Hello my conscious self,
Reality didn’t just slap me in the face yesterday. It slapped me with a door on the face. Just as I thought things were back on a good track, reality said, oh yeah? And used the steel door of a safe to slap me around a little. I feel a bit battered today, that’s all. Just an elephant size bit. Oh well. It’s not like I wasn’t aware of the problem, but naive as I am, I was certain it was better. Never mind. One more relationship down the drain.
You’re not helping me any.
My hormones are making this even worse.
I honestly wonder what the hell we need hormones for.
There is no answer to that.
There is no answer in general, and that forces me to come up with new interesting variations of an answer. And new fantasies I am too tired to do anything about. Just thinking, thinking, thinking, and consequently feeling horny, and eventually the day ends, and a new day comes, ad infinitum. The days succeed each other in the same meaningless manner. And I am about as aware of residing in flesh as the average ghost is aware of haunting a place. Hmph.
I was watching a friend of mine talk about martial arts and I envied him. Envied the ease with which he moves, envied his effortless posture. And thought of one of my characters, my beloved Takeshi. But there is no meaning there either, trying to live your life through other people’s experiences.
I live in people’s heads
I live on borrowed wings
in between spaces and notes
and in other writers’ dreams
Meaning is a midnight thief
meaning is a lie
meaning is the director of every small drama
we call life…”
Where is the meaning? My inner voice demands. Tell me where the meaning is.
There is no meaning other than what we choose.
I am so tired.
I did not lie when I said to my friend your energy is barbed. It has thorns and fangs and barbs and it’s dark red, almost crimson black, solid and wet and sticky at the same time. Like the inside of an exotic flower that first attracts you with its smell and colour, then traps you and sucks you dry. But at the same time it gives, it gives fever dreams, nightmares and weak mornings. You are all devouring, all demanding. You leave love bites and secret poison as proof of your having been there, and finger marks on wrists and napes. You make women muffle their moans in between sheets and inside pillows, and next morning as you make your bed those moments fall on the ground like the beads of a broken necklace. I wonder, truly wonder how happy you are with what you have.
Are beings like us ever meant to be happy? And I don’t mean be happy together. It will never happen. I am just wondering, that’s all.
It’s not like I am doing anything more noteworthy anyway.