I don’t know whether anything reaches me. It’s like I’m far away from everything. Too far away to be anything. I don’t know how to express it.
Nothing’s mine, philosopher. My life isn’t mine. Our house in Gosforth. Our house in Mallorca. My rental properties – I have those, I know. I own those. Quite lucrative. I have a regular portfolio. They’re not mine.
You see, I should be a business woman. I know how to make money. Butt hat doesn’t matter.
Nothing touches me. Nothing reaches me. Even you. All you’re doing is help me express this … absence. Allowing me to say these things.
Work in Progress 