I’m counting the days. It makes sense to me that I do. Nothing that keeps me here, nothing that makes me regret my departure. And I’m counting, twelve days. Another week passed in which nothing really happened, everything seemed so distant from my personal experience. I slept until 16h today. I’m going out in a bit, keep myself occupied, possibly get drunk, kiss someone with bin juice breath, struggle to get to my bed, fall asleep on my bean bag, drool all over it, clean it up when I get up, and then another day will have passed. Gloom.
But also excitement. I am not trapped in this life.
I’m thinking now of a Family Guy scene I saw last Thursday while going out. Chris Griffin says something about people doing crazy things when they’re in love. A flashback brings us to Vincent Van Gogh giving his ear to a girl he loves.
‘You don’t… like it?’ Vincent utters surprised.
‘No, I mean, it’s an ear!’ the girl points out.
‘Ha… well, I thought you might like it. Well, at least it’ll be a funny story to tell our kids!’
The girl looks away.
‘You… don’t… want kids…? Jeez, I wish you told me this before I cut off my ear. Bitch!’
I love their reinterpretation of historic events. Ridicule is good. It keeps me going. That and lust….
Boy, strolling past me: it never stops,
you have no direction, yet it seems I follow you
everywhere, but nowhere is there my hand in yours,
my breath in yours – mistaken current, dreams of falling
down in autumn life – yet you stroll past me,
without direction, yet always in my sight,
as if you follow me into my illusion –
all my lines to you are exorcism,
sighs that fail to hide my self –
and you stroll past me,
stroll past me, forever in my sight,
never there, yet my fix is on that blurred image
of another universe, the one of comfort.
I try and avert my eyes, closing them,
yet you stroll past me,
yet you stroll past me.
/timpeltje
Tim van den Oudenhoven 