a step to civilization: collecting & hunting.
1 drunk film festival director
17 lb parcel sent from bangkok
1 insult at dawn
the usual machinery of war
...returning late from a birthday party in one of my favorite bars in town, a place where R would snuggle with the red walls. me, instead, i am bewildered by the welcoming amiability of my friends, all of them united there - fortunately L/M (another couple being pregnant, of course) and T/F are there too, talking empathically about their experiences after returning from "outer space".
...nevertheless: a neurotic viennese evening like in a freudian book: quasi film celebrity hurch does what R should do, guys in black give me traumatically speechless looks through sunglasses, sweet 20ish emo-girls examine & comment my height, M is asking me if i really dare to compete with him doing a doctorate (yeah. you're not the only one writing stuff that needs to be read 5 times to be 'still not understood'. i know that the last days of mankind are just around the corner!) - i drawn my wailing inner child in straight vodka. business as usual....
Y suggests across the oceans sex with strangers as a solution for my current state of mind/heart. as much as i appreciate usually this person's input, this time i found a better possibility of output: making prehistorical minced meat of my life....
...as predicted, the freshness turned into decay.
after an accusation this morning of being mean and useless [merçi beaucoup for extending my identity encyclopedia with the letters "m" and "u", dearest B! fortunately someone else blocked the more flattering letter "c" already by calling me better than christmas...] -
i approach my wardrobe with an ax to slaughter the past.
what i'm doing with people, i can do with clothes a fortiori.
was it me wearing the same jeans and a loose green shirt i found in the desert for weeks?
- how could i forget that fashion is my passion?
...avalanches of skirts collapse over me...no need to wear them over jeans, i put them straight away over my injured head.
i take my sword to make a clean intersection between foretime and me. instead of opening the same old wounds, i precisely cut open my thorax, to glance at my bleeding heart...
slashing my way through the coppice of tights before they struggle me....turning the music louder, my legs wander through plains of letters never formed into words, step into sentences too often repeated, dance to lyrics sung a million times.
hope comes with letting go i read in NYC, a subtitle of the supposedly unimportant movie "things we lost in the fire".
..."fortitude comes with getting rid of stuff!", i scream, thinking of the things i won with the fire, throwing tons of clothes out of the cupboard.
i pull an old mauve undergarment i still might wear out of the heap, and at the same time i pick 4 oz shitake mushrooms growing down there in the shadow, too. i cut them in halves.
in 1 litre of water i cook a piece of galangal, 1 red chili, 1 kaffir lime leave, 1 stake of lemon grass and 2 shallots for 5 minutes. i add 2 tablespoons of tom yam paste i just unpacked of my thailand parcel, the mushrooms and 5 oz of fresh prawns, grown on a sustainable farm and bought at my local fishmonger. let it cook 2 more minutes. season to taste with a fair amount of nam plah and fresh lime juice to give the tom yam gung its typical hot/sour/salty flavour. before it lights my fire for the day, i sprinkle leaves of cilantro over the soup, which i learnt to cook 9 months ago in central thailand.
sipping this sexy liquid, coming to think of Y again: how much more exhausted would i feel, if i wouldn't have battled with my ancient robe, but followed her suggestion instead?
17 lb parcel sent from bangkok
1 insult at dawn
the usual machinery of war
...returning late from a birthday party in one of my favorite bars in town, a place where R would snuggle with the red walls. me, instead, i am bewildered by the welcoming amiability of my friends, all of them united there - fortunately L/M (another couple being pregnant, of course) and T/F are there too, talking empathically about their experiences after returning from "outer space".
...nevertheless: a neurotic viennese evening like in a freudian book: quasi film celebrity hurch does what R should do, guys in black give me traumatically speechless looks through sunglasses, sweet 20ish emo-girls examine & comment my height, M is asking me if i really dare to compete with him doing a doctorate (yeah. you're not the only one writing stuff that needs to be read 5 times to be 'still not understood'. i know that the last days of mankind are just around the corner!) - i drawn my wailing inner child in straight vodka. business as usual....
Y suggests across the oceans sex with strangers as a solution for my current state of mind/heart. as much as i appreciate usually this person's input, this time i found a better possibility of output: making prehistorical minced meat of my life....
...as predicted, the freshness turned into decay.
after an accusation this morning of being mean and useless [merçi beaucoup for extending my identity encyclopedia with the letters "m" and "u", dearest B! fortunately someone else blocked the more flattering letter "c" already by calling me better than christmas...] -
i approach my wardrobe with an ax to slaughter the past.
what i'm doing with people, i can do with clothes a fortiori.
was it me wearing the same jeans and a loose green shirt i found in the desert for weeks?
- how could i forget that fashion is my passion?
...avalanches of skirts collapse over me...no need to wear them over jeans, i put them straight away over my injured head.
i take my sword to make a clean intersection between foretime and me. instead of opening the same old wounds, i precisely cut open my thorax, to glance at my bleeding heart...
slashing my way through the coppice of tights before they struggle me....turning the music louder, my legs wander through plains of letters never formed into words, step into sentences too often repeated, dance to lyrics sung a million times.
hope comes with letting go i read in NYC, a subtitle of the supposedly unimportant movie "things we lost in the fire".
..."fortitude comes with getting rid of stuff!", i scream, thinking of the things i won with the fire, throwing tons of clothes out of the cupboard.
i pull an old mauve undergarment i still might wear out of the heap, and at the same time i pick 4 oz shitake mushrooms growing down there in the shadow, too. i cut them in halves.
in 1 litre of water i cook a piece of galangal, 1 red chili, 1 kaffir lime leave, 1 stake of lemon grass and 2 shallots for 5 minutes. i add 2 tablespoons of tom yam paste i just unpacked of my thailand parcel, the mushrooms and 5 oz of fresh prawns, grown on a sustainable farm and bought at my local fishmonger. let it cook 2 more minutes. season to taste with a fair amount of nam plah and fresh lime juice to give the tom yam gung its typical hot/sour/salty flavour. before it lights my fire for the day, i sprinkle leaves of cilantro over the soup, which i learnt to cook 9 months ago in central thailand.
sipping this sexy liquid, coming to think of Y again: how much more exhausted would i feel, if i wouldn't have battled with my ancient robe, but followed her suggestion instead?
mironja - 17. Nov, 15:31
