I might also let people think that I’m a delight; it’s easy to blend in without telling lies. You smile and keep your mouth shut. However, the smile refers to some funny, mischievous thought or picture you have in mind, and no one will ever know what it is.
I just ripped out a small article about Lars von Trier joking about being a Nazi. Do you remember when he was at the Cannes Fest sitting next to Kirsten Dunst? Do you remember the look on her face? I know what type of person Lars is. He doesn’t tell jokes. Unaware of this inappropriate statement in front of a big crowd that follow standard moral codes, he was doomed to cause another scandal.
And this is why he’s brilliant. His remarks are not meant to insult, and yet, people think otherwise.
This is why introverts don’t talk much.
In the article, he claims: “I do not possess the skills to express myself unequivocally…”
Lars–you and I don’t express ourselves with the spoken word; we use art, and therefore, what we communicate through art is stronger than every spoken word, even in front of a press.
I also don’t blame him for refraining from giving any more interviews. Who likes them, anyway? People who seek attention, of course. Unlike them, we seek attention by inspiring the ambitious. We don’t fool them into capitalism and mindless consumerism with ulterior motives.
Funny that when telling people that I’m a writer, they instinctively think I write romance for the masses. It’s hilarious. When I mention “transgressive fiction,” they don’t get it. So I keep on saying that I write obscene stuff, taboo subject matters that people don’t talk about. And you can tell how squeamish they get after hearing the word “obscene.”
As you may have noticed, I’ve learned a lot from Dexter Morgan. It does make life easier to blend in occasionally, especially if you have to deal with dozens of people who only care about their own business. All they need from you is a little hint of a positive attitude, whether feigned or not. They only need to see that you fit in. Most are too blind or indifferent to look behind your back or check what’s lurking beneath the surface. To my luck, not many people are interested anyway, and some don’t even see it. I can’t tell whether it’s a good thing or not. Maybe there are more than two who accept me for who I am.
Whoever enters my room complains of it being cold. I sleep with windows half-open, and they stay that way throughout the day unless I’m out. Yes, my room is cold, and so are my hands, even if the heating is on. The heat doesn’t reach me. Like the blood never reaches my fingertips. (Typing too much?) Maybe I’m still boiling up at a specific spot in my body. I don’t know how long the green tea will keep me calm.
And well, I’m still not plagued by the cold because I eat more fruits than anyone.
Now that it’s autumn, everyone’s getting ill. Whenever I’m on the tube in the morning, I’m plagued by people’s morning breaths and farts. The only problem I have with autumn is that people are prone to colds, and the last thing I need is people sharing their germs in the underground. I never hold on to anything when on the tube. If it gets shaky, I pretend I’m surfing, I try to predict the next unstable movement, so I know where to load my weight. You may call me crazy, but I’m really not keen on your germs.
It’s hell jogging in this wind. The smell of the autumn air is terrific, except for the piercing wind inducing tears and a runny nose. Running and crying at the same time makes you look like you’re turning your back on something. When running around the cemetery, I see crying angels, which doesn’t make me feel any better.
Maybe it’s time to sign up at the gym again.
How I hate not having my own toilet. In the morning, I go to the toilet about five times because I drink gallons of water and green tea. So my landlady always sees me walking into the bathroom. She thinks I have chronic diarrhoea.
Someone told me that I shouldn’t overexpose myself because many people will use the exposure against me, even my friends. As I said before, no one in your life wouldn’t use anything against you. Even your best friend would use your negative traits against you in an argument. But it’s only natural. I never know what natural behaviour is to you and what’s not.
It’s not always a sign of a fever.
Melancholia left me with the following sentiments:
I feel so attracted to you that you rouse my female parts into action and make my nipples sore, but what’s the point? You’re going to crush me, destroy me anyway with that shimmering light of yours. You eliminate my existence, for you can’t control yourself—me – the only life that you’ve ever known. But I won’t run away; I can’t. Swallow me now, and I’ll give your heartburn, the most painful one you’ll ever experience.
If we were to die today, a sense of unfulfillment would forever leave us incomplete, wouldn’t it? Even as particles of the cold, we’d glide and move on until we’ve found a place that has space for hope.
Do you remember the fat man in the red suit with those tartan patterns? I still fear him sometimes. When I listen to The Cure’s ‘Lullaby’ on repeat, I feel often feel his cold breath behind my ear.
I wonder what E. would do. She has nightmares too, except that I’d class my problem as hypnagogic paranoia.
I still have to figure out who my sweetest friend is. The one to tell me what I have become.