Honey for the soul

It’s a very nice thing to make people smile and for some strange reason I seem to be doing that a lot for some reason. They also manage to make me smile, even though I’d rather have a good laugh. I think the last time I laughed was during my favourite series. I like clever puns and dialogues. I used to write those, too, but I have forgotten how to create such masterpieces.

The weekend was rather nice. I like going out, except for those train journeys to town, because during weekends you’ll always encounter young drunk people who would pick on you. I hate going to town on my own at night time. But I did on Saturday night to meet Andreas. And there was this ugly guy sitting next to me and across from us were his two female friends. I was listening to music and could still hear them talking, which pissed me off. I had rather not heard a single word. The girls was making jokes about him, saying he should try to ask me out and he went “I don’t want a chink.” Well, I don’t like the English word “chink”, but you have no idea how much worse the German word is. I don’t even want to write it down. The last time I got called a chink was in England, when a fifteen year old townie girl threw a full plastic bottle at me, which hit my shoulder blade. I wonder how these people feel. Do they think they are something better? Prettier? More human? Well, whatever makes them feel better about themselves, I don’t really care…even though I wish they would die sometimes.

I’m working on a story called “The rain”. There are two Londoners (a girl and a boy) who meet at King’s Cross station in London. I’m unable to put an end to it. I currently have no inspiration. All I can write are some second class poems, which don’t even have the ability to express my inner anguish. I probably don’t care enough about it or I’m just simply too unmotivated to deal with it. I have too many questions regarding the unknown… all those might have and could have beens. I’m bad at acting fast and sometimes I can’t even comprehend. As if I had Asperger Syndrome. But it’s more the lack of concentration. I never used to be like that.

Sometimes I wonder how to feel sexy. But then I only feel sexy during one particular song and I’m happy they always play it at my favourite club Gr√ľnspan. I always have to go to request it. And when it comes on I consider the whole dancefloor as mine. “I drink the honey inside your hive…you’re the reason I stay alive”. Fucking brilliant and sexy on top of it. It’s amazing what certain songs can do to you. Daubbing your soul with honey.

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