I hate the wind

There's a goodmorning vibe in the way they - she? - stirs the creme into her coffee. Too bad it's 3pm and I've been awake all day and all the previous night and all fucking week for all anybody knows. This isn't a likely place for me to be, with the sidewalk cafes and the trendy shops and the young girls that walk around without having to think about living or working for anyone else in their life. 

I wonder if they - she? - knows what I'm thinking. Clever lipstick smile, clever smiling eyes, clever Lucifer peeking out from under her skirt.. or is that the wind? They - she? - know(s) what I'm thinking. They - she? - can sense it like some vulture smelling out a rotting carcass. Her delicate high heeled shoes strategically reveal her delicate ankles, and her skirt the beginning of her thighs. Those muscles and her skin are unbearably suggestive, though she herself is not. But I'm not tempted. Even if she were eager, I'm not tempted. 

There's a - in the - and over the - is something and they like to see me, stop now? 
Something to do with the wind. 

Have you ever been as suspicious as you are of me now, girl? Did you know that I'm a young woman, just like her? Or are you sure that I'm a young man? An old man? Sometimes I switch between characters, like in dreams and things. Trade a purse for a wallet and then for a pocket full of change. I'm all of them, everybody. 

You don't have the secrets you think you do, 
because I know them all. I wrote them all. 

Goodmorning to the girl stirring her coffee at 3 pm, goodmorning to all the girls on this boulevard. Ever wonder what the wind thinks when he caresses your hair and limbs and face? He doesn't think about you, that's for sure! So you shouldn't worry too much about him either. 

Losing faith in myself and my ability to think rationally

I don't want

I don't feel like

Anything, I don't know. 

I'm underwater, but it's not nice. I've been thinking that maybe... I've got it all wrong. 

But I can't seriously believe that I do. I believe in my thoughts... this stupid strand of nothings that may lead to the ultimate nothing... or the ultimate something. 

Whatever.

But the point is,

I'm probably not that important.

None of this shit is that important RIGHT NOW. But maybe later.

I need to get out of here, and let my days blend and let myself waste a bit.

Those times are always the most inspiring. I never knew what time it was but my very BREATH was profound and earth shattering. 

I want to strew papers, write on walls, topple furniture, and smash lightbulbs and sit around in the dark and have no idea what the FUCK I'm doing. 

That's the plan.

The plan is to go absolutely insane and live like I might die every second. The plan is to live like shit, but to really live. Or to not live at all. To die. To be dead to everything around me. Everything is false. 

But then, there is something thats real.

There's two somethings that are real... maybe three. 

One, Two, and the exchange between One and Two

is really, REALLY real. The realest I've ever come across. 

And One can't go off without Two, because then Three would be missing, and the whole trio would fall apart. 

I can't even believe in myself anymore. 

I can't believe in One. But Two, and the exchanged Three... I can believe in those. 

<3

edfhgoqhurgjherd !

Scratch my eyes out with a broken bottle, keep digging until you get to my brain.

Smash my skull and SET ME FREE

Or maybe you'll send me to just another prison. 

And the woman said to the homeless man

I was sitting on this deck, on the top level, overlooking the lake. It used to be "exclusive" to people eating at this fancy restaurant, but the owners of that restaurant got caught up in some human trafficking and prostitution scandal, and had to close shop. So now the deck and all it's tables and chairs have become the ideal hang-out spot for bored teenagers, middle aged men with medical weed, and of course, the classic bum. 

Today was mostly bums (middle-aged pot heads are working at the moment, and the teenagers are... mostly... at school), and me. The deck is right by the parking-lot, there's just some fancy fencing and what used to be fountains and planters in-between the deck and the curb. The fencing has a gate, so if you were eating on the deck at the restaurant, you could just leave through the gate once you've paid your bill. 

I'm a fairly little person (at 88 lbs? Fairly?) so I was sitting up on the gate swinging back and forth, back and forth, pushing against the fence with my moccasined feet as I came near it, and leaning forward just enough to keep me from crashing into the fencing behind me. This bum was sitting in a chair on the parking-lot side of the fencing and smoking a cigarette. On the deck-side, several bums were reading, sleeping, smoking, or just staring out to space. And there was one other guy, who was obviously drunk but didn't look like a bum, slouched against one of those tall gas heat lamps. 

I find it to be a pretty comfortable place. I like being around the bums, though I mostly just come for the view, but usually some pretty interesting stuff goes down at such a location in a resort "community" like this one that borders some rural mountain towns. 

There was a newer Lexus SUV parked right infront of the bum in the chair, all clean and shiny and black. Not a strange site in this area, most people seem to be pretty well off, for the most part. You could see the camel-coloured leather interior through the windshield, and lots of shiny dangly things (probably angels?) hanging from the rear-view mirror. A woman came out of the dry cleaners a few shops down, and stretched out her arm and made several clicks to her remote controlled car key. The Lexus made a "click!" and it's lights came on. This woman was about five/five, and dressed pretty well, with some designer leather purse, probably Gucci or something. 

She approached the car, bagged dry cleaning in hand, and was about to open the back passenger side door when the bum in the chair said, "Hey lady, spare some change?"
The bum was pretty much the standard thirty-​something bum. Five-o'clock shadow at ten in the morning, overall smell of beer, army cap and this grey hoodie with holes in the elbows, and a military surplus pack. He could probably clean up pretty nice. 

The woman, still holding the door handle, said in a sweet polite voice "God will provide." Then she opened the door, and hung up her dry cleaning on one of those hook things. I was about a whole two feet from the bum, dressed as shabbily as i was, she may have thought that I was following him around, bumming too. 

"What if God sent you here to provide the guy a few bucks, and not just to pick up your dry cleaning?" I asked, still swinging on the gate. "You know, religious types say that God works in mysterious ways and has a reason for everything. You're probably only here so you could give this guy a few bucks. That could be the only reason you even went out today. The only reason your clothes got dirty, maybe the only reason you exist, is to give this guy a few bucks." 

The woman probably thought I was crazy, after staring at me looking scared and puzzled, she shook her head and said shouldn't I be in school today. i said "No, I'm graduated." She shook her head some more and walked behind her car to get in, rather than walk in front and touch toes with the bum. She drove away.

"You really think that?" The bum asked, turning toward me. His breath was like cigarettes and booze all thrown in with the dumpster. "You think the only reason she exists is to give me some money?" He laughed a little, his teeth were stained a golden yellow. "I think, that she probably doesn't even exist at all, really. She's probably fake, just like everything and everyone else."

He laughed. "You think we're fake, huh?"
"No, I think that at this moment, we're probably the only two people are real. Only because we're here, we're really here, right now, and we're not going anywhere."
"Huh."
"But if she was real, and I was wrong, she's probably gonna die soon."
"You think?"
"Yeah. She didn't give you money, and that's the thing that would have saved her life. But she blew her chance. So now she's gonna be taken out."
"You're kind of crazy."
"I probably am. But that's why I'm here, to be crazy. As soon as I stop being crazy, I'll probably die. It's just how it is."
"That's a pretty sad way of thinking."
"I'm happy with it."



Tk

Why I Hate "Old Friends"

"You're the kind of girl who ruins lives, you know that?"

"Funny, I'm reminded of that pretty much ever day."

"It's an inescapable fact, dollface."

"Oh, you talk. I've never ruined yours."

"Only because I'd never let you."

"Like I'd've wanted to, right."

"That's the trouble with you sort. You ruin people without realizing it. It's simply in your nature."

"We'll see. You could get ruined by some girl you never would have expected. I hear love works like that. Especially with ego-flaunting men like YOU."

"Hah."

"You think you're so tough and witty, and no one can down your high, or show you up in anything, but then one day some girl comes along and brings you to your knees and drags your heart around like it's nothing."

"You see, that's why the wise man keeps some good old fashioned callus on his heart. And I for one, do my best to not get mixed up with your sort. Actually, I wish I could avoid your kind all together, but then sarcasm and chauvinism just wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

"So you admit that my sort of girl gives you a run for your money then? We could very well take you down if we got too close?"

"It would never happen. I hate girls who think, I never let them near me."

"So you like stupid girls? Who'd've known..."

"Stupid girls are much easier to manipulate, use, and discard."

"You're such a dick. I don't know why we're friends."

"You hate stupid girls just as much as I do. Don't get self righteous on me now."

"You just said that you hate smart girls. So you hate stupid girls now too? See, this is exactly why i never believe a word out of your mouth. You're so full of shit. Just walk around saying you hate women. Don't categorize them into 'smart' and 'stupid' like you give a damn which one they are. You just spend more time hating the stupid girls because they're easier into bed, and easier out."

"You are the living example of why I detest smart girls. And you're right. I thoroughly hate women."

"Wow, finally honest. I guess there's a first for everything, though I have the feeling this may be the only time in your sad little life."

"You're probably right. But I'M probably right in saying that you hate men almost as much as I hate women, dear."

"Only men like you, darling."

"You must've fallen for quite a few to become so bitter."

"And some VERY smart girls must've totally ruined you to make you such a chauvinist prick."

"Well, that is completely false."

"You're a liar."

"The point is, sweetheart, you ruin people. And you can't help it because you're a doomed, beautiful, thinking girl."

"Noted."

There isn't a reason for candle light

I don't really know about the flow of things. 

I have alot of thoughts about it, but there's no way to be really sure. 

I'm a damsel in the dark. You can't see my face, but you can hear me tiptoeing around on wooden floors. 

The attic is the warmest place in the winter - the higher up you are the further you are from the snow, or so my mother used to tell me. There's snow on the roof of course, but when we'd bring it to her attention she'd tell us to go shovel it off the roof. No one really cared enough to get up there and do it, so we made our beds in the attic, allthesame. I used to quilt with my sisters on those long winter nights. We'd crouch by the woodstove together and sing quietly with our needles working slowly, slowly, so we'd not finish a whole quilt in two nights. It was our only passtime, and it was what kept us from going crazy most of the time. 

My father talks about winters in Europe, and how he never saw so much snow until he came here. He sits in this old chair he brought with him off the ship,  and he smokes his tobacco in a pipe he won in a bar fight back in New York, before he'd even met my mother, and he seems so thoughtful and content. My sisters and I were always so restless, but my father could just sit in his chair, smoking his tobacco for hours and hours and hours. 

Most people seem to think of their mothers as busy and somewhat neurotic. Or atleast, strict and rule enforcing. But my mother never was. She was dreamy and peaceful, more like a girl than like a woman with three daughters all nearly grown. She spent most of her time in the kitchen during the winter, and most of her time in the garden during the sumer, and she was always humming, no matter what she was doing. Sometimes on warm evenings my sisters and I would catch her sneaking out to wade in the stream by our house in the moonlight. 

It hit my father hard when she died. 

The Invisibility Of The Contents Of My Guts

Everything is at higher stakes when you don't realize what you're dealing with. 

That's why desperation is so heavy in the air every goddamn day, in every goddamn place we go.

Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, of every year in our short lives we inhale this toxin of desperation. But it's a desperation without cause. There is no reason to look behind us, because there's nothing there. There is no reason to scurry toward a perceived "safe" place, because nothing is really safe. There's nothing out to get our fragile human minds. Only what we conjure up and give the power to take us. We don't know, so we scare ourselves into believing it's us against everything. Our enemies are an army of ghosts. How many people are ruined by their "pasts"? 

I propose there is no past. No old selves with old habits and old stories that somehow prove relevant to who we are today. To apply one's "past" to oneself makes it a present, and not a past. It's not who you were, it's who you are. You are yourself and you never changed if you hold onto it. 

Some people are afraid of "losing" themselves, and some people go on journeys to "find" themselves, and some people have "identity" crisis that sends them into a void of... desperation.

I am desperate.

I am desperate to lose myself.

Because once lost, how can any desperation exist?

How can anything exist?

Nothing can, and nothing will.

Thing intangible and without links can't be as fragile as the glassy shells we live in, or the glassy shells we BASE our SELVES around. Abandonment is so necessary. Lose it, lose everything. Lose it with an AIR OF DESPERATION. 

I'm cutting all the invisible threads, and I'm throwing out all the old game pieces. There is no game anymore. 

Most people seem to find comfort in what exists.

I find comfort in the lack of existents. Because then there are no walls anymore. 

This blog is basically word, thought, and feeling vomit from my"self". About thoughts, feelings, existence, and what exactly IS and ISN'T to me. It's a bit of experiment, abandoning oneself. But it's something that ought to be documented. IN THEORY.