‘Don’t try’

I have officially lost interest. Another three weeks. Last week, it was ‘Snap out of it’ and this week ‘Get a grip’. Who knew life was that hard? I wonder how non-Saturday children feel. Does life crush upon their heads just as hard? I wonder how much it hurts them or whether that head injury leaves some scratch marks. There are certain days where I want to have absolute control over life, so I can use it to knock them unconscious.

I haven’t felt mentally so exhausted in a long time. If life was merely an apple I’d devour it right here and now, but what I have on the plate is a frozen readymade meal made with no love. I couldn’t even heat it up with love. So why would I want to consume it.

I knew it the moment I woke up this morning – it’s the day Buk died. Today, seventeen years ago, he was lying there marvelling at that beautiful crack of light and I bet he died with a smile and his last thought was “Rot in hell, suckers” hence the words on his tombstone “Don’t try.”

Buk is a suitcase full of survival guides. They come with no instructions – you just know how they work the moment you pick them up.

I have no idea how far I have to travel so I can be the way I really am. Somewhere where I don’t have to pretend that I care.
And stop pretending that I don’t care about how well people operate the machinery of language.
Why I don’t speak much? Why I don’t give much feedback on your work? It’s because my mind is opaque, you fuckers. It’s opaque whenever I have to open my mouth. I’m sure I was different five, six years ago. I remember being impulsive and chatty, therefore I don’t know whatever happened to that person that I once used to be.
On the other hand I do have a lot more perceptive people around me who are much more insightful and influential than those I knew from my previous university. The only thing I notice is that I used to feel a lot more at ease and laidback with people back then, whereas now I feel claustrophobic and somewhat under pressure.

The other day I smoked two long cigarettes in a row and noticed straight away how they had dried my skin. I looked three years older. But the Pall Malls tasted good. It’s not a good sign when I say how nice a fag tastes.
A shame I can’t do anything bad in the next few days due to blood test on Monday.

I’m after a particular feeling. I’m relentlessly in search for something/someone to evoke a feeling that makes me want to pursue the possible path of self-expression just so that I no longer feel alone and empty. Usually that feeling doesn’t last long enough for me to develop it further, because I see no chance and thus the hope minimises itself and I lose focus, usually because I get nothing back.

Maybe it’s because nothing is happening on the sexual plane. I don’t know.

It’s only just now that I’ve discovered the advantages of lying to those of whom you know will not understand you anyway. When Buk talks about being an actor during readings, I can see how it works for him, how he suddenly becomes a joker that he in reality isn’t. Like he gives a fuck.
This kind of acting is what I’m learning, and I am quite close to succeeding, but most of the time I just remain quiet, because I find it easiest. As previously mentioned, I can’t express myself anyway. Writers who write like they speak scare the shit out of me and I easily feel intimidated – how dare they…

Maybe that feeling isn’t that strong and I shall no longer pursue something that’s not meant for me.

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