Me And My Imaginary Friends

Talking to some women is like talking to God. Most of the time it feels like I am talking to myself. Spot on. No matter how you twist it. Unfortunately.

Good thing there’s cold beer, happy food, dope, super sexy kinky stuff and funky art. Imagine an existence without a single one of them. I am not a machine. Basically because I refuse to be one. Game on.

The day looks promising. No doubt something is happening today.

When nothing works

The fucking canvas is not cooperating though. So much for painting. The words seem to be ill today, almost dead. So much for writing. But it’s okay. Been there, done that. I know what to do. It’s hard to break old habits. And most of all, extremely boring.

If you have a limited imagination like me, there’s no point in waiting in front of the laptop or staring at a canvas. No, the action is on the street. That’s why I use public transport, I mean: who are you going to meet in a taxi or in your own car?

Lust for life.

I have said it before and I sincerely hope I will be repeating myself for a bloody long time. There is always something to do when all seems lost. And there’s so much more to do when everything looks promising.

Energy. I always feel a little bit like an outcast in this world where everybody is dying or killing themselves with good intentions. Blessed or cursed? And does it even matter how and what we call it?

Sometimes I feel like expired food in the fridge that should have been thrown away a long time ago.

Yesterday a friend of mine killed himself. Funny how an event like this makes you feel that you are not alone.

Memories

I am also thinking about the weird encounter I had very early in the morning on my way to the liquor store.  This woman that I have never met before, was calling me by one of my first names and talking about stuff I can’t possibly picture ever happened. Good, nice stuff, for the record.

I am like fog between all these black holes in my memory.  It’s becoming a problem. Then again, maybe the reason I don’t think life is boring is because everyday it starts again from scratch. Everyday is a new adventure.

How fucking great!

And how do you feel today?

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