Have to write this outa my mind. There's a (sraight) dude that I met yesterday at a local museum. We sometimes were friends, sometimes foes, always emotions involved. He borrowed some books from me, years ago, then for research. I totally forgot about them over the time. Not about the guy. He wrote me an actual handwritten letter two weeks ago, suggested a meeting to return the stuff, also asked about the museum as a neutal place. I wrote him back, but only via email and so we met. He is a wreck. Kinda Arthur Fleck character. Full of anexiety, using a cane to hold on to somethig. Long unkemt hair, covered by some weird idiotic cap, a filthy looking Bruiser Brody beard, a grandfather's overcoat, only to be completed with a Doctor Who scarf. Disgusting. He told me that he's so agoraphobic, that could barely cross a street anymore without being close to some panic attack. No asylum would take him ether, because he's still performing on tiny stages, as a poet in mostly empty clubs and that he's not suicidal enough for any clinic. He could not pay for that kind of therapy either. He claimed to enjoy his bohemian lifestyle, but that he also was toying with the idea of becoming a manager at one of these cheap clothes store chains. He could then spend all of his money on Doctor Who merchandise. After that rant he showed me a Patreon app with audio recordings of his performances, little snippets from his stories , vignets, poems, etc. Almost begging me to become a member, or at least to visit one of his shows. I told him the truth, that I'm super busy, knee deep in work at the agency. That I barely have the time for my personal art at the moment. Did not told him about magick, but had the feeling that I might had thrown a curse on him after our last fallout. Anyway, he returned the books, we parted our ways, I walked home under the clear open night sky, with really no emotions involved this time.