scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

30.4.14

Sometimes i could barely see for the red and the black. If I had stomped my foot it would have raised a mushroom cloud, rings expanding. I saw 28 Days Later, ages ago, all those new-generation bloodbaths, and was afraid of those zombies (i call them zombies), that move too fast, that are so feral. I think now if one of them had touched me, come near me, it would have disintegrated of covetous want - i outranked them, i surpassed them, they were nothing next to me. I was a tower and a mountain and a vast, sheer cliff, and the cliff was my anger and i was the cliff and i stood on the cliff and the entire rest of the world was tiny, minuscule, ants in a hole compared to the old-world-glacier bulk of my rage. (The effect i am going for is that of being hit in the face with a steel beam, but that you keep consciousness.)

Other times i was sad - and i can't say i don't know why i was sad, i knew why i was sad, it is mind-numbingly obvious why i was sad - but there was no proximate cause, no immediately identifiable trigger, just this sudden tsunami of endless grief.

Labels: emptor

scrawled @ 15:49

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6.4.14

somewhere along the way i became an optimist

It all comes of following the Dalai Lama on Twitter - or, rather, it doesn't, but the other way round - and now, i see Precious, i see Incendies, i do not know if they are supposed to be full of hope, if i should come out lighter than i went in. I cannot help but question this response. Any version of the old Leonard Cohen Hallelujah is about water long, long gone under the bridge, and diluted to only the vaguest ghost of bitterness, only a memory. That one about Captain Kangaroo and wallpaper, that one is doubly ironic. The first layer of irony, that's a freebie we can all agree on, but the second? Is that normal?

Dalai Lama says we are all the same, but i already knew that. Nice to hear, again, for real; the force is strong with this one, etc.

Labels: reflection

scrawled @ 14:15

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