get out of the bathtub for three days. She has been eating the same things. Exactly the same every day. For breakfast, butter biscuits soaked in cold milk. For lunch, corn, simply boiled corn with lemon juice on it. For dinner, grated potatoes with eggs. I prepared them and left them on a wooden tray hovering over the bathtub. 🛀 She refused to say anything about anything. On the third day, I woke up with my face wet. She was standing over my head, completely drenched and naked, saying that the price of the dollar has gone up.
Dora and Doris begin to dig a grave in the backyard, but they refuse to say what it’s for. Their mother watches them from the window as she bakes a lemon cake. I keep thinking about a farcical, dysfunctional, non-nuclear family dynamic… and many stories start to emerge, not here in Vienna as I aimed for, but in Tehran.