Memento mori [cut]

There are two unpublished blog posts from last month. I’m evidently not doing that bad with my eight blogs a month. Spring has hardly started, and all they talk about is the weather and … [cut].

Instead of redrafting work, I’ve been watching tons of DVDs thanks to my flat mate’s amazing Lynch collection. I wonder if I can list films in my bibliography, and if so, there’d be more films than books. My attention span is still low. I mainly get distracted by my itchy scalp, sweet tooth or people mowing their lawn.

It’s not a good time to start on Kathy Acker and William S. Burroughs.

Summer has always been the best excuse for being nocturnal. Cigarettes taste better at night. Who the fuck enjoys smoking cigarettes in the sun anyway, especially when sitting near London’s busy roads?

Fortunately, I have recovered well from the migraine. It did cost me a little effort not to throw up the other day. But that’s the way I am; I’d do anything to keep that crap in my stomach, simply because I hate the feeling of puking. Or it could be cowardice not to let it all out.

I haven’t been to the gym in three days.

It’s April, and I wish I could go back to Lübeck like I did last year if I could only make it an annual thing somehow. I might have to think of something new.

In 2009 I wrote Absinthe rush – an inexorable … [cut], a six-hour trip to my heart and brain that ended up in a semi-cleansing. It wasn’t enough.

If you want it all, you need to pack your bags and leave town for at least three days.

I did.

In April 2010, I travelled to Lübeck to overcome my fear of the dark. As a child, I could only fall asleep when it was pitch black in my room. The slightest trace of light would keep me awake. Back then, I used to watch horror movies. I recall my dad showing me scenes of Evil Dead (Deutsch: ‘Tanz der Teufel’) when I was about 10. He told me it was so scary it got banned. (I didn’t know it was because of the tree rape scene.) I slept fine despite the horror movies. I never feared sleep. Now there’s a difference between sleep and the course of falling asleep. I was never quite aware of the hallucinogenic effects of hypnagogia. And never did I have hypnagogic experiences as a child – not that I know of anyway.

I got my driver’s license in the summer of 2009, and I remember being terribly stressed before the second test, but I passed. I was relieved when the examiner handed me my license … [cut]. It was straight after the driving test that I experienced my first proper hypnagogic moment. To keep it short:

On one summer’s day, I woke up at 5 a.m. and saw a fat man wearing a red tartan suit standing next to my bed. [cut]

Since then, I started sleeping with my night lamp on for a year due to my fear of the dark.

And last year in April, I made a little trip to Lübeck to clear my head and, as mentioned, I face my fear of falling asleep in the dark.

I love hotel rooms.

On my first night in Lübeck, I had turned the lights off and put The Cure’s Lullaby on repeat. I also opened my wardrobe … [cut].

I fell asleep.

I had decided to write something special on my three-day trip, something similar to Absinthe rush. I even had a Desperado bottle (not Absinthe) with me, which I never opened … [cut]. Then it occurred to me that I should keep a video blog instead. I think I recorded three video blogs and thought of a few tales on the beach.

So what am I going to do this April?

Why it has to be April?

I compare spring with autumn the way people compare the dark with the bright. To me, autumn is bright; it always has been the brightest. If you have seen the golden hills of memories in Edinburgh during autumn, you’ll know what I mean.

OK. No more life writing. I couldn’t care less about exposure right now. Do I have to admit it? I admit many things, but I’m going to keep this pathetic child to myself for now. Only hints of truth are all you’re going to get.

I still write about what I know – but the significance lies elsewhere.

Another dream about me saving a kid – this time, the kid wasn’t mine, but I still risked my life to save it from drowning. I haven’t slept that badly in a while. Whenever I dream about kids (mine or not), I never see a father or any male figure nearby. I don’t like it. It reminds me of my unhealthy way of falling in love, loving what I can’t have. Sometimes I already know we’re not meant for each other, and still, I can’t help feeling that spark. I even believe that if I were ever to get what I want, I would look for reasons why I don’t deserve it.

To all unhappy observers… don’t you hate being observed in return? In a way where people have their preconceived ideas about you expressed through their eyes? Their eyes are suddenly larger and more analytical than usual. You know they know something, except they will not ask you about it. And when a sentiment such as sympathy comes to light, you know they feel sorry for you, and you ultimately hate them. You wonder what it is that they know about you. Is it because they know you have your head in a cesspool? [cut]

The day Hendrix strums the final chord will be the day that defines the rest of my life. I will sing one or two Amanda Palmer songs and weep against your chest. It’ll be warm, the spark will return, and the daunting shadows will disappear.

The next step will then be defined.

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