The month of the Taurus has begun. Now I’m pointlessly smitten with something elusive – a star sign that I adore. At least this feeling navigates me towards hope and other lovely things while deep inside; I don’t care as much. Yet, I’m trying not to pay attention to the negative attitude.
Apathy is on holiday, and the rain is on hold.
Despite the beauty I see, I can’t help feeling attracted to Houellebecq’s obscenities, Ellis’s grotesque images and Gallo’s spite.
How can you be so oblivious to beauty?
I’ve doubted Sartre’s existentialism for a while. Can you really be who you want to be? The principles of determinism come to mind. If we’re all driven by psychology, then I’m afraid the soul is a little stronger, and there’s nothing that we can do about it.
I had another freaky hypnagogic experience, and this time it was sexual. I was close to falling asleep on my stomach when I felt kisses on my neck. He said something, too, but I don’t remember the words. The whole experience of simulated warmth was ruined by my speculating of who it might be. I was still lying on my stomach, letting the caress continue. There is a high probability that I’d let out a moan in the real world. I was caught somewhere in between. My hand glided towards his crotch. Judging by the size of it, it was neither of the two that I knew. The thought that it was him made me crazy. Even before I wanted to find out, I twisted the dream into something else.
Just like that.
Like a keystroke.
I don’t trust dreams.
I was asleep, and I saw Saturn floating on water. A plausible image if you think about the planet’s low density. Or maybe Poseidon is merciful of his gluttonous father.
I was looking at fat kids on the train the other day. Their mother was heavy, too, which already indicated that she didn’t care the slightest about health, especially her children’s. They received their daily amount of crisps without having to ask for it.
The kids, mouths full of crisps, were smiling at me, and I smiled back. They thought I found them cute while all I thought about was bouncing balls and the fact that in five years, they’d be 3 times the size they were now. The thought of glutamate, toxins, and other chemical substances in the body made me feel sick. Her daughter still looked fairly pretty, but let’s not go deeper into this because, in five years, it’ll be different. I also imagined how their mother would devour them after discovering that her children will cause her to ruin. The fat children will avenge.
London is a rubbish dump. How else have the flies become so monstrously fat? Bluebottle flies sounds rather lovely like it were another species. If they carry on feeding on our filth, they’ll be feasting on us one day.
Bluebottle flies – it sounds like your favourite kind of Vodka.
Do I really mean what I blog these days, or have the writing become entirely fiction? I don’t even see the point.
Bluebottles – also known as Physalia Utriculus – look like blue dildos, poisonous dildos.