write-write-write-type-type-type. Here i am again "pretend you are happy when you are blue" as i read in a book by Murakami Haruki (i don't like his books, though..sorry Murakami-sama), referring to some song. Me...thinking of old stuff, listening to old songs (now,i'm in the 80es in Belgium....TELEX!!!), walking along my personal path to escape from something, many things, things running right after me, following me. Somehow today i met ghosts from the past, such as my dearest feeling of uselessness (waiting for today, huh? after a not-so-good exam?). I fell onto the earth to get lost without a place, without any possibility to reach any aim or dream. Nobody around right now...but there are always pens or keyboards willing to be grabbed/touched gently...press press....a million of combinations of keys waiting for me to be pressed. Useless combinations, useless messages. But i know that suddenly i'll think less about uselessness, when other things pop up violently in my mind. Then comes laughter and silly ideas, and an image of the 6th Dalai Lama, long-haired, dressed in silk (colourful and shiny, i guess) clothes...dancing like Locomia guys, with a huge fan (Think of the typical 80es-look and feel better). Other thoughts: Canon Palmtronic 8M calculator, with happy green numbers...and my loved Smith-Corona electra 120 typewriter (see picture...2nd hand, from the 60es but bought in the 70es), the citroën DS spotted in Firenze with Takehiro (car-spotting-photographing in Italy almost 1 year ago), soft pillows demanding hugs, the memory of a handful of strange dreams, tears mixed up with cotton fabric texture and silent, the beautiful-inside-outside man. And little by litte everything fades away and i get back to some state with is said to be normal. Forget uselessness through useless-ideas-things. Noisy Smith-Corona electra 120 forgotten inside its case inside some cupboard. And then comes some strange and unexpected dream, like usually. Last night i dreamt of me buying pencils. 7B or 8B? harder or softer lead? Too many birds spreading their wings within my head with nowhere to go.Monday, 23 January 2006
uselessness
write-write-write-type-type-type. Here i am again "pretend you are happy when you are blue" as i read in a book by Murakami Haruki (i don't like his books, though..sorry Murakami-sama), referring to some song. Me...thinking of old stuff, listening to old songs (now,i'm in the 80es in Belgium....TELEX!!!), walking along my personal path to escape from something, many things, things running right after me, following me. Somehow today i met ghosts from the past, such as my dearest feeling of uselessness (waiting for today, huh? after a not-so-good exam?). I fell onto the earth to get lost without a place, without any possibility to reach any aim or dream. Nobody around right now...but there are always pens or keyboards willing to be grabbed/touched gently...press press....a million of combinations of keys waiting for me to be pressed. Useless combinations, useless messages. But i know that suddenly i'll think less about uselessness, when other things pop up violently in my mind. Then comes laughter and silly ideas, and an image of the 6th Dalai Lama, long-haired, dressed in silk (colourful and shiny, i guess) clothes...dancing like Locomia guys, with a huge fan (Think of the typical 80es-look and feel better). Other thoughts: Canon Palmtronic 8M calculator, with happy green numbers...and my loved Smith-Corona electra 120 typewriter (see picture...2nd hand, from the 60es but bought in the 70es), the citroën DS spotted in Firenze with Takehiro (car-spotting-photographing in Italy almost 1 year ago), soft pillows demanding hugs, the memory of a handful of strange dreams, tears mixed up with cotton fabric texture and silent, the beautiful-inside-outside man. And little by litte everything fades away and i get back to some state with is said to be normal. Forget uselessness through useless-ideas-things. Noisy Smith-Corona electra 120 forgotten inside its case inside some cupboard. And then comes some strange and unexpected dream, like usually. Last night i dreamt of me buying pencils. 7B or 8B? harder or softer lead? Too many birds spreading their wings within my head with nowhere to go.
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