I'm lying on the floor at J. and M.'s. K. next to me, other people and C. in front of us. K. moves closer and closer to me until we are lying in the spoon position. I can see J.'s face. It's grotesquely made up, she has cancer and is smoking a cigarette to stop smoking joints. K. and I are very close under the covers. It is hot. What will C. think? I have a slight erection and get out underneath the blanket. I pirouette lightly on one foot from furniture to furniture and the others watch me. M. throws a pen at me and I catch it with one hand. The others applaud. I have the pen in my mouth and the ink runs onto the table, forming a blue pool on the already dirty table. It continues to run and splash. My mouth feels swollen. Slowly it reduces again. I think that psychoanalysis works differently, it's not about trauma but about uncovering thought processes. I go to the bathroom to rinse my mouth. The sink is dirty. I go for a walk through the Swiss mountains and have to go back.