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I kind of enjoy all the five Jewish genes I have left in my genotype since they are all located in my nose. I surely need nose now. It seems I have tons of fluids inside me and they all are coming out. Via my nose, yes. Flu is a sick state of being. I wish there were laws against it. At least it could be painless, numb state of fluids, sneezing, feverish shivers, sweating between the sheets. I try to convince myself this will be over soon and gone for months, doesn´t help the way I feel.
Fields of snow.
Millions and millions of tiny, ice cold, diamonds sparkling beneath the sun. The soil that is covered by this white gown is still asleep, probably seeing lucid dreams about the wakefulness of life. To witness the light is unbearable yet it´s impossible to stop staring. I noticed I had missed this kind of landscape and I want to grab it with my eyes to take it back home with me. In the late afternoon, when the clouds appeared, the snow suddenly turned back into a lifeless, ordianry matter and the magic was gone. So were we.
Flirt gives birth to a sin.
The allmighty light flirts with the land so boldly it makes you embarrassed. Pretty soon, the etheral, but very powerful, mating dance will bear fruit and the land will be pregnant with new life. Green, moist, plants will push through the soil. All of a sudden the air will be full of sensual aromas flowing down carelessly from the sticky juices of flowering trees... In no time there are sex orgies everywhere and all we can do about it is to watch around us and wonder where an earth is the world going to.
The work slowly fades away from me, during these days of sickness. Yet I feel myself better, much stronger without the mental burden of anxiety. Despite of the endless coughing I can breath deeper, feel myself whole, a person I am supposed to be. I ask, is that the way it is supposed to be? That your work turns you into a monster, into an indifferent person? I' m sick of it, it blocks my view. I need to find a way out of this situation, I have to do it myself, since no one else gives a shit.
Fuck the war.
It is so obivous His Narcistic Highness, Mr. Imbecile will attack Iraq. He has the pictures of oil barrels in his eyes. He says he´s defending his land, can you believe that? The US will lose lots of friends because of this war. The next president, after the Idiot is gone, will have his (never mind
..) hands full of work repairing the long traces of one man´s idiotism. I wonder how many people there are, around GWB, who desperately want to stop him, but nothing can be done anymore.
Feedback to God.
The customers seemed friendly, for a second I thought they have missed me, then I thought it' s not possible. It is the light that does tricks to us. And then I saw the stupidest young man I have ever seen in the tram and as I listened to his simple, monotonous voice I thought: What the fuck is the plan, God, -- or whoever you are up there -- why are you doing this? Creating nothing but idiots to walk around the globe? This particular idiot even had a girlfriend. She does not think very highly of herself.
Feng-shui, never heard of it?
My place obviously lacks it. No matter what I do to these pathetic square meters, I am in a dead end. Now, the huge computer takes over the whole place. The dude who installed the machine laughed when I told him: This is exactly as pathetic as it looks like. I have a computer in the middle of the room and nothing else matters. I turned everything upside down this afternoon and now I get lost in a one-room flat. Sigh. At least I found the oven, since the pie was a success.
I was in England in my dream. I remember arguing with someone on the phone about whether I was going to the countryside or not.. The land was so green it hurt my eyes badly. Travelling is easy in your dreams, like a piece of cake. First thing I heard when I woke up was a distant cry of a seagull. I thought: "Could it be, really?" and she screamed again, just to make me convinced. The spring is crawling our direction, the land will be green here, too. Thank you, stupid universe for not sending me to Siberia.
I wonder how often my endless exhaustion attacks are happening because of fibromyalgia. I am not just another case of hypochodriac, I know my body, it is not allright and it effects my mind, too. I should take better care of my body, but I keep neglecting it continuously. Six months of the year you stay indoors in these latitudes and watch as the darkness befalls all over your world. Spring is such a revelation when it arrives, my body aches for it more than ever, the bright sun, the greenness of grass and the warmth of the air.
I carried my rigid, tired muscles home without complaining, standing in the back of the tram watching the numerous seats available. I ran into the grocery store, in the nick of time, bought some juice & yoghurt & something I forgot. I took the elevator to the 4th floor, unlocked the two locks and stepped over my treshold. Immediately dropped my bag, took off my clothes and left them on the floor. I took a quick shower, made a sandwich or two, plugged in the headphones of the computer and decided to surf until the muscle relaxant starts to kick in.
The weakening hands of winter still have a firm grip of me. I can´t bear the grey days between the sunny days, but they just keep on coming my way. I freeze in front of pictures of the faraway lands, their warm glittering oceans. I dream unfulfilled dreams, standing for few seconds, then I have to force myself to move forward, forget that I ever saw them. So close, yet so far, the warmness of summer. By the time I get home the dreams have turned into distant galaxies inside me, impossible for the human eye to see.
I don´t know what happened. (As if it meant something.) I came home from work and fell asleep for four hours. I think I played with the computer for a while and went back to bed. I spend enormous amounts of such a quality time with myself these days. I don´t even plan to do a thing about it. Who cares anyway? Dreaming is useless but it is too much fun. I can have a real life in the next life. In this one I´m way too busy sleeping and cursing like a sailor, fuck.
I experienced another tram trance; I went through a sudden moment of clarity beside the dirty windows. I realised, I shall definitely spend the rest of my life alone. I don´t need a man to tell me what to do (or what I am not to do). I don´t need a man to make my life complete, I definitely do not need a man to get physical with. I want to waiste my life all by myself. If I ever learn to know what I want from life I can do the rest by myself just fine.
A long article I read about the hermits intrigue me. This dying breed and whim in the human race makes me green with envy. To lack the contact with other people is a dream come true to me. I am good with people, occationally I do like them, but I have no difficulties to be alone for long period of time. One month in the middle of nowhere with a dog as a teenager was my golden era. I was a weirdo, have to admit that. - Today a teenager in the countyside without a mobile phone would presumably die.
Free, kind of lazy.
Strange, little errands accomplishing apathy has been following me throughout the day. I wonder what I do, what I have never done, what I will never do and definitely not what I should do. One whole day off is not a rest, it is just a pause between two different exhaustions. The first five days of the week are made of mental anxiety and the seventh is nothing but physical exhaustion. Cleaning gets harder when you get older, that is so obvious. Yet I feel I should leave the shithole where I stay for five days.
Sleeps behind the curtains in this weather. Listens to the distant voices of seagulls opening their throats after the months of darkness. Quick glimpses of wings lash my face, so that I have difficulties to remember who I am, where I come from and who was the reason I wanted to be here. I might know what you think, but I know exactly what you will do. You are a book to read and I don´t feel like reading today. I wish I felt like writing but I don´t, so, close the curtains, let the wings pass.
The late darkness veils day´s hardness, looses the grip of the tight muscles, moves softly towards the bed, seduces your clothes off, drops them all down, lets you bend down to touch the linen, to make it real by mere, simple touch of the fingertips, and there you get even more lost in the pale light of the street lamp, when you let your eyelids close you hear a voice escaping your lips, like a sigh, but when you repeat it carefully, like a word of foreign language you never really learned, you realise, it was a cry.
I try to catch the moon with my eyes as the tram moves along on its way through the city. Suddenly a woman hits her head with her fists. First left hand, then right. She stops this weird behaviour, grabs her bag - maybe she forgot something. I try to make a little fire in my soul, unsuccessfully. The Iraq war that is to come is a black smutty spot in my mind and it gets worse if I try to wipe it away. I blink a lot before I reach my destination, the moon instead is blinkless like hell.
Iraq war is not a fair play. It makes me sick. I want to throw up when I see the face of Dubya. That man deserves a slow and painful death. And as soon as possible, thank you. They say every little detail has a meaning, that all things lead to another, that there is always something good behind the bad. I doubt it with Dubya. He is just stupid & greedy bastard. Nothing good comes out of him. These so called "christians" are always the worse. They do terrible things "in the name of God". Disgusting, I say.
The war has begun. It is like a knife in the flesh of humanity, we will all suffer because of this, not only the women and the children of Iraq who cannot even read the news to understand what are the horrible powers behind this terrible play. How long does it take to suck the oil out of Iraq? How long does it take to kill Saddam? How long does it take when the terrorists make a REAL attack against US? With force that is way too much even to the police nation that is has turned into?
What a terrible story behind the flower´s name. The poor knight drowned in the river while picking flowers for his lady. Let´s just make one thing clear: I don´t want anyone to die because of gathering flowers for me. Never. I don´t want anyone to die for me, or spread a "bed of roses" for me. (What???!) That sort of devotion you can mainly hear in the lyrics of American bands like Bonjovi. Sounds quite stupid to me. It has nothing to do with love.
has a different tone to it.
Eyefull of the news. The war gets tougher. More money is being burn, just like oil is on flames around Baghdad. Kind of ironic that George "Führer" Bush straight from Capitol Hills turns to rubble the Cradle of Civilization... It crossed my mind today, if the Gate of Ishtar, for example, will be destroyed. Perhaps we can admire it only in the pictures from now on. Among other things. I wish I didn´t witness this shit. I´m relieved I don´t have TV. If I had I would torture myself by staring the news all the time.
S died at 17:13. He kept craving for the touch of his wife almost till the very end. He was in agony, fighting death for twelve hours and when he finally calmed down, it was already time to go, exit this world. I have never seen when person dies, it must be amazing experience. My friend seemed relieved on the phone, not because the cancer had won his father´s will to live but because all the terrible pain was gone. I am sure he is in a good place. I smile and shed quiet tears at home.
Faute de mieux.
I doubt if I will ever know what I want from life. I hate everything I do. (Playing with the computer does not count.) I feel quilty of wanting something better. I hardly have right for that: most of the people in the world do not have any choice what it comes to their way to earn money. Man' s gotta do what the man' s gotta do, and the same goes for women and children. I should not complain. I have a job, a roof above my stupid head. But I hate it. I HATE IT.
I spent the whole day in front of the computer, chasing a nasty worm that ran amok on my computer. My cousin´s husband was running for the parliament and they got loads of e-mails. Obviously a virus, too. Their computer decided to send it to me. How hilarious. I wish I could get my hands around the throat of the bastard who made this crap. I miss the sunshine outside, the only thing I am happy about today is that I am not at work. I am sick, I said. Well, my computer is. Close enough.
Unable to decide if I should buy the on-line writing course. It costs money. (What else?) I don´t have it. I feel I am too old to dream about writing. I have written nothing meaningfull until this day - if I have I have destroyed it already. So, what the hell am I thinking? This is ridiculous, there are enough wanna-be writers in the world, there is no need for another loser. I don´t know what to do with my life, period. I have lost my creativity, shit is not a good fertilizer for writing.
Weird habbit to bring mountains of flowers to the grave, to leave them there to die. I don´t like the idea, I wish I could bring flowers to the widow instead. She is the one who needs them, anything to make her life bearable from now on. The marriage of more than 50 years is over, she must feel very lonely. She might be even lonelier than I am at the moment. Horrible idea. Better keep on thinking about the flowers before I fall to the pit of selfpity. I evaluate my life harshly these days. Why?
Festina lente, my ass.
If I haste any slowlier than this I will drop dead to the ground. I have one problem only, I have lost the direction completely. I try to check the prevailing trends but they vanish behind a tall wall of fog like I was living a nightmare of goddamn Carlos Castaneda. My life is a needle in a haystack and I cannot decide where to start in order to find it. I choose to sleep instead, to hide in the dreamland. I fall asleep in a second. It takes an hour to get my eyes open.
Feelings are fuel to the words but there is no fire. I am a dirty looking glass, hovering over my own life. Nothing changes in one year. I have managed to stop living. I have made my own choices for too long, too late to regret. I never regret nothing. I am too proud to do that. I thought the most painful years were the teenage years. I was wrong and I have a sad taste in my mouth. Thirty-something is a waiste of time. I am stupid beyond understanding. Nothing changes in one year. Or two.
Fille de chagrin.
practise my Italian. Learn Swedish. (Soon.) Write in Finnish. Go out. Practise yoga. Have fun. Look for a new job. Get the bloody driver's license. Learn to use Photoshop. Read about 50 books. Read about 75 magazines lying on the table. Lift dumbbells everyday. Take care of my knee. Mind my wrist. Look for a new job. Pay some bills. Save money. (Stop dreaming.) Hate life. Throw some papers away. Change the CD in my stereo. Change the "Get a life." welcome message in my cell phone - it does not work. Say what I think.
Funny how it is..
..that when you drink tea you can sip it peacefully, yes, you can even say gracefully for a long period of time. What it comes to coffee, while enjoying a cup of coffee you might be able to read half the neswspaper, or more. Gulp by gulp it goes down, that life giving caffeine. But when you get a glass - or a mug - of cocoa in your hands you just drink it down before you can say "there is bird poop in the window". Oh, why is that? I am very puzzled because of this. Life!
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