Dreams From Ladbroke Grove

Sharing powders and toilets with strangers putting up with all-nighters and long Uber rides even when we were too exhausted from our juice-less lives and everyday miseries just to find some mild touching or brief fucking if we make it to the morning, we kept going we had to get there you see, what was left out of life was so tiny and impossible-to-see unless we were fully separated from boundaries and some forever-recurring gangbang judgments and we fought against our silly hearts still hanging on to so-called real connections whatever that meant at a Chelsea party I only watched her put her panties up in desperation to have me spin her around and fuck her right there in that bathroom but I let it go I leave her wanting me more and more like in those beach holidays in Côte d’Azur when it’s raining and you pray for some rays all over you and they never show and you’re mad at nature and the world but you go to the beach again tomorrow anyway and you try again you wait for the fucking sun. So we keep going all night because weekends are short and then we leave towns and people behind and we don’t care we don’t give a damn because the world is so big and there’s always the online swiping to save us from this endless and sort of pathetic or deeply glorious horny existence of ours but the loneliness we couldn’t really salvage.

The terrifying sensitivity of carrying on with our lives without the love of our lives because the one we loved and the one that loved us were never ever the same person we carried that knowledge within and pretended we were focused on work we were doing yoga and posting happy pictures so that the next generations don’t see the agony of innumerable lonely nights in small and messy apartments falling drunk in toilet clubs and not remembering if we had said ‘I love you’ or we had just been the same old cowards we always were by not speaking up, my lungs and veins travelled up to my brain, I heard them all violently beating together running through my body and out as if they were looking for a way to help me cope with everything I was feeling right at this second sharply at midnight wide awake a little drunk alone in bed dreaming of the immensity of planets and stars fucking on the stairs and how good it felt, god it felt good for a miniature second it felt unbelievably good to only remember pleasure and no goodbyes. Take good care of your pleasures and desires, dear kids dream big and fight for love even if you lose keep losing over and over again what a lucky thing you are to feel deeply and you ask me why you must continue to fight after you’ve been defeated? Because for us, the feeling souls there was no peace and never has been until we got completely worn out of trying but it was alright we were truly the living ones.

All those forever-ness longings and inevitable naive searches for permanent love and happiness when we were so small, little dots walking down in Notting Hill the moon bigger than all of our lives and all of our worries of being rejected not attractive enough not good enough, those worries that kept our hearts doubting who we were and scared of what was coming next they were small and didn’t matter but they were everything. To feel something for a mere moment despite how fucked up and lost we were made all of us courageous human beings whether we admitted it whether we were sinking in desperation and procrastination we were all hopeful and hope tied all mankind together. We were all one just like the full moon last night, I walked the whole of Notting Hill still lost and I knew my bones and skin and veins were feeling what everyone else in this world of ours was feeling simultaneously and exploding in desires and frustration a stream of gladness came over me that I wasn’t alone and none of us were alone and we’d all walk the line, cross boundaries and heartaches and it will all be golden and we’d only have a brief second to realise it and then we’d carry on with our little lives just like nothing happened.

The jazz we never heard, the wine we never finished silly and too conscious of the next day and what it was definitely not bringing such as any money at all, fresh fruits and dreams under some forever-shiny stars, the struggle we liked to say that was “real” and it was shared between the whole humanity was not exactly the same for everyone. I saw volcanoes and distant shores coming at me surrounding my little studio in impossible-to-escape-from scenarios and I stood there wanting to give up because I was tired and broke but I had to do something. I had to escape and I ran and I ran towards some other journey that would end up exactly the same but I went there anyway. And right then at this point some massive and never-going-to disrupt gladness came rushing and raining over me that my heart and all of our hearts were beating and we’d be lucky to grow old with all our regrets of not being brave and happy enough we’d pour whiskey out with bitterness and alone wrinkled and still glad we were alive and I was just glad she was my best friend and my little slut and whether I shared her with others or not she’d be mine nevertheless and despite of it all she’d still be mine when I’m all wrinkled and alone I’d call her up and we’d both giggle at our stupid arguments about who’d fuck her next and when she’d trick me into cooking for me.

Drinking and staring at walls I had this image of her in the toilet of some bar feeling an overwhelming horniness while peeing and hoping someone would come in and fuck her right there a stranger or whomsoever and she wouldn’t care but I knew she didn’t have the guts to do it and she’d just pee and go back to her dull table because the alternative of going home alone and spending all night in bed dreaming of my return was more unbearable. I smoke my joint and play old school video games and just think no women are good and she is the best but I’ll never go back to her, I’ll drive down the road and all the roads in London and in Paris trying to see the world differently and convince people to hold on to their dreams no matter the inevitable despair of growing old and dying along with a bit of drinking and fucking in between getting yelled at and regretting our behavior at times, how delicious and irresistible life was how delicious regardless the raggedy of realizing that was all, it was nothing and so much at the same time. I smoked near my window wondering how many times she has passed by my house on her way somewhere hoping to see me but kinda glad she didn’t so she’d keep her hope for next time giving excitement to her everyday struggles and in a way granted my life with peace confirming my sad and so-important theories that there were more feeling people out there and the world wasn’t such a bad place, if you could let yourself be invaded by existence grabbed by the throat by it only then you were alive and you’d thrive in your pain and loving altogether but you will win and bless, there was no other way.

Embracing weirdness and loneliness above this disposable world of ours we just sat there jerking off watching Eastern European long legs cross Mayfair restaurants we were horny and pathetic and we went on living on grants for as long as we could, holding on to our obsessions because of course we would and we built them up higher than life, no therapy in the world could save us but we were already safe and sound in bed, surviving the out-of-this-world heart beats most likely caused by too much blow or fear or whatever it was but we were saved forever and ever even though I had zero ideas of how much better we had to become to never feel lonely again to never be thrown out of apartments and sacked from all jobs. Bingeing on Chardonnay and stupid TV shows too lazy to write too poor to get on a train or even a fucking bus to Paris and just dream there instead because for some reason Paris could endure my pain better than London ever did and I ate my pasta day after day not doing anything to change to my life I listened to the cars through my window drank my wine I didn’t even think about her desperation to be with me I was too desperate myself to just keep myself busy and alive through this madness.

High on more of those delusions we were forever-stubborn to fully accept ourselves and that our pain was universal and there was nothing so special about our loneliness then why did we have to make it such a big deal? I watched the bright sun in December and how another year was burning away innumerable thoughts and vague never-chased dreams of bodies touching in some private clubs in Paris we only cared about the experiences we shared with the people that we loved and we endlessly crossed whole damn oceans just to seek excitement or to escape from it only to move on to yet another year carrying tiny sections of things we assumed mattered and people we believed we’d always love but what if we were mistaken? What if year after year what we dragged on was nothing more than attachments? I shook my head off before the world comes to an end and I couldn’t let that happen while she was still dreaming of tasting more of my cum, the tip of her tongue kept her going through those long nights for months. We lose and take only what we cling to and everything we cling to is supposedly bad for us so we were all kinda doomed to go in the wrong direction but we were also all equally blessed because in the meantime we had moments and moments were life and if we weren’t too emotional we were dead, I insisted on saying anything on our minds as silly as my typing and her fantasies but say it anyways and be free. 

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