Hiding in plain sight

Maybe I'm unhappy, because I'm tired and my fatigue is ultimately due to my laziness. The best way I know how to fix this is by sleeping, but right now I don't feel tired enough to sleep and have dreams about French airports and misplaced luggage and buying pear marmelade packed in plastic pumpkins that you can find at shopping malls hidden beneath the subway; running and trying to find the words to express myself in French and that obnoxious girl from school standing naked across the room explaining how good pornography is made.

I wish these months passed by faster...

I want to stop

I'm reluctant to move in any direction right now, I don't feel like sleeping or waking up. I don't want to speak to anyone, but when someone speaks to me they'll either remind me of happy times and I'll laugh and feel happy or I'll fill up with rage and contempt towards them and what they say. I'm tired of responding. thinking. doing [nothing]. I don't want to dress up or undress; tired of the thought of taking a shower or brushing my teeth, yet doing these things, I'm very pleased with myself and the outcome. Clean teeth, hair, comfortable clothes; soft.

Times like these make me wonder how large the possibility is that I'm losing it or how people end up in that state. How does one... and why don't they.

[...]

Someday...

I'll wake up and hug someone to death.

This apartment consisted of bits and pieces plagiarized from several homes I've been let into, not that the outcome was all that pretty or appealing. It didn't feel like home, it felt strange and unfamiliar, and I had responsibilities I didn't remember asking for. Lots of light, lots of space, lots of nice furniture I would never invest in - and the baby I was to look after.

Somehow I was more fascinated by the elephant that could tie its own shoelaces and had six feet; while it wore high heels on three feet and slippers on the other three, I watched it tie them neatly with its trunk and found it amusing. The lady who owned it walked out of the living room that had turned into the outdoors and continued along the road into the jungle, while I was left with a smaller elephant of my own. Quickly I tried to find my elephant shoes as well in order to follow, but they had already disappeared and I felt helpless.

I was back in the living room again with the baby playing around and he looked much like my nephew. He was so tiny he could be dressed in doll clothes and that's what he agreed to wear, so we could go outside. I kept going along with it, even though it felt unpleasant. The door to the balcony was open and there were dozens and dozens of cats that all wanted to play with me; I wanted them to leave me alone. I could feel them on my legs and their claws scratching me. The doorbell rang and I asked Lotta to get it, but she didn't want to help me out. There was a long-haired, bearded man at the door holding a cat by its tail, he threw it in, thanked me for agreeing to look after it and left smiling. I quickly shut the door not to let any of the cats escape.

Lotta told me a bee had managed to get in and we had to get it, so it wouldn't sting the baby. The harder we tried, the harder we failed and then we couldn't find it anymore. There were more and more mosquitoes on the walls though, and I kept killing them. The more I killed, the more the next one started to resemble a small parrot-like bird. They kept getting bigger and bigger with distinctive beaks. Then they started having colors. The bee had disappeared for good, which worried me, and then I couldn't find Lotta either.

There were three colorful parrots on a dresser. I approached them cautiously to smack them to death with the newspaper I had used to whack the smaller bird-looking insects earlier. They didn't move, so I kept hitting them to make sure they were dead. Since I couldn't be sure, I used the rolled up newspaper to puncture one's eyes. For some reason I thought the proper way to deal with my unexplicable rage towards the bird creatures was to bite one's head off. I was worried I'd get some sort of poisoning or fatal disease from the dead thing's head in my mouth though, so I spat it in a sink in the kitchen of the house and kept washing my mouth with water only to find there was more and more bird flesh and feathers stuck in my throat that I had to get out. I thought I was going to throw up.

I (used to) have all the time in the world

Now I only have some of it. Time to zone out.

What a huge waste of time

I say so much retarded and unrequired shit and then think about it afterwards and wish I could unsay it.

Or maybe replace all the meaningless crap with something that actually matters; whatever that's supposed to mean in a given context.

Like sand through the hourglass

Fear of actions or their consequences or rather the motives behind them - I don't know, it's all (ir)relevant, relative, ambiguous.

All this because I try to believe there's no other way; that this is the right one, the way to avoid mistakes... but trying to finish is so tireing and people require compromise and I lack patience and understanding.

I need to stop following my own advice again.

Flawless reasoning, am i doin it rite?

Mostly I wish I didn't do everything I did and did more of some of those things I don't do enough instead, not that I know what those things would be - or if I do, I generally regard them as actions better omitted. The problem is simple and the formula to fix it all doesn't seem very complicated. Does this mean I'm silly for being afraid, if it's fear, or that I'm perhaps being smart for a change, approaching cautiously and giving thought to what possible damage may be caused.

Thinking this much about anything was never really worth it, because even when you fuck up you're kind of glad you did instead of not doing anything about it, except this is a retarded generalization and I realize you may not agree. I mean, fuck logics and consequences, I'd rather die in a fire than be reasonable sometimes. just sometimes though. Most of the time it's something quite different and really all the same, without the bad taste in my mouth.

If I had the off-switch for my brain I sometimes wish I had, I'm pretty sure I would never use it; I'd just find comfort in knowing there was one. Now it feels a bit more hopeless, even with the exact outcome, but mostly because of reasons.

Stuff
ed, any
think/g i am
you, we are
pleas u're
breaking me on the
table, against the wall
down the hall
cross the line, do it all
word play, word play, decay
tapp, ing away
how do you spell
s/torm,
sil-
ent ities holding me down
hmm, mmm, mmh

Wall of sound

I miss this; if you're part of this, then it'd only be fair to admit I miss you too, occasionally, for brief moments. The way the chords of an acoustic guitar reproduce with my soul, like when you poke fun at me and find the weak spot and I wonder if you know, if you know, do you know. Do you not realize.

You play the piano and you whisper words and when you are quiet there is nothing. I worship you in the silence of that nothingness, the nothing that is everything that it consumes. What I say means nothing, unless they are the words I try to keep from you to prolong whatever we have now.

But you don't know about the violins, they weep when you're gone and compose in your name. The violins that laugh in your presence. The laughter covers everything, blinds my vision and certainly I'll never see enough, if I'm looking in the wrong direction. If it's dark I'll still hear you breathe, are you still there, are you there, you're there, you're close but you're far away; enough just enough.

Excitement I thought I'd never feel again, but I'm still doing it upside-down and I think I'm happy. I'm glad. I'm content.

Instead of trying to make a list, I'll try this

Apparently a stolen couch does not help one at a lack of words, but it's amazing how little things you don't care all that much about make all the difference in the world, when you're not surrounded by the four familiar walls you're used to. The thing that's most concerning I suppose is that anything I might have to say hasn't really been practiced in any way and rehearsing never felt all that appealing. Basically I'm causing obstacles for myself here.

Basically I produce large amounts of shit.