untitled by .littlegirlblue
between the train station and my apartment there is a park. in the evenings it is a black, impenetrable heart at the centre of all roads leading home. it reeks of danger and you can sometimes hear the voice of young people in its darkness laughing or talking. sometimes you see shadows move amongst shadows. the girls avoid it religiously. they walk around its perimeter - on the other side of the street.
i've taken to walking through. looking straight ahead, ignoring even stirrings and voices. just straight through. it's like in top gun where danger zone starts to play and you know iz about to go down.
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tunnage:
written on the sky by max richter
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"so you've achieved your goals and... you're not happy."
"fine."
"ok. so... so now what?"
"what do you mean now what?"
"what are you going to do?"
"what i always do, aren't you listening? find a new goal and chase that. the problem isn't i'm unhappy, the problem is i've got nothing i'm aiming for."
"does that sound reasonable to you?"
"of course it doesn't. it sounds completely ridiculous."
"ok. so... "
"let it be ridiculous, i need something new to aspire towards."
"sounds to me like you just keep moving the goal posts back."
"what's wrong with that?, keeps you moving forward."
"nothing. except you're unhappy."
"why am i unhappy then?"
"maybe you're setting the wrong goal posts."
"..."
"..."
"what other goal posts are there?"
"i don't know. what do you think?"
"what like... relationships and... gym? like bench press 100 kilos by the end of the months? that's stupid."
"why did you bypass the relationships one?"
"because that's an impractical measure of anything."
"it's intangible, yes."
"right."
"so what? maybe what you're after is intangible."
"what i'm after is a reason to wake up in the morning. that will likely be intangible."
"why not chase something intangible?"
"because you'd never know if you got there."
"what if you woke up happy?"
"what does that even mean dude?"
"is it possible?"
"not on a wednesday."
___*___*___*
i know where we're heading.
here we are again.
[hurrah]
___*___*___*
sometimes i think the world is so much full of amazingness and that/such that i'm a dick for not being enraptured by it more often (the way i am when i listen to this <-- corny as it is).
___i don't know the answer to that proposition. i probably am. there, i said it.
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"that last bit, about [thing]"
"what about it?"
"do you say that often?"
"what?"
"sounded kinda like a speech. rehearsed."
"yah doc. i sat at home and practiced it in the mirror a few times before i came."
"probably you've expressed it before , said it out loud."
"i think about it, sure."
"why?"
"it fascinates me."
"why?"
"your parents get up and leave the country of their birth and everything they know - language, culture, people, places, all of it - and start again somewhere else from scratch at the age they did it... that's huge. massive. i put myself in their shoes and it rocks my little brain like a concert."
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"what do you mean 'bad'?"
"i can't be more specific than that."
"well... 'bad' isn't very specific."
"it feels like there's something in the way."
"what's the something?"
"me. obviously."
___*___*___*
i'm not looking forward to the rest of my life.
i'm sorry not to. i wish i was. i really do. ___but i'm not.
i'm conscious this isn't new.
i must see what i can do about ensuring my next life is less... is more graceful.
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dear writing: as you can see, i'm making an effort to hangout with you. so. stop being a bastardo and work with me here. come to me and make it easy. i'm exhausted i haven't slept in weeks i run around all day doing the most menial things, just... go easy on me and form yourself.
dear q: as you can see, we're making an effort to formulate you. so. stop being a bastardo and work with us here. come to us and make it easy. we're exhausted we haven't moved off the page in weeks we stand here all day holding up our meanings, just... go easy and describe yourself.
