The Most of Life; Behind Screens and Filters.

“You’re all murdering life…You’re all trying to change yourselves, all trying to change what is, and thus you’re never actually living what is. You’re killing who you are every day of your lives by not being who you are…where you are.”  Luke Rhinehart

Everything led to Hollywood road, the arms the drops of rain, blank and mute over-planned conversations the only remaining speed was the one of time, it took us years and innumerable ages to realize of all the time wasting the chasing or merely not enough chasing; did we have to accept the flow of things did we have to fight for more? More midnight calls more loneliness and a lost set of keys to new lives because we couldn’t erase anything and we couldn’t begin again unless we drove ourselves away knowing that the path to truth was within us and others didn’t hold any answers to our own vain desires and misinterpretations.

We didn’t have time to think about life, sipping our wine and piña coladas, infinite assumption of noise, over-populated trains and hearts, inhumanity and blue distance. What everybody needed was to be understood, out of understanding came every form of love and we were swiping on phones not being able to recognise the pain. Pain explained so much about us, but we didn’t want to go through pain on the way to knowledge so we carried on with our existences, under waves of skies clueless about the direction of sunflowers.
Have we become more vain than before, afraid to face ourselves we endured the same senseless emptiness that our grandchildren wouldn’t see on filtered selfies, sticks of glowing forgotten not-even-friends’ faces. We confined our dirty dreams and dived into endless texting with strangers, hard core porn clips, wanting to be desired more than loved craving pain because we had avoided it for too long and it was coming after us. Unable to devote ourselves to difficult people who were real people we strolled down Sprimont and Draycott avenue but nothing ever changed, I saw them, melting left overs of someone we got along with and everything was right but it wasn’t enough. What was it then? What more did we need? Singapore Bali St Tropez another year had gone, life was waiting for us where our acceptances would collide and we would eventually get there because nothing else was life and if we wanted to live we had to shout it all out of our lungs.

Down on the west coast we turned our journeys around, forgot the chasing fear of the unsubstantiated lightness of beings, heavy values small forgettable regrets, brief closure goodbye. Love was hanging in there either unthinkable without violence or renouncing strength and us, standing between each other, blindfolded to the distance of our desires begging for directions. The people we admired most were the ones living on a large scale; we were either fully submissive or we were stubborn in unsure fast times, gone somewhere on the way back from Notting Hill, freed from the endless vanity of speeches and words, the moodiness, no cabs, painful walks, healing hearts and acting. There was no escape from selfishness whether we were trying to make ourselves or someone else happy it didn’t make such difference. I insisted on the capability of making people happy even when it wasn’t our responsibility even if the dice gave me no clues I was never clueless on big scales and matters awaken by the sea such as confusion and nervousness. Let us be more confused, nervous about pleasure, nervous about mistakes and brokenness in all senses.


Soft sticky backs, freckled cheeks impatient burning sky, bring me back to that summer last month when I was too carried away to remember how much being difficult prevented us from living well. Time was something standing between this world and eternity, between suffering and love and we were so comfortable measuring our lives in time that we didn’t accept the stream of events rushing up to the surface of our eyelids, surely it was open for us to see even when summer had gotten cold and dark and we weren’t satisfied and we were forever searching but lazy and weak, forever challenged to say no to the things we wanted. Maybe that repetitive transience was the meaning of life because it made us eager, aroused, mad to get stuff, be with someone crash the silence and aloneness, argue over the right side of the bed, follow the disappearing views from rooftops pouring blurry in front of us like a memory of the last time the mirror watched us, the last time someone touched us before meeting a new wonderful and empty soul, another face same story until a life had been lived. Was that all?

Tic tic tac, heads up to where we belonged in real time, unbounded water levels and thoughtless penetrations that kept us away from triviality. Bali. Across the border she was a good girl, making popcorn she didn’t know when to say goodbye. Did we become more whole with ourselves when we let someone else go? What was whole anyway? She wasn’t going to leave. Big eyes, big hopes, all the usual darkness when we refused to see. She looked so sad in her vintage dress in the middle of winter eating her corn. ‘It’s not February darling, spring isn’t even on its way. Undress. Grab a beer. I won’t hand it to you because I want you to grab it yourself and dance on Argentinian songs about good lives and passion.’

I drank more to increase the volume of my thoughts and numb the silence of her. ‘I prefer your smell, you wonderful person digging deeper than the depth of this whole big world of ours. You don’t have to do everything I tell you. Babe, let it go. Don’t wonder how people manage their hearts, how they move on with their lives for themselves, how essentially this is the best thing we can all do. Maybe not for you, because you’re so sweet, but don’t worry how people manage to surpass the vanity of the everyday, most of them sink with it anyway, too comfortable in their beautiful bubbles. But we are all brave to be here, to go away, no bikini, no umbrella, waves and peaches. Those are the answers you’re so keen on finding. Babe?’

All that road going, terrifying cities, empty cars in Holland Park and all those people dreaming in the immensity of it, let’s go deeper looking for them, the answers of life. Freezing rooms, peeking mice, destroyed madness chasing another angry mind so rarely not obsessed with things that didn’t matter, who said what mattered anyway? It wasn’t the selfies, mirrors, cash and fucks that kept us going and always saved the day. It was difficult to be happy and yet we thought we belonged somewhere higher where people would accept our boredom-filled weekend nights, numerous faces and share our growth, what a joke. Our stories were the same, our rooms looked smaller, uglier and older but we were alive and we were capable of giving life and there was no wealth but life.

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