Simple

Today I woke up, same like every night Mesmerised by dreams so bright Chasing strangers that I don't know But convinced they'll help me grow A stranger's arm on my shoulder What is in the eyes of the beholder? I forgot, forgot that I must not Blot my lips in the blind spot And life can be ever so simple In the depth of the child's dimple The God of Wine succumbs to frenzy With libido levels rising immensely Still young enough to lie and deny Too indifferent to even heave a sigh Hopeful for the days yet to come But leaving things unsaid, undone Ready to simplify this life's motion By adding value to my only notion Of facilitating the itinerary I am ready

Autumn fuck me

The smell of autumn is coming my way to pat my nostrils and current fucked up head; been scratching my scalp, nipples and labia too hard. Evidently the delayed feeling of anguish did not evaporate in the oblivion capsule like I hoped it would, but never mind. So in order to suit this ugly face I’m currently not using hair conditioner, cos when things are smooth you tend to slip.

The switch from sunshine to rain is like a mental disease that propels you to walk on a string of ideas; it’s stimulation at its best, a movement, as nothing is constant. Only spring and autumn have the ability to present it. Spring symbolizes the beginning while autumn represents the end. As you may know, I’m rather partial to the latter.

The effort I invest into blending in needs to be balanced out by a long session of music intake as otherwise an indescribable series of numbness will penetrate my limbs and my spine will spread a signal of severe tiredness through my head and chest. Like you want to cry and it’s not coming.
There is just this feeling that something’s not quite right with your face.
Maybe I should test each experiment one at a time instead of all at once, but I can’t do anything about my great curiosity that revolves around “what if”. It’s a compulsion.
Discovering truths, learning new and more effective techniques to live and explore what makes me weak and step out before it forces me down on my knees and forget who I really am. You know what I am talking about. There is a danger involved sparking a kind of fear that makes us take a step back, not all of us, though.

When F. helped me to nurture my abilities last year, I perceived the essential significance within my alter ego. She is of higher standards and a lot more successful, but her flaws are my invention of what could be referred to as my imagined paradise of a successful human being. Motivated by the lie planted in the heart and tickled by her libido, she ultimately integrates herself into a spot in society where she is highly regarded as successful. A lie, after all, can evolve into a piece of truth, as we always need a certain reason for our actions. There is nothing wrong with making things up sometimes. All writers are being accused of this. Accused of what? Facilitating life by creating lies that mirror each individual’s perception of his shadows and thus builds empathy of the highest order. That’s how we get together as far as I know. And this is what I want to do, no matter how much I despise each single one of you.

When Hemingway said that all typewriter-addicts did was sit and bleed, he was right. It makes me wonder how much he bled, judging by his sense of composure, probably drop-by-drop, while some would hemorrhage on the first page.
I saw Hemingway’s tears in the rain, his affection through the way he touched her and his kindness in nursing his fellow soldiers.
Stoic people don’t tell anyone how much it aches.

Emotions are never to be shown.

And Greenland melted with me

There are plenty of ways to interpret the seeds. You call it hope, devastation, sperm or absolutely nothing. The garden is a nice image of aspiration, but what matters is actually the road. To me anyway. Whatever happens in your life, you’ll always feel like walking it because you are attracted by infinity. It doesn’t matter where you are heading, important is that you never stop. The road, the countless steps – they represent possibilities, however, with more obstacles than you can think of; just like a kid leaving his toys on the floor. And your job will be to pick them all up before you continue the walk. One may spend more time looking at a toy than the other; there is nothing wrong with that, as long as your temperature is not rising. Once it starts to rise, then it will be time to move on before you grow too heavy for the ice.
The road provides you balance and a solid ground. There is no need to watch your feet this time; you are at ease an your eyes are solely fixed on infinity. You stumble upon a plastic elephant or a can of Pepsi, but you don’t care, you just keep on chasing the purpose of your life. I like that. It might the most selfish thing ever, but how often have you warned them about the melting ice and they never listened?
Apathy is wet and cold. Sometimes it’s beneficial if you want to keep certain unwanted sentiments off the table. As long as you know when to come out, it’s all good, because apathy, as a defense mechanism can be cruel.
You remember Alice in Wonderland when she simply licks the piece of bread in order to recover her main size? Experience has taught her to take control, has led her through a kind of self-discovery that is both adventurous and sexual.
So many puzzles to pick up from the road! So many people to growl and smile at! Just hardly time to stop…
…which is ok. You’ve swallowed the garden.

Perceptions and presentiments

This is by far one of the prettiest summer-autumn I’ve experienced. The motivating chills and fresh smells have been keeping my head clear somewhat, although I see by the twitch in your eyebrow that you disagree, but it’s natural to disagree with the way one perceives the weather. Not only the weather. So often being accused of painting a dark shade on everything. And it would never occur to you that it looks pretty and makes other people smile. So many accusations lately…I shall seal my lips and blend in. It saves some useless explanations.
Truth is I’m tired. But it’s not the time to sleep.

There is no such thing as empathy or comprehension of the exact same kind. Even a mutual feeling is not at the same length (but you may believe so). There is only similarity. Just like we don’t perceive the beauty of love the same way. This is supposed to make things more interesting. Hm.
It may be difficult to view things from all angles and not just rely on your own, and once you understand your friend’s point of view, you feel that you have broadened your mindset. It feels good.

I love sunshine, even when it blinds my mind and makes me sleepy. However, I miss my nocturnal activities and so does my brain. That’s when everything’s at its place, waiting to be utilized for creative purposes. I can then live out my obsessions; line up strings of thoughts and ideas that will set my mind free or at least distract me from everything unpleasant. It’ also the time when my libido level rises, but I apply sublimation so it becomes a sexy piece of fiction.

Recently I’ve been occupied with presentiments, but not of the good kind. I will not elaborate, for I cannot. If I have to apply Jung’s concept of emotional conflict in relation to the unconscious I feel like I have to polarize my sentiments and support only one extreme, rather than both at the same time, but I don’t know which one. The middle part currently involves too much uncertainty and indecision that are infuriating me, but they are all self-inflicted; I admit that. It’s the same dilemma as Nemo’s in “Mr Nobody”, except that I can’t go into the future to check which extreme will eventually … it doesn’t matter now. You evaluate yourself as you go.

I don’t want to feel presentiments. They come in a blur along with a bad taste in my mouth. And whenever I filter them into a piece of fiction, I feel released. Why do you think I’m so calm? I can always burst another day...when you’re not looking.

Today I made someone cry by saying nothing. It was very unexpected.

Tell the kid to play

Sometimes the feeling that you can do anything leads you astray and you are aware of it, but the idea of going wrong tastes so sweet on your tongue… You spread the sweetness on your teeth and you swallow. The result is a tingle in your stomach. Before you ask yourself where to go from here you do a little tango dance. It feels warm and familiar and yet you condemn it for its inexplicable presence. Lie. The truth behind this is it’s a lie…the tingle is by no means inexplicable. There is just the ongoing concept of denial and endless string of cognitive dissonance. But do you resent her? Probably so. You can hate her for it. She can pinpoint the cause of anything, but there is no reason to talk about it, as it is merely a series of repetition, similar to a soap opera with plenty of reinventions to keep you interested. She filters a lot of things, so often that it loses meaning and new meanings have to be invented. One must not run out of creative motivations – one must not neglect the purpose of his presence, no matter if based on truth or lie. Just do something.