[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY "2 TOO"

Perhaps I should describe my predicament. I am in a room. That has so far been established. The room is yellow. I wish I could describe the yellow but it escapes me. It’s so hard remembering things. Like my name. But that is different. I don't feel panic, sick and dread when I try to remember a color I once held in my hands and brushed on my chin when I was a child. (Right Marginalia: lemon, butter, sun, sunny, puce — was puce ever yellow?) (Left Marginalia: was that a memory? or just a programmed association?)

Oh, dear. I took half a page just to describe a color — perhaps it is better that I draw it.

(Trans. Note: Scan of drawing will be found on following page.)

It seems they have programmed me with the rudiments of perspective. And apparently, I can remember the word “rudiments” but I can’t remember a simple shade of yellow. Fuck. (marginalia: well, you didn’t forget that word now, did ya?)

The pens and journal were in the drawer of the desk. "Logos" was already written in it, so I presume the journal belongs to him. Maybe they will take me away too, and Logos will return and find his book with all my scrawlings in it. I hope he, or rather you, don’t mind.

The glass was full when I woke up so I guess that makes me an optimist by default. I don’t know who filled the glass. Since there is no little’s girl room either, I can’t tell you what happens to the water afterwards. I don’t eat either. I feel no hunger but my left wrist is bruised and has small pin pricks along the vein.

I’ll spare you the color of the bed and the floor 

The two sets of long skinny lights are both on when I wake up.

The ceiling recedes to a flat grey ocean. It’s the wrong word but something prevents me from remembering it (the same monster that prevents me from remembering my name).

Just now I thought I saw the shadow of the leviathan floating above me in it.

I can't tell you what I look like as I can’t see my face. I’m slender with fine bones and pale skin. No idea my height as it’s all relative. The bed fits me. I fit it. As I said: I belong here.

I can’t tell you the color of my hair. I have none.

Not down there either.

Add “Brazilian” to the top of the list for clues to my identity.