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 likeness of a golden tiger’s fur.
the problem was that as I was running with my neighbour it felt terrible the whole time because I had a higher pace than usual (he had a lower one).
Secondly I built a computer for my daughter and there’s something wrong it doesn’t boot. I’ll figure it out eventually but the lesson is this: I hate building computers: it’s just me sitting bent over the fool thing trying to connect all of the small cables’ tiny connectors with my big clumsy fists (of steel) to the motherboard etc, meanwhile dripping sweat everywhere and losing my patience from installing stuff wrongly and so forth and the thing is that this happens every time I build one: I detest it from start to finish so why do I think I like it? It’s always made me angry. Maybe the person I subconsciously want to be likes that shit, but it’s a big lie.
Maybe there is a dissonance between who I see myself as, and who I am. Maybe sometimes I turn a blind eye or a deaf ear to facts contrary to this persona I have created (deep), but it feels so pointless especially when it comes to such stupid shit, maybe it was to fit into some nerd archetype or something that I once convinced myself of this computer interest, and then it has been stored as a fact ever since. but I hereby shed my skin I won’t do such stuff more.
They had promised rain and storms yesterday, which would’ve been welcome indeed, because the wells are drying up in the heat outside, but none came. Instead it was a warm and beautiful day and in the evening, the moon shone bright thru gray clouds, a sliver just like in a cartoon like in my little pony or something.
Thus I went out early this morning, before the unrelenting heat, and went fishing with my mum. I caught three, threw them back, but the fourth one I caught I cut its head off with a knife and gutted.
On my fishing rod is printed the text: “never give up” a sentiment which I absolutely do not share, because knowing when to let go and when a cause is lost I think are absolutely essential to make it through this grim world. Sometimes it’s grim. Hold on to what you have like that snail I dreamt about.
I had a dream: there were colours around me, like in a cartoon but it was real, but it was in the dream, there were sharp colours with green grass blades on a turquoise blue sky and I was walking in the high grass or rather it was just a backdrop. With me I had a yellow snail. The type of snails which are lovely with the small houses on their backs. He was keeping up with me, and he was very fat and somehow I knew we were friends.
Then suddenly he was gone.
Maybe he couldn’t keep up.
I believe dreams are rich in symbolism and they interest me a great deal as they may lend a glimpse to our inner workings of our souls.
This dream for example is a reminder to seize the day or maybe not to take for granted all that I have and the people around me and so forth, because time will erase everything and there is no extra need to race to the grave.
also:
Furthermore:
Since the smell I felt of smoked meat the other day, I’ve had a phantom resonance of it lingering somewhere in the sinuses like an echo, but I haven’t sensed any other smell since then.