Archive for January, 2015

I’m tired. Tired of society and life. Tired of everything. Yet the prospect of nothingness is enough to keep me in the loop, kinda, this so-called mortal coil. But, sigh, even my dreams no longer provide a release. It’s all shit… And fuck this and fuck that. … We find ourselves back where we were sat in the beginning of the combat. The governing classes grow ever richer as “we” give them our votes to continue along the Highway to hell. Go to…

Renata.

Posted: 2015-01-31 in DDR

Not wanting to, but remembering what was, everything I gave of myself, and what came next – it hurts so much that a “family” can be so hurtful. And I am left initially broken but ultimately liberated. (Good riddance to bad rubbish.) I am reborn somewhat, due to events, I will rise beyond whatever their expectations of me were (read: soft target). I will forget them when I am in bliss. They will remember me forever (and lament) as they reside in hell.

Economic Actors.

Posted: 2015-01-29 in Uncategorized

Apparently, “people are not the only economic actors who are required to accept banknotes” (citation: Wikipedia), indeed, vending machines are also presented with the quandary of defacement.

I love that quote, it makes me think that we are all nothing but machines, “economic actors”, about which nothing much matters, just so long as we keep functioning and propelling the global economic behemoth, one way or another, forward.

Well, I guess someone gets rich off of our automatic (compelled) actions. … Like, what, can I really refuse to accept payment of that Dollar bill, which would cost me 10 minutes of my hard labor and/or buy me a few slices of crappy bread?

Banknotes.

Posted: 2015-01-28 in Uncategorized

Don’t tell me you’re one of these people who writes on banknotes. Okay, you are, huh. Then tell me, what the hell is that all about?

Apparently, banknotes last an average of three years before they are shredded. Why? It’s because of you! Scumbag. In America they content themselves to use the Dollar bill to snort cocaine, but you decide to deface. Lesser god.

Danuta.

Posted: 2015-01-27 in DDR

Danuta fears tomorrow, in a sense, as she has had enough of today.

You want me to do this? You want me to do that? To justify your own existence! And then you forget about me, until next time …

Like the Triathlete who prefers to compete naked: changeovers (from this-and-that) are much quicker and purer. From rain to snow, dull to white, sodden squelch to frozen hard.

St. Moritz

Posted: 2015-01-26 in DDR

Dagmar woke up one morning, tired. Tired of life as she knew it. Tired of the past and present, tired of the promise of the apparent future looming.

Dagmar cared about people and their plight (in this screwed-up world) but she was also tired of people. Dagmar was tired of conversation (which was invariably banal); she was tired of hearing about others and their families, their pets, their pasts.

Dagmar also did not want to discus herself. She was tired of explaining herself to others. Really, she believed, she had nothing left to explain, nothing left to justify – she was as she was, she didn’t want to remember the reasons why, let alone talk about them with other people.

Dagmar also did not want to discuss the weather. As usual it was shitty – it was as it was (quite contrary to what the highly skilled scientists who masquerade as meteorologists and forecasters predicted, yet again).

Dagmar woke up and decided that she liked silence (instantaneously comparing it to memories of being disturbed in bed by shrill, horrible, head-splitting, spring-time bird-song). Ah, yes, golden silence: so much better than birds, so much better than bird-brained people.

 

“Oh, you’re the new exchange student from Switzerland!”

Quietly sitting, thinking, she looked up. The teacher led her forward, then regaled her with a tale of a former Swiss student, younger, a stupid boy named Marc, who had brought a can of beer to school, apparently given to him by his flaky mother who thought it was appropriate nourishment for a pre-pubescent lad, in this far-flung land. To be Swiss is this?

There she goes, again, blowing her nose bush-style (gross!). So much for her being oh so refined, the former dancer. Such an epitome of, you name it. … Yeah, I know something had to be done, but I’d sooner let *it* run down my face than do that, overt, act. … I wish she missed another four shots!

The itch that should not be scratched (in public): Bush-style nose blowing, snot on snow, and masturbation in front of family and friends.

So, the DH course is shortened by half, but still, the winner is the one I hoped for. … So, the asshole neighbor overtook my car before the town/speed-limit change, I shrugged it off and, without a care (per se), laughed as I overtook him/her at steep hill traffic lights. Kiss my ass, I’m blessed.

Astrid’s Back.

Posted: 2015-01-23 in Uncategorized

Astrid’s back. Winning ways, awesome. Everybody’s happy (well, maybe). But the reservoir might be about to break and flood the city, so they say. Hard to believe when it’s so freezing cold, still and perfect. Beautiful. … Oh, man, screw those day-long deluges of rain, wind and negativity which come westerly, from the Atlantic and afflict those on the “periphery” (but it’s all too central to me).

Who are you?

Posted: 2015-01-22 in Uncategorized

Who are you?

Really?

And who do you pretend to be when you’re in different company?

And can you bear your own company?

And can your bear to look at yourself in the mirror without detaching yourself in the sense that you’re applying make-up or moisturizer or such to “make yourself better”?