“No matter how careful you are, there’s going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn’t experience it all. There’s that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should’ve been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That’s how your whole life will feel some day…Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you’re alive.” Chuck Palahniuk
Shutting down purple illusions blue safe words and over a month since the last choke. She was still there in some dark and quiet office just above thousands of faces crossing the traffic lights in a hurry because they foolishly believed the reason for always staying in a hurry was to jump into better moments and better lives. We were more afraid of being understood than misunderstood, our consciousness insisted on becoming the person we were it was so simple to just be, it was simpler to ignore ourselves and remain tired moaning wanting. Tell me more, not about life and profound things, tell me about good coffee, cosy blankets, easy laughter and little white socks. I could see more clearly into life when all of those were present in my mind and I knew what they felt like and you liked them too and you anticipated them and you were charmingly annoying pursuing them as if the entire truth about the universe consisted in them.
We had to forget and forgive mainly each other for our own reactions to power and vulnerability, in times when we were unwanted when we chose the easy path because we assumed that difficult people would burden us, shutting down Millennium doors and enjoying what should have been our success. Exploiting experiences and fragile souls who would never find any truth because there was no ultimate truth, only visions popping up in moments of time, different the next time we thought of them. Anyway, the truth was that I loved her and her irrational bipolar mind ready to wear white socks for the rest of her life for me and be chocked until she almost forgot that her illusions were real and they were materialising right now while I smelled her and penetrated her and there was no one else in the room except for the endless invasion of compliance and then she screamed “blue”. Good girl, you’ve missed me.
She was such a pain with her harmless needs, heating up to the max, vegan meals, unsubstantiated fears, continuous reaffirmations that I liked her and that I cared about her and I only thought of her and that little white fan heater that she bought for something like 10 bucks and I imagined her in her night slip under the duvet eating her vegan chocolate spread and multi grain snack recalling the last time I was inside of her just a day ago and how she already couldn’t stand being without my hard cock filling her up. Perhaps things had to remain craved, we would be alone because once we rejected someone who loved us, because we didn’t want to settle or because we were attached to those cravings. How long did it take to travel from one life to another, we were lucky for being given chance after chance to live and get it better this time, but what did that matter if we didn’t remember anything we’ve been or done before, if we weren’t aware of the this bigness of circumstances? Even if we had innumerable lives, each one was here on its own and that was all the news there was for us and those were good news because every real story was a never ending story regardless. Nowhere was a great place to be whether we had gathered enough joy and happiness, whether we didn’t belong anywhere, as soon as all hopes of saving the world and escaping this shit had died or temporarily vanished or were just on pause, we would either remain there stuck forever or move from one to another consistently, it was like knowing that the person we loved and the one who loved us were never, ever the same person. It wasn’t a great place to be in, but what can I tell you?
Me gustas tu and the beach we never found and the lost time that would never be un-lost and the bath you took with your sister in Fulham and I missed it and I only saw a blurry photo with your hard nipples covered and your hair up. We were hurt and turned into broken things and bitches, vulnerable and too proud to admit that the future didn’t have to be decided right now before we had even decided on dinner and Monday-to-Friday-jobs, the necessary and dreadful little parts of life that took the most of our breathing window of time.
Let me see what life is and what life isn’t, Frank Sinatra blues at 8 in the morning, weak coffee and dark rooms, where did life shine? I had to know the exact place not some vague ideas that never surfaced into tangible hopelessness. I wanted to follow a sort of invisible arrows that would bring me to realness and regions where pleasure and pain didn’t fight to prevail they were one whole truth that we didn’t have to know at all and we just became one with it and carried it in our hearts and we never got to question the meaning of life and death, God and sex and all the rest of the unanswerable ponders of existence. But damn it, the idea of not questioning seemed like the most depressing thing to think of. If I knew enough truth about life, let me forget it let me un-protect myself from all the harm to come and let me wonder how I got myself into trouble because nobody was really fucking happy and that stupid endless searching tied all mankind together. People will leave and we’d speak of watching sunrises from rooftops but instead we took the subway in the morning and in the evening and then we went back to our rooms with small or extra king sized beds, whatever because they were all small anyway. Get up, you don’t deserve to look for happiness without seeing and realising with every inch of your senses how the Sun gets born every fucking morning and it shines no matter how long it’s been dark for. Get up, and I’m talking to myself.