I forgot what I was dreaming about in waking up, but I remember it as having been a good one, but unfortunately it faded.
I got a glimpse however when visiting the shopping paradise we have here, what some intellectuals call a temple of Mammon, a soulless pit where people are reduced to different consumer identities and now are looking not only to buy a grocery or a lamp, but rather a dream and a lifestyle and a taste of the good life but it’s unfortunately a very shallow and cynical happiness that comes with a hefty price tag.
Anyway so as I was sneezing I recollected briefly a vivid image from the dream: blood gushing out from my nose and all orifices, blood covering my hand as I held it up to cover my mouth as I stumbled into a brightly lit room, resembling that of a bigger type of shop or a mall.
That was it. Of course what I found to be interesting is how on earth I could’ve remembered this as having been a good, pleasant dream.
Half-laying in this egg shaped outdoor furniture lounge chair, shaded from the gentle warmth of the bright shining sun by the USA fleece snuggle blanket, enjoying a lukewarm cup of coffee, listening to what in my opinion is the best Nick Cave album: “no more shall we part” on the boom blaster, and having this great new book beside me (I will write more about it later) I have a great fondness for books: the one I am reading to get to venture into that world and furthermore: the books I have bought but haven’t read yet which I will approach like a gentleman looking to meet a new friend, looking for things to like about it, looking to see if we can find a common ground.
I relish this gentle melancholy I have been feeling a lot lately, because it makes me creative, because it makes me appreciate what I have, because it makes me sentimental and vulnerable and helps me approach my friends with kind words because I do not know when is the last time we meet, I enjoy the sense of urgency which I have gotten to leave nothing unsaid and not waste any more time. I relish that when I feel joy again it will be that much sweeter, in the same way I appreciate even the smell of a fart because I only smell certain things once every other month or so.
I appreciate the amount of introspection and soul searching which have led me to this point where I now see myself as different than before, where in fact the things which used to interest me don’t interest me no more. Where the things I held dear now seems ugly to me. I would like to dedicate myself to the arts and I would like to appreciate all of the beautiful things while I still can.
hello hello you know a few weeks back I had a friend over. He who was a bad influence back then but now he’s just a friend.
One evening we went bathing in a beautiful pond, encircled by hills and trees and here and there some lucky persons’ houses or summer lodgings were scattered in such a way that they have a beautiful view of the pond I am now describing. The shore was made up of gently curved, round stone blocks which would have provided a smooth entry into the waters had they not been slick with water and some moss like greenery.
It turns out that when my friend stumbled and fell haplessly from the wet stone into the water, his wedding ring must’ve flown off. The next day when they were already at home — having driven back the same day — they couldn’t find it no more.
I knew I wouldn’t find it, not only on account of the muddy murky lakebed, but also that same evening a full month’s worth of rain had been pouring down, breaking a very long streak of relentless sunshine and dry hear.
I knew I wouldn’t find it. And yet I went back and looked for it anyway — because that’s what a friend would do.
I drank a dr.pepper today because it used to be my favourite, but it didn't taste nothing. That's a bit sad but not too much. Like an opposite gilded edge put on this day but no worse than that.
Now I'm thinking, because that's usually why I sometimes find no sleep. I've got a raching mind. So instead of sleeping now I think about how fascinating I find composts to be. They are warm and there's decay in them. And death of course; death is in the composts. Just dead pieces of rotting animals and also vegetables but at the same time they (the composts) are warm and full of life; white maggots and flies and that's only what can be seen with the eyes: There's obviously a lot going on in there. Specifically it's the circle of life in all of its disgusting beauty, when the dead is feeding the living and the shit turns to soil forever.
so yes that's an interest of mine. The exact process on a biological level doesn't interest me so much, but the philosophical process does.
I'm somewhat of a philosopher you see. I try to make sense of this world, but I keep failing.
They’ve got this sushi carousel at the train station where the sushi is inside plastic balls going round and round to everybody’s delight, but it’s expensive and the taste is OK and it’s always been there as far as I know, spinning these expensive sushis round and round. At least it was there ten years ago when I was there last time (but the sushis themselves are of course new)
I have a very neutral relationship to sushi.
I am feeling sad or rather like there’s something wrong that I don’t quite know a sort of melancholy which visits me from time to time leaving a lump at the back of my throat. It’s strangely also a relief to feel this way as if it’s letting the pressure out. Maybe it’s a secret luxury to feel a bit sorry for myself here as I sit writing this text. Also this irregular temper, or rather temper like on a sinus curve, or like the ebb and flow like the gravitational field from the moon, is making me a more interesting person.
Some people equate being deep with being sad, or rather it’s a common theme in Bachelor that the women do no not only want to joke around and smile but also show they’ve got a deeper side, more serious, thus implying that the opposite; the happiness, with being shallow which I absolutely do not agree with as I find that laughing in the face of danger, much like Stubb did in Moby Dick, have you read that one? Is something perfectly rational. I had this quote written from an old book, maybe a planning calendar: something to the effect that you will have to live the same life, walk the same path, regardless if you do it smiling or not, and I hold this for truth.
Hello hello! I Met my father here in this town we are passing through on this road trip we are having.
He said I stem from a long line of renown artists, four five generations down on my mother’s side. On his own side unfortunately however, him being the exception, on his side of the family my ancestors were mostly militaries and nazis.
I got to visit his lovely flat, and saw a few remarkable treasures: a bed from the fifteenth century with a picture of Charles Dickens hanging beside it. Some old carpets. And artworks.
I’m pleased to see he had framed my very first acrylic painting: ”Knäckebröd i skål”; a small sized Renaissance style painting depicting Scandinavian crisp bread (with rye) in a bowl, which I sent him many years back when I finally heeded my calling from the Arts and picked up that brush and what looks like a cake knife and so forth.
What’s more to say about this encounter? He looked like last time I saw him seven or so years ago. I myself looked like I did back then too, I think, except more troll like with grotesque features.
Today as I stood cooking, I am a fantastic chef, which is remarkable because I haven’t got no sense of smell and thus I can’t really taste it. Except. Today I felt the smell of olive oil frying in the pan, but then nothing else.
Speaking of which, tomorrow a friend from school, a bad influence from the past who introduced me to drugs and alcohol and so forth, will pay us a visit.
I feel thankful that someone would deign to do that for me, to be a bad influence, so that I too could get a taste of what it might feel like to live.
I thought I saw the moon through the window just now, but it was just the reflection from the kitchen lamp.
The things of significance of late follows:
Firstly, There is a beautiful scene I get to witness if I set out to jog around nine: half an hour later, halfway through the route, the sun is just about to sink behind the horizon. It casts a bright orange glow which stretches long dark shadows from the birch trees, creating a powerful visual effect with sharp contrasts, like on a Magic: the gathering card. Just around the bend there is a clearing: the sun behind the tall pine trees which line a reasonably sized pond also is a magnificent sight to behold as the reflection on the surface of the still waters makes a shimmering likene