Tag Archives: Thoughts

Blobs and thought fogs

DSC_0749
I wonder If I will ever get up from the floor.

Laying down on the old carpet that I firmly refuse to hoover. Among the little food traces and thousands of lost hair strings, I feel comfortable. A weird company, perhaps…

Everything here is timeless for a brief second. Getting yourself lost in the moment is charming, although the wonderful ‘episode of loosing oneself’ is bound to be depicted differently and most certainly dependent on depictor.

I wonder why no one writes books about this brief excellence or maybe even involves it in a crappy 120 min lenght script of a B-rated movie? Has a  simple and plain scene became hard to afford in the times when one needs to stand out desperately? Ridiculous, but  somehow in our minds, an idea was planted that it all seems more magical if you have a handsome guy/girl next to you, or for a different genre –  some cigarettes and depressive thoughts. Props became a necessity. A decoration, to accessorize boring things.

Fuck it.

My little moments are by myself.  Not involved into anyone or anything. And during those I am glad to be keeping up with the tradition.

Thoughtless staring at the ceiling… It later progress into the blob of thoughts. Uncontrollable, non tamable and like the wind. The one when you are sitting outside during the lunch break and trying to eat your salad with a vegan spin off: really naughty and annoying, but still doesn’t make you maneuver for the indoor seating.

You enjoy outside. You enjoy the wind.

The windy thoughts on a trashy floor.

Saturday.

Advertisements

Seldom footprints that are washed by the ocean

10341439_864844480197820_3074900245901713922_n

Seldom I think about the people that have been in my life and come to a realization that somehow I am not upset about those who are now gone. Does that make me a bad person? I keep asking myself.  For not to be able to maintain or value the connections and  presences that was once so dear… It is so easy to disappear, yet hard to stay close. However, truly, I am not even a tiny bit sad.

Well, as I was looking into the ocean I understood few things. Similarly, like the relationships by the flow of life, those footprints on the sand are washed away by the blue waters. But then I thought, it should not be a topic about about the footprints nor the sea. Look at the sand, it has the story on its own. What is not imprinted on the surface, still has contributed on the deeper contexts. If there was once a presence, it definitely affected the sands’ story in one way or another. The “footprints” are washed away not because they are forgotten, thy are still there, just deeper. In fact, footprints are washed away, because sometimes it makes easier for other people to walk in and leave a mark of their own.

Insomnia: thoughts of the night

I am two. I open my eyes in the middle of the night . A command, as if fallen from the skies, tells mes to wake up , taking me away from the deepest dreams. The room, embraced by the darkness, is fading, but the subconscious mind still does not cease to share bright, just incurred images. The details of the dream are almost tangible , and while the plot, no matter how absurd is, now looks quite convincing. To the extent that is even difficult to define the boundaries between what is real and what is stolen from the kingdom of those who are still asleep . My dear creations of imagination, if I could learn how to tame them,

I could become a God of my world.

Hello Darkness, My old friend

tumblr_mwq9cclhTU1ri33xko1_500

Slow anticipation was way much worse than the sizzling sound of shabby train breaks that later on has caused me repetitive brain spasms. Chill folks, this is just the beginning of the word vom you’re about to get, so buckle up. I guess the aftereffect of loud train breaks was tediously painful companionship of a bogus locomotive in my noddle. I swear it felt as if the thing was fluctuating within my skull in a speed about x1.35 times potentially faster than the real deal. (For the slower ones, I am comparing the speed of train vs train of thoughts). I guess the definition of a ‘fun ride’ differs from person to person.

tumblr_ms8kiiM0eO1sgfvpio1_500

One thing that I never understood is the romanticization of travelling. I mean, all that freedom crap (if you consider freedom to be romantic at all) is just another symbolic add-on, that peculiar European or Western folks have their hands on, before fucking of to India for a shrine visiting marathon. This case is also known to contain soul searching elements. I mean, for real, yo? I find it quite weird and contradicting when a person purchases plane tickets and regards it as investment into their inner development. SOUL DOES NOT HAVE MATERIAL FORM, no need to go all Budha about it! It would be better if you would just admit that you can afford a fucking ticket and that you are a conformist like all the rest of us. If there was a chance of saving human kind this would contribute like 1% to it. Considering how big is the arse that we are in, I would say that is a fairly high percentage.  There’s also this ‘travelling without money and relying on people’s good will’ method of travelling, which seems more interconnected with soul stuff. But really, isn’t it just a good excuse to avoid paying for your shit?

I am being sceptical, but all this old train ever gave me is a sweaty arse. Nothing more, nothing less. (theoretically)

tumblr_mwq3bjseft1s5xe2jo1_400

Imagine the typical ‘looking afar’ the window picture

‘Did I leave something important behind?’ dilemma began to bug her. A tiny worry was planted and already spreading, building up in the backs of her stomach, in the stomachs of her back and tickling the throat in a wicked kind of manner. A virus? Slowly drowning into the liquid, or becoming one. Amoeba of thoughts has introduced. Now that’s some poetic justice I’ve done here, that is most likely of no one’s interest. Yet, I decided to include something a bit good-natured. I mean… I am a’ blogger’ and that’s a serious title over here. A fucking crown, for all I know.

tumblr_mwrwj30U7x1s6p453o1_500

Both trains stop

The black & white type of crowd was getting off the train in a pace suitable for a conformist institution’s personnel. Brushing into one another and perhaps participating in a competition of who’s the fastest around. But for me, it reminded more of a rats’ race, than anything else. Suddenly, I was really keen on buying some cheese on my way home.

tumblr_mws55ehFxF1spnyg9o1_500

Choo, choo, motherfuckers – thoughts yet departed

The busy streets reminded me of Beethoven’s sonata. Elegance emerging from chaos kind of thing. Sophistication hidden between urbanistic phantasmagorias and the mess has settled down amongst the minds of the city dwellers. This is just like one of those melodies you know by heart, but not necessarily like it, nor hate it either. You, I, US just happened to be familiar with both of the texts. I smile. Sometimes it feels good to don’t be opinionated.

All of it is fiction, though