Saturday, 22 February 2014
Tuesday, 18 February 2014
'I am a sick person...A spiteful one. An unattractive person too.'
'People came to the desk where I sat to ask for information, I'd gnash my teeth at them and I felt an inexorable pleasure when it succeeded in distressing someone. It almost always succeeded. For the most part they were a shy people; they were applicants, you know what I mean.'
'I could acknowledge to myself in shame that I am not a spiteful person, I'm not even an embittered one, I am only scaring sparrows in vain, and amusing myself with it. I may foam at the mouth, but bring me some kind of dolly to play with, give me a cup of tea with sugar, and I will likely settle down. My soul might soften, even, but no doubt afterwards I will probably gnash my teeth at you and then suffer from insomnia for several months out of shame. Such, indeed, is my habit.'
'It wasn't just that I was unable to become spiteful, I couldn't become anything else either: I am not spiteful nor kind, not a scoundrel nor honest, not a hero nor an insect.'
'Now I am forty years old and yes, forty years is an entire lifetime; indeed it is deepest old age. It is unseemly to live beyond forty years - vulgar, immoral! Who lives beyond forty years - answer me in earnest, honestly? Well, I will tell you who does that: fools and rascals. I will say this to the face of all of my elders, to all those respectable elders, to all those silver-haired and sweet-smelling elders! I'll say it to the face o the whole world! I have the right to speak like this, since I myself will live to sixty years. To seventy years, I will live! To eighty years, I will live! Hold on! Let me catch my breath...'
'You probably thing, gentleman, that I want to make you laugh? Well, you're wrong about that, too.'
'I swear to you, gentleman, that being too conscious is a disease, a real and total disease. Ordinary human consciousness would easily satisfy man's daily needs- that is, half or a quarter less...
'It would have been completely sufficient, for example, to have the kind of consciousness with which all the so-called spontaneous people and men of action live. I'd place a bet that you think I'm writing this to show off, to be witty at the expense of men of action, and it's with bad taste that I show off, clanking my sword like that officer did. But, gentlemen, who can take pride in his diseases and then show off about them too?'
'Any kind of consciousness is a disease. I, for example, am horribly proud. I'm as mistrustful and touchy as a hunchback or a dwarf, but it's true, I've experienced such moments that if someone had slapped me, I might even be glad of it.'
'So I consider such a spontaneous man to be a real, normal man, just as tender Mother Nature wanted to see him when she graciously delivered him to this earth. I envy such a man to a bilious extreme. He is stupid, I'm not arguing with you on that, but maybe the normal man should be stupid - how do we know? Maybe this is a very beautiful fact, even.
'My jokes, gentlemen, are in bad taste, of course, they're uneven, contradictory and lacking self-confidence. But this is because I do not respect myself. Can a conscious man respect himself to any degree? '
'I thought up adventures and invented a life in order to live a little. How many times has it happened that, say, I simply took offence, for no reason, on purpose; and of course one knows one is not offended by anything, that one is putting it on, but one arrives at such a point that in the end one has actually taken offence in earnest. My whole life I've tended to play such games, so that in the end I'd lost all power over myself.
'The direct, legitimate, immediate fruit of consciousness is inertia, that is conscious folded-arm-sitting.
All spontaneous people and men of action are active exactly because they are dim and limited. '
'Oh, gentleman, it might just be that I consider myself to be an intelligent man because I have never managed to start or finish anything in my whole life. Yes, yes I'm a chatterbox, a harmless, annoying chatterbox, like we all are'.
'Oh, gentleman, what kind of personal free will can remain when the matter is driven to tabulation and arithmetics, when only two-times-two-is-four is the trend? Two times two will be four, regardless of my will. Such is free will for you!
Thursday, 13 February 2014
I just saw that one sentence on Tumblr and, that surely describes me quite well. If you bother to read the rare texts I write here you will confirm this in a snap of fingers. By the way, I can't snap my fingers. It is a limitation of mine, one of the many I bitterly embrace. Yes, I embrace it, because at some point you realize there's nothing else you can do but, embrace your limitations. But, as I was saying, can you live life as if it was a film? I have an irresolute answer to that. (possibly negative.) If you could live life as if it was a film..if your life was a film, what genre would it be? If my life was a film I'd fast forward it. Not because I want time to pass, quite the opposite, but because it is filled with uninteresting moments. I am sure yours is too. Although, I wouldn't necessarily watch my own life if it was a film, I by no means, think this is a bad thing because, after all I am not so much a fan of action movies. Now, guess what was the last film I've watched. ;)
Tuesday, 11 February 2014
So, I alight at the station and try to walk through the crowd. I try but it is hard. People are in a hurry, yet they're not wise enough to position themselves. Slow people..in general, incompetent walkers. The streets are full of them. I surely am one of them now and then. I almost bump into a guy who is happily waving an old yellow cloth next to his stand. I whisper a sorrrr..too late, i am already gone. I keep walking, it is exhausting. It is simple and so exhausting. Ahead, a bunch of teenagers can be heard shouting and laughing, bumping into each other with excitement. Their backpacks could probably leave a bruise on anyone's arm if one got hit with it. I am in the center of egoism and hurry. I finally catch the train. I finally alight at my final stop and like everyone else I go up the alley. I and, all the people going up that alley. Men in suits coming back from work, heading to their houses. We all look like cows being lead out of the pasture into the freestall barns. And, let's repeat it..tomorrow.
Thursday, 6 February 2014
Every time I try to write something my mind goes blank. I have thoughts though. Mostly, weird ones and dumb ones. I haven't been feeling anxious lately. That is pretty good. I have been feeling zen, way too zen towards things I used to freak out about. Future! I just feel like 'whatever will be, will be' and, although this sounds and makes me feel good I can help but wonder..wait, you have to do things too, in order to not panic later on or not achieve what you want. Trouble is I don't want to achieve anything and that makes me a dull person. All I want to do is sing and collect plants and, sew. I can't fully trust my zen state. I am sure it will pass and I'll become anxious about stupid things again. I think when you get older you realize that being worried and stressed out about your future or all your insecurities, is useless and immature. But, I do not think that's the point. I think what happens is one gets worn out and, become to accept the fact that one has to face things, sooner or later, good or bad..happy or sad. You slightly mold yourself into the system. I am used to being anxious; just wanted to document my zen period, cause well that's rare. Today I am wearing a dress my grandmother gave to me. On the day she gave me the dress, she was also giving us all little things she had, her belongings; she called my uncle and said - I want to give you something precious that belonged to your father and he'd love for you to use it too. She handed him my grandpa's dentures.
Sunday, 2 February 2014
A few sketches on my wall and, instagram prints in polaroid format from Printic