exceptional, this nearly asymptomatic + phlegmatic gradient into madness, the separation of unlevelled dream&reality. i try not to vomit by conditional response, my body has awakened and made it out of bed but my mind. my mind is still sealed in a tender mist of sleep the way you never touched & the unconscious, do i ever awake anymore. valentine’s day has passed, i’ve had an encertain number of hot cocoa cups to drink and “there is a certain feeling under my skin (10:06)” the urge to move once more and always, to transfer somewhere new never travelled before, my affections for a place never last past twelve months it seems. the best thing about my apartment is, quite absurdly, that i am completely inaccessible : i have no home phone and the device that should be passing as my cell is “off the hook indefinitely” i love that no one can bother me . . . . i’m actually job searching and as usual i’m satanically fussy although it’s Definitely not the time to embrace such specific characteristic traits, more excitedly : this week i’ve been getting excellent things in the mail, a single letter from miller with attractive book suggestions and also a package of belated christmas gifts, three(!) haruki murakami books – after dark, a wild sheep chase and south of the border, west of the sun, william gibson’s latest novel, a t-shirt with the subtle outlines of a butterfly on the front and music. articulated the words holy and fuck very specifically upon uncovering the contents, my enthusiasm was giddily childlike, genuine, quyanaghhalek. in addition to this i have been cutting and gluing, writing letters along with little affectionate parcels of music and handmade crafts to the international many it takes me ages i am not done by far, there’s still people who are waiting, who have been waiting, but i w i l l get to every single one of you, time is the least of my talents.
[ b a c k w a r d s ] a small birthday party of some girl i didn’t know beyond her first name yet my sister persuaded me to come with her, she loaned me one of her black avant-garde dress shirt designs, meticulously sewn and smashing together with my big, beaded black necklace, and 1920’s styled hair; it was a tranquil gathering and i was pleased to see martin there as well, as i always enjoy his company. the girl’s place was a tiny apartment at the top of a two storey building, she asked “what do you all truthfully think of my drapery?” and referred to a blanket hanging suspended from one book shelf to another, decorated with star shaped little lamps – my sister replied “i fucking hate it.” i said “it’s nice but not my style.” martin laughed and called me a diplomat : he might be right. the others had a couple of drinks and then we walked the twenty minutes required to get into town, tried to hit up the english pub but the unbelievably long line of people trailing through the doors and outside stopped all our hearts en masse martin complained about the absurdity of the situation – who queues to get into this place(!) – and my sister crossed paths with one of her ex-boyfriends who she ended up following elsewhere while i remained in the company of martin, S with her many lovely complimenting piercings and AN, the birthday girl. i frowned at the suggestion of going to heroes, a crammed heavy metal(!) bar playing insufferably loud prototypal music for the prototypal crowd but we got in for free so how could i refuse. we also had the supreme luck of getting one of the better corner tables which actually made it possible to carry a conversation over the volume, S ordered a pink super-delicious drink and discussed past significant others with martin, i mostly eyed a beautiful boy seated one table diagonally across from ours & tried to follow the strings of steadily developing new topics to Handle, failed repeatedly, felt my mouth outline bland meaningless smiles areas of apathy periodic demise and stayed seated to look after bags slash belongings as my companions made their way out for fire and cigarettes. nearly immediately afterwards i found myself being called over by eager hand motions to the beautiful boy’s table of three, i thought “why not? Why not” and slipped down beside them. the beautiful boy smiled timidly and said nothing. instead i was questioned by his male friend on How To Keep A Girl Interested – i blinked blankly or i think i blinked, stated “you are asking the wrong person.” he said “but what are your thoughts.” i made something up on the spot, he seemed somewhat doubtful of my figurative conclusions. then he wanted to know about my sexual orientation, my preference; i shot him down by exclaiming “you’re being intense, quite. did you know that?” his friends shifted uncomfortably. he did thankfully change the subject & we spoke of hayao miyazaki films until martin came over and informed me that they were leaving, i looked directly on the attractive boy and repeated martin’s words, waved goodbye and followed him serenely outside. we shared a cab since we were both going in the same direction, i sat next to the driver who was this young, black and somewhat nervous guy, how precious. he glanced at me and suddenly confessed “i’m.. i’m sorry but my head is all empty. i’m not sure where we are going?” i gave him directions and he managed to get us both safe and sound to our separate door steps; as i paid him and waited to receive my change i stared up into the heavens and he said “i only have coins, is that okay with you?” and i replied “absolutely, sure. but only because this song on your radio is fucking amazing.”
but yes, that was all weeks ago, i can’t “really” put into words how pure the outside world is today, i walked thea with the sun rising above our heads, too early for any other activity than the invisible progress of anciently growing trees an unshakable longing i’m moderately to clearly depressed, i’ve cancelled my surgical appointment which was due the 28th of february, i had no other reason than () and the nurse indicated my stupidity and perhaps ungratefulness as there is no way of telling how long i will have to wait for another date : at least richard brautigan’s poetry eases my anxiety . . . . i’ve spent the last two days curled up in blankets reading the second journal of anaïs nin & south of the border, west of the sun. anaïs inspires, lives makes me want to live again and murakami, of course i do still adore him, most likely the single author who can get away with writing about the same things over&over again and do it delightfully : the same characters, the same subdued outlook on life and metaphorical, surreal twists - a familiarity and fictional world that opens our eyes like they were never closed at all . . . . science of sleep has apparently infected me in subconcious ways, motivated me to create (this miniature piece) & i have all kinds of other dramatically precise images in my head however i can’t reproduce 90% of these. but speaking of movies, nói albínói is a stunning feature though what else to expect from the icelandic, do they not always deliver. i then made it to the theatres to catch the diving bell and the butterfly on a bright saturday afternoon just before it was taken off schedule and i am still so mesmerized, i haven’t seen such fucking masterful cinematography since wong kar wai’s 2046 – clever, claustrophobic so fucking intimate i was blown away, my eyes nearly goddamned teared(!) couldn’t move as the credits rolled, i can’t believe such a destiny can actually happen to a human being, “jesus”. how would it be, to have an animated lively mind recognizing processing everything and no body to compensate with to never feel anything physically again it’s so far away and so terribly, terribly close.
Tíminn líður hratt
Ég ber ábyrgðina þa því