one of the issues with my job is that, it allows me too much time to think.
sometimes it's a good thing whereas some other times it's a bad thing. today, it's a bad thing.
i want to FLEE god-fucking-dammit i want to flee it's my only focus right now. and i can't and it frustrates me a lot. i can't because of that job-thing. because of the cats-thing. because of money. because of all of this tying me up here.
i feel as though i'm losing my grip on everything. all choked up yet i haven't been able to cry for days.
i wish things were different but they're not and i know they're never ever going to be.
i´m in vienna, and after approx three days my internal clock still won´t believe it´s 2:51am. because it is NOT. it is 8:51pm.
also, according to this german keyboard, the ´y´ is actually not a ´y´ but a ´z´. or rather actuallz. and no after three days my fingers still won´t believe that this is indeed accurate, either. because it is NOT.
past the insomnia, however, i am quite enjoying this little trip. i hadn´t stepped foot in europe in 5 years. everything feels so...european. which is good. REALLZ good.
and as usual kathy is a charm to be around. we are being very busy and amusing ourselves. i believe she is as well, anyway. ha ha.
now given that my plane doesn´t crash on thursday night i shall be back home, where i´m gonna be dancing with my cats and having one or two or too many cigarettes and most likely bugging the hell out of bobbi and throw out whatever i´d forgotten in the fridge upon departure.
«ordinary life does not interest me. i seek only the high moments. i am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous. i want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; i want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension. but i am not always in what I call a state of grace. i have days of illuminations and fevers. i have days when the music in my head stops. then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish furniture. but while i am doing this i feel i am not living.»
- [her]: «how was your lunch?» - [me]: «awful. but i ate it anyway since this was all i had.» judging from her face i guess she was expecting a slightly more formal answer.
at work people keep on disappearing never to be spoken of again. in the afternoon, a bird flies by then loudly comes crashing into my window. and my heart stops. my throat is tight and my stomach is in knots. i'm scared to turn around fearful that death might be here and if ignore it it's going to be just fine. my hair smells like cigarette and on the bus a guy twice my size chooses to sit by my side, squeezing me towards the window. and inside i feel like i could die because i can hardly bear this. the intensity. sebastien-dahlin' calling me on my cell as i'm still stuck next to that window, awaiting my nearly coming deliverance.
----- wednesday 11th;
she didn't ask again how my lunch was.
- [him]: «would you happen to have a cigarette?» - [me]: «yes. but they're mine.»
«no one's picking up the phone guess it's me, and me and this little masochist, she's ready to confess all the things that i never thought that she could feel, and, hey, jupiter, nothing's been the same, so are you gay? are you blue? thought we both could use a friend to run to
sometimes i breathe you in, and i know you know and sometimes you take a swim, found your writing on my wall if my heart's soaking wet, boy, your boots can leave a mess hey, jupiter, nothing's been the same, so are you gay? are you blue? thought we both could use a friend to run to
no one's picking up the phone, guess it's clear he's gone and this little masochist is lifting up her dress guess i thought i could never feel the things i feel, and, hey, jupiter, nothing's been the same, so are you gay? are you blue? thought we both could use a friend to run to i thought i wouldn't have to keep with you... hiding
[i go from day to day i know where the cupboards are i know where the car is parked i know he isn't you]»
«i know that we've never met before but that was then, and now i need you more [...] taking me down off this cross lay me down, down, down in the dust whoa, love, take my hand across the crowd [...] i have no children i have no husband i have no reason to be alive, oh, give me one»
just a moment to thank to those who replied to this, whether here on lj or elsewhere. profusely crying into my pillow last night did a little bit of good & as for the rest i'm trying to cope the best that i can.