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.
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)
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.
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.
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