The truth and only the truth.
This was the reason I started this diary in the first place, I needed to tell the truth... why? Because I lie a lot.
I think being a good liar is an essential quality of being a good actor; Enjoying your lies I fundamental for a good writer.
I need to write, I haven’t written anything in months but the urge is getting bigger and bigger, and the story is now to big to keep it in my head.
And I’m a lousy writer, just read my entries they lack style, coherence and mainly good grammar.
I feel I’ve been giving up lately, giving up on so many things... specially my dreams. I stopped straightening and dying my hair, haven’t got dressed in days. I need to record this video and yet I seem to not find the appropriate time. Time... I need time, I keep convincing myself to give up on these things because there is no time. No time to write, to read, to lie down, to draw...
The truth is I don’t know if any of this is true. Or if my lies are taking a toll on me, and I’ve started fall for ‘me. Believing my own lies; If an actor gets so much in character he starts to actually believe he is his character... does that make him a terrific actor or the worse of all?
Didn’t this happen to the guy that played Nosferatu in that old silent movie? (I’m too lazy to Google it now) or isn’t this the same that happened to Ed Wood, who blindly believed his work was truly amazing.
Back to the pressing matter, I no longer know if this diary true, or if I’ve fallen into the delusion it is... I keep writing I’m sad, but am I? I keep trying to expand my writing beyond myself to prove I’m not an egocentric maniac... what do you think?
Drunks have taken over the block, you can hear them arguing and laughing from all over here in the fifth floor. People are dying in floods all over the place, corruption invades everything in this country, and the truth is I am here at night, writing, expecting an epiphany from putting this words here... because I promised here I would tell the truth and only the truth.
(11 Days Late)
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