No feelings

Maybe the green tea is not hot enough. Or I’ve been trying too desperately…just trying, not knowing what I’m trying. If you’re in the middle of a crowded, hectic environment and you watch how cheery and miserable people juxtapose against each other, you wonder where exactly you stand. In the end you refuse to stand anywhere and keep moving until all of them have receded into a somewhat bearable distance. But today they were everywhere. Why they all have to remind me about the time of the year, I do not know.
And then I noticed I wasn’t breathing. My attention span dropped. My brain refused to utter a word through my mouth.

This is when you realise you long for some solitary pastime involving a creative and self-expressive process; either that or you need to get laid. I guess we all need a reminder that we are still there and not…

I’ve once again become a bad listener. I’ve never been a good one which is why I’d slept all the way through history, physics and chemistry classes. In this environment my ears absorb so much, that in the end I only hear a drone in my ears and simultaneously hollowness emphasises how much I don’t care about you. If I have no interest, my sense of focus becomes non existent. Nothing you say will be of any importance.
At work I hear so many whispers with a tone suggesting resentment, dissatisfaction and endless bitching. These whispers and the sound of London in general manifested themselves in my dreams last night. Imagined noises must have woke me three times during the night along with numerous hypnic jerks.

Are you a fan of stories that start in spring and end in fall? I think a story’s process should always adjust to the seasons.
Whenever I realise that even music is unable to translate my current mental state and access my heart, I know there is something not right and there is nothing that I can do about it. Sleep it off. Run it off. It’s not easy.
For the first time since late August I feel weak again, powerless against the concept of survival. There is this uncertainty of whether or not what I do is of any significance; questions about the country’s mental state, my own stability and my debts to people I care about, the only people I care about. This is so Modernist.

What else do I have to do to prove that I am a bad person? Have I ever told you that once I was at an independent cinema, they were showing the trailer of a drama about a man with Down syndrome who was in love. I caught myself laughing loudly. He said something along the line: “I may be stupid, but I can love.”
But listen, I thought I was incapable of loving. And the idea of someone who lacks the ability to comprehend fully made me want to categorise myself as mentally disabled, too. I was laughing at the both of us, but I know this is no justification.

It’s weird ever since I’ve moved house. At the landlady’s, despite the noise and her frequent family gatherings, I felt a soothing brightness; still I was annoyed and felt claustrophobic, but still there was a light. And in my new place there’s a warm darkness. I felt a heat in my room, which, I am sure, will be hellish once it’s summer. And when the landlord suggested that we could cook something on Christmas Day, I knew it was not right, especially if sensing some form of inappropriate intentions, which are actually harmless at its base. If I say I need space, I need it to the fullest.

I remember the best Christmas and New Year’s that I’ve ever had. It was in High Wycombe back in 2006. I was all by myself in the house on Garratts Way. I read four books in less than a week. I never had an opportunity like that again.

I hope you lot enjoyed the dreadful video blog, which I only watched once and never will again, the same with all the other ones. The next one will probably be a letter; a very resentful letter. However, it won’t be as resentful as Kafka’s letter to his father. Or maybe yes.
In Prague, when I left my note on Kafka’s grave, I recalled the dream I had about him. Both of us were in danger, but he only cared about saving his own arse. I resented him for that. The moment you realise that someone’s not loyal and faithful enough; you automatically create a shield which you call self-reliance. It’s not necessarily a sign of not trusting people, though.
Though, self-reliance, after a long period of time, hinders you from asking others for help, even if it’s only a little favour. Because you know they won’t do it. You are never of priority to anyone, except to your mum. And this is why she’s the most important person in my life. But I’m too much of a coward to tell her.

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