i’m listening to amos lee’s skipping stone. i like to think that someone else wrote that song as a reflection to having met me. what’s the opposite of being paranoid? is it actually possible to feel the way i feel or is it just a passing by moment? the one that will be gone really soon? i’m not sure. all i know is that there are too many people in my spotlight. way too many.
oh, my cherie amour, pretty little one that i adore
you’re the only girl my heart beats for
how i wish that you were mine
does it make sense? of course it doesn’t. but sometimes i just cannot help it. i let the feeling live inside of me as if it were the only thing that can keep me alive. but the truth is somewhere else. it’s got nothing to do with anything. the only things, which are somehow connected to this feeling are bailey’s cheesecake and a song by stevie wonder. and nothing else.
for you, always.
the color of eyes
when you look at me
i can still feel
of my veins
feels like a stab
of a knife
you lick my
you tear them
with your fake nails
but they don’t wear
old shit recently found and edited.
as i said, he triggers my imagination like firework.
last night. soho. kasbah restaurant. the interior of that place made me feel as i were back in dubai. couscous, hummus and pita bread. a glass of red wine. stories from around the world, stories from a living room, stories from a little village. goats, sheep and cows. comparison of bratislava to dubai in terms of hours needed to get there. incorrect, but still fitting. i was thinking of dubai today more than i have in the last two months and i realized that i could actually live there during the cooler months, why not. and so on.
i saw my favorite greek boy while walking down the stairs. he said hi sara with a strange, focused glow in his eyes. he never says hi. i never see him. he never acknowledges me. i never look at him. changes.
it’s nine o’clock. it’s dark out. as it always is. time is the only constant thing in this world. here it flies by faster than anywhere else. maybe it’s because we’re closer to the sun each morning than the rest of the world. metaphors. one-liners. i’m still reading bright shiny morning. i am taking my time with this book. i want to absorb every single word, remember every expression, every face and its character. i wish to walk down the venice beach and experience the beauty and the pain myself. relative words, relative meanings. my mind went blank. nothing.
the glow of his eyes follows me everywhere.
today at lunch:
what’s your religion?
after viewing some of the pages from a new kurt cobain book called cobain unseen my obsession seems to be back. it’s been a long time since i last listened to unplugged in new york, bleach or in utero, my three favorite albums. last year i mentioned cobain in every single of my posts. i’m listening to unplugged right now. beauty of that album just takes my breath away. even now, fourteen years later. it’s hard to explain why i feel about seattle the way i do. music from and around that city changed my life in many ways. it gave me a meaning, a path to follow each day.
nothing matters. when you say it out loud it feels as if it is the biggest lie in the world. the most honest truth. i’m thinking about the day we spent comparing everything to this sentence. terms and words were insignificant as a fly. a friend became just a someone we know; happiness turned out to be coffee; religion was transferred to friday nights. love, in our world, did not exist at all. it is just an expression, it has nothing to do with the real feeling, which unlike the word, does exist. it hides the truth, it makes questions rise above the limited surface. it makes us uncomfortable, it makes us angry, sad and desperate. we are looking for a wrong word. wrong form and shape. it didn’t matter. nothing mattered. not our age, time, places or names. everything was irrelevant. we turned to plato and socrates. why does it matter? because it doesn’t. philosophical questions of a circled answer. what is the difference between everything and nothing? it is the gap between the two that makes a person. all the things that i fail to understand today are becoming clearer and clearer.
there’s a hint of surrealism in my thoughts because they reach out of the limit. they are connected but completely unrelated. just like strangers in a motel on the highway 101.
it’s been a month. it feels like ten years. i printed off plenty of new photographs today. i guess it means i have an idea what it will look like tonight. there’s a pile of polaroids waiting for me to create a new world out of them. new ideas, new shapes.
as i’m reading bright shiny morning now, i have couple of things on my mind. the same style, the core of the storyline lies hidden in the streets of los angeles, blended in a mixture of sex, drugs and alcohol. only now there’s ten times more characters and details to remember, to hate, or to love. bright shiny morning is more complex than his other books. he plays with the characters, creates them in all forms and shapes, yet they still have one thing in common: they are all lost in this big ugly world, they wake up and fall asleep as victims of bureaucratic system. they suffer they are in pain of some sorts. a very realistic world in a very realistic story. lost and empty just as, i imagine, james frey himself once was. maybe still is. maybe he never got out of it. he didn’t. he will always be an addict. just like the rest of us. what appeals to me the most about his books is the language used. one liners. short and sharp. honest. hurtful revealing of reality we all starve for.
his words trigger my imagination like firework.