Date 11th November 2014
Destination: Geneva (Switzerland)
Subject: Daniel Sloss
Last night was the first since beginning these trials that I have not used an abundance of alcohol as an instrument for my studies and as I lay clear headed in my hotel bed I completely forgot how to initiate sleep. Every evening I retreat to a new surrounding, new illuminations creeping into the darkness from new windows and new door-frames and LEDs, new density and texture of new bedding, new noises from the pipes, the streets and my new neighbours. Without the cocoon of intoxication to close me in I couldn't distract my thoughts from the awareness of these unfamiliar sensory stimulations to entice them down the chambers of nonsensical internal illusions and ramblings that usually, happily preoccupy my consciousness for many hours while the cellular structure of my being recuperates in a state of hibernation. I spent the duration of the earth's slow moving rotation teetering at the mouth of this ethereal tunnel until the sun's protons finally scattered upon Geneva as I submitted to explore the cavernous depths of their wonder.
It appeared by my subject's dishevelled demeanour that he didn't get to sleep until really late either. Fatigue sat uncomfortably on the throne usually occupied by a mighty hangover, however the usurper hadn't earned its crown.
We were tired.
We hung unattended at the restaurant for thirty minutes after being seated before we decided that this establishment surely can't be a profit making business model and must fund its operation by using the pseudo-service as an ulterior front for a more sinister means of income such as human trafficking. We decided to no longer associate with such criminal activity and instead purchased a sandwich from a street vendor.
We had a highly productive day formulating ideas for comedic output in my subject's hotel room, he really responds to creative midwifery and seems at his most content when his fingers rain on the keyboard of his computer birthing ideas into data.
As I left his room to compose my appearance for the performance ahead I struck my shinbone on the corner of Daniel's bed frame, all of the world's suffering, torture and unfairness intensified as a black-hole of pain that exploded into a universe of agony through my nerve endings. My expression remained impassive, my response was mute. Had Daniel not been present I'd have let out a scream that would have shattered all of the windows for eight blocks, but the impact need kill me before I gave him that satisfaction.
After obliging my facade as Daniel's support act I was approached in the interval by a very complimentary lady from the audience, who after several beats in our innocuous back and forth, threw down the frank proposition that she would be keen to engage in sexual intercourse with me, to paraphrase her four letter slang. I met this unexpected change of direction with a bashful stutter and malfunctioned body language. Had I been physically eligible, I consider Daniel would have one less audience member for his headline segment but having much grander responsibilities than gaining the temporary pleasure from meaningless fornication my systems failed to process the algorithms and my face may as well have read 'Error 404: Page not found.'
Her flirtation diminished at at my glitch in response and she returned to the auditorium as I went back stage to reboot. It's a solitary moral victory to retain chastity in monogamy in the face of such opportunistic temptation, it's a victory you can't easily share with the person you share everything with, information you cannot expect them to receive with equanimity. Personally speculating, the moment I encourage the topic of declined offers of sexual advances to become a featured conversation in dialogues with my girl is the moment she has a lot more to say about the day's events than I do. I suppose I'll gloat about my resolve internally on this occasion.
After the show Daniel and I visited a pizzeria for a spot of supper, I cut my folded calzone down the centre and to my confusion a yellow substance flowed from my meal, it wasn't viscose enough to be melted cheese yet it was too opaque to be olive oil, I dabbed inquisitively at the strange liquid, smelt it to no avail then sampled it with my taste buds. To my sheer delight I witnessed the taste of egg yolk, I authenticated my conclusion with a visual on its source. There was a perfectly poached egg folded into my pizza, a stroke of genius I've never considered let alone observed, the Swiss had thrown me a culinary curveball so late in the evening, a reward for my righteous principles. It is a long time since I've felt the spirit of Easter in November.
Daniel watched in disdain as I devoured my evening's bounty and suggested only a lizard could enjoy a chicken's menstrual discharge as much as I.