My psychology teacher told me that, according to freud (i am not using capital letters on purpose), those who keep a journal or feel the need to write in general are sexually frustrated. Just wanted to point out what a piece of crap that is. I mean, come on, really? I seriously hope that i’m not the only one who totally dissagrees, ’cause that would just mean i have bigger issues than i imagined, and well that would not be good for my ego and self-esteem. I mean, if one would write (frequently) about sex in his journal/blog/whatever , then ok, maybe, just maybe, that ipothessis coud be considered (but not necessarily).  Eah i don’t even know why i’m trying to make a point here…

This might look as if i’m frustrated or something about this, but let’s make things clear, i’m not. Seriously, i am not! (little voice in the back of my head: “are too!!” … am not! … “are too!!!”) It’s just… ah, forget it.

I’m the most lucid character of this story. That’s the way is has to be, all the rest of them are just numbed by the simple possibility of living. Scary, isn’t it, realising maybe some of the things actually matter, maybe more or maybe less than you have been thought, but oh yeah, they matter don’t they? They told you something else, but it’s not in your head, you feel this -and guess what- you have no idea how to deal with it, because noone’s ever told you anything about it. And you know when that starts to come to your attention? You know what are the things you start to feel that matter? It’s the ones you miss or you don’t have. Living in the crapy world everyone else has helped built but you, living the life that was somehow chosen for you, always feeling what you have been told you would feel. But from now and then, you do ask yourself, right?  You do feel that something is awfully wrong and you start to feel the need of… well of… you. Do you matter? Not on a large scale, of course not, not to your ex-girlfriend who dumped you (bitch) for a reason she just made up while breaking up with you, not to you neighbour’s son who obviously has no clue that you’ve been living next door to him for six month and that you fuck his mother while daddy’s away with “bussiness”, not to your best friend from highschool who sweared you would keep in touch but then got married to an older, wiser, with-a-large-bank-account-er guy and forgot to tell you, yeah you probably don’t matter to them. I don’t either. I mean, who does? And assuming sometimes, yes, people matter, are they really irreplaceble? I mean how much would you have to feel to get there? Maybe i’m out of line here, and no, i do not really have a point with this, i’m just making conversation, i’m entertaining myself since i can’t sleep (nothing surprising here… ok moving on), so, maybe i’m out of line but i think overall it’s not the person that matters, it’s the spot he is sitting on. It’s the is-the-spotlight-bright-enough-to-make-me-count. It’s where you get, how fast you get there and how you see the world from the rooftops. So isn’t not being sure you are where you should be scary?

Life is harsh. Is it? I mean, really? Or am i just too retarded to see how it really works. Maybe i’m sick. Seriously, maybe i have like a genetic dissorder that makes me not function right and be a moron. (yeah… it’s called Down syndrome) (that was a cruel joke now wasn’t it?) I never got why i’m so fascinated and intrigued at the same time by everything that’s evil, wrong and prohibited, why i sometimes enjoy pain more than pleasure, why from time to time making someone cry or at least make him really upset gives me a lot more satisfaction than making people laugh for instance. Oh, don’t get me wrong, i’m not that evil, i just have an appetite for these things. Oh i also lie a lot, i got used to lieing just because it made my life easier and things are just more in your control when you set  it up just the way you want it. I like that. 

I also like whip cream and long walks on the beach (too oldfashioned?). Cats and skate shoes. Cheese and finishing a book in a couple of hours. Smoking and staying up late. Sex and taking pictures. Daydreaming and listening to rhcp. Confusing people and (most of all) making fun of myself. Oh god, i really don’t have a point with this post now do i?

Sit through the night, touch the sky, touch the void, claim what’s yours, get closer and closer to what you need, touch the back of your hand and then fall right back in the world you’re traped in, in the city full of people you’ll never know, then slowly start to forget and care less. Back and forth and on and on.

I already miss tomorow.

How can i smile more often if everything’s senseless all the time? Touch me, touch me ’cause it’s the only way i can feel alive.

Trying to get me? Stop trying. I don’t even get myself, so i guess it’s fucking pointless now isn’t it. Yeah… i thought so. Trying to understand others always seemed so easy to me. I almost have fun doing it, it’s so damn obvoius, it’s so fucking amaising how everything matches, how everything fits.. ‘Cause it’s not me. Figuring me out completely, that’s one thing i’ve never done. I don’t even think i even tried. Or maybe i did, failed, then erased it from my mind. Yeah…

 inhale

exhale

inhale

exhale

inhale

inhale

inhale

It’s ok, we’ll take care of it, of course we will. The road will start spinning, rain will fall on my skin, i’ll shiver, fuck i forgot where and when we were, were we? are we? …what? i can’t tell the difference, i’ll just have to guess. I’m guessing. I hate that. Where was i? I feel like i’m wasted all the time. There’s always so much more left to say…

Ah, again, where was i? Noone’s ever answered this one…

I don’t know. 

“why do you always have to say that??”

I… don’t know.

anything else..?

…everything else.

So, how does it really work? How does anything work when it’s all just spinning out of control? Do you stop, check your watch, and decide whether you get or don’t get in line for another ride or do you stay where you are and just spin? And if you spin too much, what if you throw up? Do you even get to decide, or are you just supposed to spin? What is up to you and what isn’t?

At any given moment, the brain has 14 billon neurons firing at a speed of 450 miles per hour. We don’t have control over most of that. Thoughts, impulses… How can we control our life if we can’t even have full control over our body?  It’s never black and white. There are always shades of grey. I hate shades. If you’re a very obsessional person, then you can’t give up. You can never say it can’t be understood. You hate the shades, so you want to make them go away. So you never stop. You just don’t stop. You need it to be black and white. You will make it be black and white, if necesary. ‘Cause black and white, you can deal with that. And you so very much want to be able to deal with it. ‘Cause when you’re not dealing with it, it all starts spinning and spinning. 

I’m an obsessional person. I thrive on control. I need control. I always have to double-check things, i have to have a proof, i have to think over and over just to make sure i’m right. I need a clear picture, with a high resolution, i need the light to be perfect and i want it to mean something. Otherwise, it’s the spinning, and the confusion, and the doubt, and the blur, and the black-outs and…

Oh yeah… or you can just let go. But then who knows where you’ll fall down?

O sa fac o a doua exceptie si o sa scriu alte doua randuri in romana. S-ar putea sa tot fac exceptii d-astea, ca din momentul in care exista un precedent…

Vroiam sa ma aerisesc de noaptea trecuta, imbacsita de indoielile pe care mi le lasa aproape intentionat parca fiecare privire in care ochii ii stralucesc, degetele ii tremura infundat, camera se invarte si mie mi se face frica. Pentru ca nu stiu sa joc ca el. N-am putut s-o fac niciodata. Sa mor daca ma prind. Nici macar nu e vorba de incredere. Cu toate indoielile pe care le am si le voi avea, i do trust him, perhaps much more than i should… n-as putea sa explic exact de ce…

Cred ca petrecem prea mult timp impreuna.  Avem asa ocazia sa incepem sa cerem din ce in ca mai mult, din ce in ce mai repede, si sa ne epuizam unul pe celalalt intr-un ritm care mie mi se pare riscant. Ar fi mult prea trist, stii… Dupa atata timp, sa ajungem sa futem totul pur si simplu pentru ca nu gestionam cum trebuie anumite aspecte. Mult prea trist si mult prea banal.

 Imi acopar ochiul drept cu palma, sa vad doar o jumatate. Cealalta. Trag usa dupa mine. Fara sa ies sau sa intru in camera.

Hai sa ne bagam pula. Toti in acelasi timp. Oricum… totul e dus dracu’ de pe-acum. Si daca nu e, if anything can go wrong, it will. Nu? Deci, hai.