terrible-lies.com

From nothing you can become everything. If you look at where we are now, we are about to become everything and some forces out there will not like it.
This might sound very sci-fi, but I believe in it, for I am in a state where I cannot think clearly or speak anything of significance, not to mention, create anything coherent. My creative mind is gone. I hope it’s only temporary, as otherwise there won’t be much of me left.

Like last year, the start of New Year always leaves a very bad taste in my mouth and triggers nausea. The only creature I spoke to in the last two days was a dazed ladybird crawling on my Philip K. Dick book. Everybody has had a ladybird on his finger, right? And as you may know, they tend to fly from the tip of your finger. But when the ladybird reached the edge of my VALIS book, it spread its wings and tried, but it fell backwards down onto my table. It broke my heart.
I felt too guilty to say that I’d accidentally stepped on some of its siblings. So I don’t know what its quest may now be. But its lover is still in the corner of my ceiling. Probably dead.

I don’t know whether I should show him the way. If he believes there is still a reason to fly or crawl for, it will do it.

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.

So that was my first night at the new place and like last year I had a little lady bird invasion in my room. They are all funny and dazed, slowly dying on the ceiling and underneath my bed.

It’s the first time that I feel alone – in a negative sense. Ever since I put my novel aside for no particular reason (apart from waiting for the final comments), I’ve been occupying myself with friends and work mates; I have no idea how I have managed to last that long. Both cheeks are still sore from heavy lifting. Socialising requires a lot of energy only to pretend that you can connect well.

So in the last few days I’ve been moving, shopping and arranging my room. The mattress is bliss and so is the new duvet cover. I admit that double beds make you lonely, I’m not even that type of person who encounters that sort of feeling, ever. That’s because usually I’m always writing, which means, I am never alone. But having abandoned writing for over a week, I feel like I’ve been wasting time.
Sorry for criticising you for not being able to cope with loneliness. I didn’t know you were emptier than I am, that you have no creativity to create an alternate world to live in. However, I still envy you, because you can cope in the world with people that I hate…for a longer period. You’ll make it a lot further than I will.
Other people play music or read books to reflect their souls, which is fine, but I want to create reflection by myself rather than having someone to do the job for me. Listening to Nine Inch Nails, for instance, makes me wonder why I can’t create music like that. You know what I mean?
I do understand why you feel alone, but in order to prevent this, you mustn’t abandon your creativity. Utilise it to the max or up to the point where you believe you no longer need people around you. It’s not always a bad thing.

Very often one of your friends might ask you: “Are you capable of killing someone?”
And because in my dreams, I am, I say yes, depends on how much I am driven by hate. There are times where I abandon my conscience. Some people aren’t good with reason, but they have reasons for acting this way – anger and indifference. Again, I envy those who are free of these negative sentiments and are ruled by reason. I also hate them for trying to teach me by seeking to talk. If I had wanted to talk, I would’ve continued visiting my psychiatrist who was convinced that the way I am leads back to being born with an Asian mentality which will be part of me forever.
How ridiculous it sounded when he first said that, I’d spent years thinking about it. Despite being more westernised than most people and showing indifference to my ethnic origin, I did see a mistake there. A lot of resentments and disillusion play a role in this matter, but I don’t feel old enough yet to tackle this issue. I haven’t even mapped out my memoirs, yet. You see how busy I am?
On the outside they say I have beauty that attracts; attracting who and what? Freaky losers it seems. And winners that are on the other side of the globe.

I’m still paranoid about my landlord’s intentions. I hope the tenant-landlord-relationship will remain as discreet as possible, each one minding his and her business. I made a shocking discovery in the bathroom the other day. Inside the shower cubicle are five thick square windows built in underneath each other revealing a blurry view to the corridor. Is this art or full exposure? The previous tenant was a gay theatre guy. I haven’t had chance of meeting him, although I was supposed to get the other spare keys off him, which never happened – a shame really, as I had some questions. I met the gay couple in the other flat next door and I met a lady in the flat beneath. She said “Another new one!”
I wonder how long each of my landlord’s tenants lasted and how long I will last.

Some women are only looking to get married to kind-hearted men who are unable to stir anything up inside. All they want are security, someone to look after and cook for. And I hate how some men particularly view Asian women this way, as if these women were easy to bait into marriage. He might think I am one of those. Another sign of inappropriate approach and I will spread all possible negative energies that I possess.
Unfortunately I don’t fall in love with people, I never have. I fall in love with ideas. Now I understand why as a kid, I always wanted to become an inventor. It makes perfect sense now.

There are people who are not granted love…they are given one chance, but they let it slip. I’ve let it slip several times, because I no longer know how this all functions and on the other hand, are you not supposed to feel a spark?

The novel’s emphasis on the heart is only to depict love differently. It’s not particularly an emotion, is it? My capacity for decay is currently huge, so I need to get back to the novel to minimise the hole as much as possible.
But the thing about shadows…they can expand, shift and swallow.

It’s another of my favourite season gone and I still haven’t made it back to my beloved Edinburgh where I fell in love back in 2003. The autumn colours were good to my eyes and the smell of maple a pat on my cerebral surface. It was a sense of melancholy that had produced tears of joy. But instead of spending the money to go anywhere, I decided to join the gym and book my flight back home. Finding it more important to visit your family instead of a well-deserved holiday in solitude is normal. For solitude, I only need to find a different place behind a closed door and it should be fine. But I won’t tolerate any noises other than my own and that of the boiler. In a town like this, it’s very difficult. You would imagine I’m better off in a hut somewhere in the mountains. Maybe…but ghosts would haunt me. My head would release too many sounds and misconceived images. How inspiring they might be sometimes, I couldn’t handle the overkill. The overkill of anything would drive me towards the edge of what’s left of my own mercy.
Mercy, yes, you heard right. The word just randomly shot through my head and it makes perfect sense, but in a non-biblical way of course.
There are people who can’t forgive themselves and who are unkind to themselves. And those people you can no longer save from insanity.

This morning was my first time jogging through the cemetery. Pretty much all grave stones were moss-covered, the paths hilly and uneven, but all those names still have meaning. While thinking about that I felt a tingle in my stomach. All those names were begging to be revived, but I don’t remember any of their names.

Someone insulted me by saying I was the female equivalent of Schopi. Why would they say that? If there’s one dog breed that I don’t like, it’s poodles. Scarily enough the night after, I dreamt about petting an abandoned white poodle. Poodles are so weird; always so anxious and so full of themselves…
If I say I cannot give the required motherly love to a baby, this also applies to dogs; your most loyal friends. Strangely enough, the idea of looking after someone seems to mean the world to a lot of people, as if they had no other purposes. I feel sorry for those, but at the same time I admire them. At least they know how to function and interact with creatures of the same kind; the kind which resents you for not feeling the same way; the kind that doesn’t understand that a feeling is never mutual.
We may smell the same, but the ingredient of our sweat is of different origin. People never will understand.

27, and still can’t use a basic tin opener, I get confused about whether I’m a right- or left-handed person. There’s nothing that confuses me more than that. So this morning I couldn’t have beans on toast, because I ran out of Heinz beans – you know they have a ring pull system which other brands don’t have! Why would I buy non-Heinz beans? I was so screwed this morning. I was too embarrassed to ask my landlady for help – you know me, I don’t ask for help – I haven’t got to that point yet where I’m shameful enough to do so. And yet, I’m telling you this. That’s because for me, you don’t exist. Not many things do.
But decent tin openers exist and I will buy one today.

I think in order to get the person that I really want, I need to work a lot harder, not for his sake, but for my very own. Maybe I will get to the point where I will tell him “I no longer want you”. Then I will watch him drown in his own perplexity while I cry on the inside shouting at myself for being a piteous liar.
And there’s nothing worse than lying for the sake of pride.
It’s inevitable that every day we do things that we hate. And hating only signifies that we are prisoners of our own emotions – the feeling of being trapped; doing things that we don’t want to do, but our duties are more than clear. You may call it discipline, OCD or whatever, but it doesn’t change the fact that the concept of freedom is only wishful thinking; imagination striving for escapism. It has never been different.
Once you have arrived at your desired place, there will always be something missing.

Going back to Schopi, I don’t like him as much I as I like Cioran, who expresses a lot more anger and determination and truth, while Schopi was just hateful and resentful of those around him, particularly his mother.
I just realised that all my favourite philosophers never believed that life was about something more. To them it is all about staying alive and feeding our boredom.

Please note that all these words I write I don’t talk about. If we meet, please kindly keep this shit to yourself, because I don’t discuss things. I couldn’t discuss things with anyone.
What if we could? Then you must be the character that I’ve been waiting for all my life. I want you naked on my sheet of paper…so bad…

If we live only to delay the end and to distract ourselves from the end, it will make more sense to pretend that there is no end, like we already do and yet, some cannot wait for the end, they even speed up to meet the end.
The only reason why I’m in a hurry is only because I’m not sure how much time is left. One hour is like thirty minutes and five minutes like two. Living in this city doesn’t make things any easier.

Last week I dreamt that I could run up mountains, but now I find myself climbing with dry hands and broken fingernails. This is why I wake up, tired. I’ve been climbing all night!
This also explains my leg cramp last night which felt like a rat squeezing itself through a tight hole. Who knew that flexing your knees and pointing your toes downwards is not good for the blood flow in your legs? It’s an ordinary sleeping position.
My poor calf muscle…how ironic that these painful moments most frequently occur when you’re resting, when you believe that you’re at peace. Now suddenly I’m thinking about John Hughes’s death. Dreadful things can happen when you take a relaxing afternoon walk.
Other than that my landlady had decided to call someone to repair her shower at midnight. This is how out of order she is. And she knows I go to bed between 9-9:30pm. Inconsideration I do not tolerate and yet I am a coward for not saying anything.
I know I am an old girl who currently hates her life. And if my body hates me, I hate it back, but I still care for it.
Also I can’t believe that it’s time again to ask my landlady to top up my metre. I have 50pence worth of electricity left in my room and I know she will say it’s enough for another day.

I’ve met up with my new landlord a couple of times to sort out tenancy agreement, deposit receipt. Now that everything’s done, he’s revealing a little more weirdness and I no longer have this feeling that he’s a quiet guy. I was hoping this landlord-tenant-relationship would remain discreet. One doesn’t have to be friends with everyone. I’m getting tired of this game.

In one of John Martin’s painting there is a man struggling to climb a mountain – jagged cliffs everywhere. I forgot his name, but he is searching for the waters of oblivion.
You must have done something awfully bad, if you seek to forget. But he has made this his mission in life; he’s ready to go through hell just so he can forget. I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry about this. However, it’s his strong will that I admire, as it reminds me of Sisyphus.
No matter if good or bad, as long as you have something important to accomplish, nothing matters.
If art and photography are about capturing the moment, is writing then about finding sustenance in words?
There is a lot of art out there and living with art means to make it your own. The originality lies within you and how you plan to post-modernise it. See what Johnny did with Trent’s song. If you want to make something your own you simply apply it to your own life. Why worry about what’s been done and said. I want to know how you can do and say it. Nothing is ever the same.

Without my novel I feel naked and useless, I don’t know what to do with myself. I just realised that every day I wake up it’s to go to work, as if there was nothing more to live for. However, the break I’m taking from the book is necessary.
But I’m dying to read the comments on my thesis and I wish dear Maria would hurry and send them to me. This will be the last piece of feedback that I will receive from F. and I NEED it! Urgently!

Someone please massage my calf.

We can delay the end together…by massaging each other?

Europa is probably the second best von Trier movie that I’ve seen. The opening was a little haunting because I was reminded of last night’s dream in which I saw two hung people dangling from a tree. And strangely, I was on a train myself when I saw them.
As long as precognition comes true via film rather than real life, it’s ok, right?
Young Kessler is the exact image of how I have imagined Stuart McCormick. He just needs a little bit more determination and he would be perfect. Who would have guessed that the movie’s already twenty year’s old? Watching how the character attempts to show kindness, I had to giggle all the way through. The juxtaposition of colour and black & white was fascinating and striking. It was a sudden moment of revelation and truth. And yet, love covers up your eyes as usual.
While already bordering on madness, you realise that your kindness is not, in any way, changing anything. People will always screw you over. It doesn’t even matter if they love you. A lie, a betrayal…remain a lie and a betrayal.
It all ends in agony.

Today the fog covered up the city to give us a Dickean atmosphere. It was spooky, but arousing… When running this morning, my face and hair caught a lot of water – so cold, but still refreshing.
I slept in today and didn’t wake up until half past seven. Some say I should try to go back to sleep anyway, but I can’t. There’s too much to do…
And tomorrow I have to back to work again with a smiley face.

I have been looking at my shoes lately. My slippers are falling apart. My chucks have holes and so do my Fila trainers which I’ve had since Year 7. Despite having a professional job, I look like a school kid on the outside. It’s not attractive. When buying a kitchen knife, do you ever get IDed? As if they cannot see the exhaustion in my eyes, the lines running down from my nasal wings.
I can’t do my hair properly either, and besides, they need cutting.
However, I neither have the time nor the money to pamper myself these days and if I do, I’d rather dedicate the time to something productive like work on the video blog and finish the final paragraph of the novel before the revision process.

Stuart McCormick. I always imagine him as a six foot tall guy with glasses. He is the only heart surgeon to prove to me that a heart can be fixed. There is just no one else that I believe…

It’s close and there’s nothing that I can do about it. And before I begin to attach any blame to you, you’d better turn around and leave.
Did I ever mention that my last panic attack, before today’s one, was late August? I thought I did really well and my shoulder deserved to be patted, but as you know, certain things always return…like people who want more out of you. But a feeling like this is usually self-inflicted, usually because your environment unsuitable for your personal standards. Adjustment, they say, is important in life. I agreed to a certain point and now I no longer do. You are gifted if you have the ability to adjust. It’s part of the survival game (of which I am sick now!).

My evening run was horrific – started off really cold, but you either run yourself warm or take a cold shower and remain cold. Keep poking your immune system and suffer hard, it’s only for a moment. I felt warm eventually, but it was the first time a sense of paranoia impelled me to speed up. You think that only children suspect their shadows of following them? To be honest, I never looked at my shadow that closely before, the way it jumps, expands and overtakes me as I am running. I never look behind me when I run, but I could swear someone was behind me!

Having completed the novel I’m still not satisfied. I think I’m not entirely convinced of it yet, as I fear to look more closely at the darker elements behind the plot and character. It’s like gazing down at my end, not hers.
I’d give everything to be her, although on the emotional front, she is me already and she hates me for it. She is very contagious, especially her nimbus, which is now above my head, robbing my concentration, my calm and composure. Get rid of it!!! F***!

Funny that at the age of Seventeen I lived for the Sex Pistols song which saved me from the insignificance of peer pressure. And Alice Cooper’s Eighteen I completely forgot about. Jimmy Eat World’s Twenty-three gave me a sense of redemption. I hated that age, because my metabolism took a big turn. In the song Wish, Trent sings about being on the way to hell at the age of Twenty-six. And now looking at all the dead Twenty-sevens, I am actually quite anxious. I’m not quite sure where I am headed at the moment. I’m spending my time discharging the heat. I just want to keep my equilibrium? Be good. It’s not time yet. I want to become Twenty-eight – for there’s so freaking song about it.

Talking about anxiety, my sleep hyperhydrosis wakes me up every night. I knew that doubling my green tea consumption wasn’t the ideal option, but it was worth a try. Now I find myself washing my pillow case every other day. They say you should wash it weekly as apparently it’s dirtier than a toilet seat. Does anyone want to know how hygienic Lovecraft’s famous pillow is? That pillow holds your sickest and most nauseating nightmares. In comparison to his, mine is very harmless. In my nightmares you won’t walk on solid ground, but you’ll tumble and lose direction.
If you have an idea of how to diminish a hellish heat within, then please advice. Or maybe we could share our heat and get rid of it this way?

I am not being flirty, I meant it. Let’s become molten together.

So I’ve completed Ellen’s narrative, now I have to switch to the third person free indirect style, from the perspective of an innocent paedophile (you need Nabokov to explain this). Difficult but it needs to work. It’s only now that I kind of recall certain events on which my concepts are based on. But you rewrite everything in a way that it appears to be new like an original idea, but actually you have witnessed something in the past and you realise that your imagination is somewhat connected to the jelly in you. And over the years you attempt to harden up the jelly. It takes time.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I haven’t received my thesis results like everyone else. And Maria, the secretary is ignoring my emails. However, before I get them, I’d like to have the novel finished…in case of demoralization when reading Goldsmiths’ uber-critical comments.

Having worked for almost two months, I must say I have adapted myself quite well despite certain levels of hectic within the working environment. People are starting to let me “in” due to my integration and because I’m an early bird. I feel a lot more comfortable now.
I have noticed certain factors which are generally related to human relationships, no matter if friends, collaborators, partners or whatever, when it comes to money, you realise that a certain extent of discretion is required.
This is why you NEVER ask a friend to lend you money and you never lend money to them.

Business, eh?

How despicable this word is, I have learnt a lot in the last two months – from being scammed to being sincerely hired. I thought I had my own rules for the survival game, but when it comes to earning money, there are more rules to be added to the game. (Note that rules are ok when they are set by you.) The good thing is that you’re not required to be insincere, you just shut your mouth and I have no problems with that. As you know, I shut my mouth about a lot of things. And if I do say something, it always comes out the wrong way. (You remember my blog on Lars.)
Sometimes I know what people want to hear, but I just won’t say it. If I feel like deceiving them I pretend we share the same opinion and they’ll be like: “You and I are the same!”

Yes. We are sooo similar.

Is that the novelty of blending in, Dexter? Quite useful sometimes, isn’t it? Unlike you, I don’t want to be like them.
They call a “loner” but this word derives from “lonely”, so don’t fucking call me that.

I admit I have been very selfish lately; been treating my friends terribly. They invite me, I decline them. They text me, I ignore them. I need to keep in mind that when declining them, I shouldn’t give reasons. Whenever I give reasons I seem to be dragging them down with me.
The room in my life has become so small, I can’t even fit myself in, let alone a friend? I need more room.
I understand they all want to talk, but the thing with me is – I don’t. That’s the problem. You know what it’s like being around people with whom you cannot be who you are. They don’t realise that they have a problem with who you are. They might accept you for who you are, but they don’t like it and they will ask you to make an exception for at least a day. For instance, a friend invites you to her wedding, despite knowing you hate ceremonies like that. And they ask you to pull a happy face for at least a day. And it’s difficult, horribly difficult. In order to stop you from calling me selfish: I went to the wedding, but not more needs to be said. I will not attend any other ones, not even my own.

The power of green tea has saved my life, at least in the last two months. However, the angry sentiments have returned. And I knew they would. I clench my fists for no particular reason. No matter what I do to become a better person to myself, I seem to grow immune to all those…good drugs; my conscience does, if I still remember how it functions. Everything loses effect – so quickly. With me in particular. It’s as if this horrible thing can’t wait to salute me for real.

I was flat hunting again and surprisingly found something really fast.
There’s no way I’m going to extend my current contract. Landlady was having a massive argument with her son the other week – and this seems to happen frequently. Apart from that, she has her granddaughter over every damn weekend. She was squealing like a pig the other week; I have no idea what she was crying about, but a kid’s cry is so haunting. Besides, I envy them too much to be around them.
However, when my landlady and her son were arguing downstairs, I went to the bathroom and saw the girl in my landlady’s room. She was sad. In fact, I don’t hate her that much. I just prefer her quiet.
But there are several other reasons why I just do not wish to extend my contract. She turns small talk into small talk “conversation”. If the sun’s shining, she’d go on about the sun shine yesterday or last week, last month. Sun will probably shine tomorrow too or next weekend.
A conversation that can be short and simple becomes 30min. I can’t take it any longer. Even if it’s just once or twice a week.
I’d rather you enquire about my sex life. Or how about you tell me what you and your son always argue about?
Also, every month I have to ask her to top up my metre for electricity. Every time it shows“40pence left”, I get nervous about the food in my fridge. And she would say it’s enough for another day and a half.
So she’s only going to top up once the metre has gone CLICK? Yes. That happened over a week ago. And she was not in. I was sitting in the dark, typing until my laptop battery went off. This made me feel more horrible about my life than I already did.

I wish I had the money to live on fucking own. Give me some space. How much I love my friends, I have to admit I am glad to be on my own. Sometimes instead of going for a coffee with someone, I’d rather walk through the cemetery and steal beautiful names in order to create a new life for them…in a story. Not even writers would understand this.

From next month, I will be living with a quiet landlord with a strange personality, but he is reliable, quiet and clean – there is nothing more I look for in a flat mate. He says he is hardly ever home. And when he is I’ll only get to see him in the kitchen. I like the sound of it.

You’re anxious that I chose to live with a man, who, on the behavioural level is similar to me? Well, it was either him or extend contract with my current landlady who has started praying hysterically every morning like a madwoman. If God was the truth, why would people constantly call it The Ugly Truth?

I cannot breathe; cold sweat, continuous eye lubrication blurring my vision…
An ice cold shiver has eaten its way through my limbs. I’m gasping for air like an asthma patient.
My entire past – an accumulation of dirt has just overflowed into my present; the morass no longer keeping the dark faculties at the bottom and the heat exhuming out of it is fighting against my body’s attempt to cool down.
I find myself lying down on Buddy’s bed. With shaking hands I pull my duvet down from my bed and cover my entire body.
Underneath the cave, the evacuation of heat continues to permeate my whole environment, unraveling a cursed energy that I now can taste from the bitterness on my sweaty upper lip. It’s getting damper, the air is tight.
It’s funny how in moments like these you feel most alive. But I have already told you. The art of struggle always gives you a reason to fight back.
The more I can keep this poisonous nimbus underneath, the better. I shall no longer inflict anguish on anyone with my precipitation. But like every cloud, I was made, made by little particles which were hoping to evolve and create. It’s nothing but biology, physics, chemistry. And yet, there are people who believe in the existence of spirits.
And like each creation, you believe there is good and bad. As for the definition of good and bad, there is none. It’s like there is no God, unless you believe. God exists in the heads of those who strongly believe that there is good. It’s the kind of autosuggestion that can make you feel better eventually – believing that there is a higher power that watches over you, just so you don’t feel alone.
Pathetic.
Ultimately it’s them who have created something in their heads. They are the producers of their own good. Is humanity, in the broader sense, merely a hoax? You doubt yourself, and instead of working on it, you find trust in yourself via your own God.
How different is a Christian from someone with an authoritative voice in his head? The voice I hear has temporarily stopped asking for blood. Ever since the transfusion, my needs are no longer excessive, but the dark faculties haven’t altered, if anything, I’ve become more aware of them and I’ve begun to view them with less fear.
Having analyzed my blood, I realized that mine and Scott’s are completely identical. Even if you have the same blood type, under the microscope, if you have a sharp eye for detail, you will see distinguishable movements, peculiar and deformed shapes of certain cells and whether or not they are loners or clingy bastards.
The cells, although unaware of good and bad, have a job to do. All my life I have related myself to them. You dedicate your life to a job that distracts you from everything around you. The only thing that distracts a cell is bacteria. The cell’s instinct will ultimately incite it to diminish the bacteria. If a cell kills, it will be for a good reason, which is to save you.
Overall, no matter if good or bad, there is always a creator – a creator that doesn’t always care about his product. And this is where the problem begins.

It wasn’t love…
During my recovery I had spent a lot of time thinking, redeveloping the negatives in my head. I understand now that the reason why I hadn’t tossed these negatives was, because it’s not possible. They are not physical like an appendix that you can remove and dispose of. Pictures of the past, however, in whichever form, will remain with you as a piece of psychic material until you bite the dust. Personally I find physical scars prettier, they are easy to grasp and also come in various shapes.
Stuart left me a sweet one on my waist area. It looks like a centipede.
I have never learnt to live with those images; I have spent years studying them, figuring out how it was best to fix them, filter them, because I do not and I cannot accept them. Once I have, then what ?
They say, in spite of reshaping the past and memories, your feelings will always tell you the truth, no matter how well you try to veil or modify them.
But…
I have no feelings. The only way to judge the image is by facial expressions, gestures and other body language.
Now as a successful heart surgeon at Mount Sinai I’ve begun to question the purpose of my life. Like the Brothers Grimm, I had, throughout my life, tried to embellish the truth with the idea of love – unrequited love that resembled a fairy tale without ever accepting the origin of these stories. The lucky ones, like Mr. Adkins for instance, to whom Kant, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche are unknown people, aren’t even aware that there is a so-called truth. If one denies the truth, he denies himself. The truth is not God, neither the world’s core, but it’s you alone; it’s the lines on your hands, each single hair on your body, the 60 000 miles of veins beneath your skin. The cells are the real people who walk down the roads of life, every minute, every second. You, as a person, are merely the product of those inner faculties – in other words: thoughts and feelings. We have never really come to an agreement on what these things are good for and yet the red sea is producing life out of us and communicates through pain, but what for will always remain a question….