freeze, don't move

just when i thought my late teens were over, proof otherwise hit me in the head like jet lee's shadowless kick: as i was uncomfortably sitting down in the tube carrying me from work to house, and as insecurities and questions about the future, about what will ever become of me, essential/vital trivialities that only grown-ups worry about were flooding my mind, the metro stopped unaffected at one of its stops and through a glass, darkly (i.e. through the forrest of big bellies and stretched armpits clouding my view) i could see the corner of an ad for a tate exhibition. more precisely:

the actual exhibition 

i read it in my head and i smiled out loud (a clear indication that i still have magical residue in this old head of mine). now, we wait. (and very soon we go to tate).

you, kant, always get what you want

you get what you need. and i needed to see this movie. and, oh, how i loved it. 

Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)

"One day in the late mid-eighties, I was in my early late-twenties. I had just been dismissed from University after delivering a brilliant lecture on the aggressive influence of German philosophy on rock 'n' roll entitled 'You, Kant, Always Get What You Want.' At 26, my academic career was over, I had never kissed a boy, and I was still sleeping with mom. Such were the thoughts flooding my tiny head on the day that I was sunning myself... in an old bomb crater I had discovered near the Wall. I am naked. Face down, on a broken piece of church, inhaling a fragrant westerly breeze. 

[...]
My God I deserve a break today."

Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)

and i got it.

but extra came at extra extra cost.

they fed us to the lions

but the lions were full

cause they were fed lies

for as long as they can remember;

which is around 20 minutes.

(or 00:17:12:20 if anyone measured exactly)

almost the same as 

your conversation time.

almost the same lies.

streamofconsciousnessing

j. and p. are soc-ers. and i'm extra extra curious. so i tried this soc-ing thing. in briefs, soc-ing is when you let thoughts flow on paper, kind of like some people speak without thinking, but here you write. outside briefs, soc-ing is indecent.

this is my soc 753. the number was allocated randomly by an ultra-performing computer.

let stars come round and show us their corners and then we'll see what happens, but what happens when this doesn't happen isn't much, or well, at least it doesnt mean much, not to the peas and the bees, they are mostly concerned with other matters. horses might care, for they are big and strong and caring isn't something they have to worry about, which is why sometimes they dedicate a lot of their free time to caring. it's like knitting for bored or boring, slightly entrepreneurial modern females. and it is also, for them, a form of care. unless you think of the curse, the knitter's curse, or whatever it's called, it is a curse, they said so, 40% or 16% or 23% of people who knit, felt cursed when their beloved broke up with them after receiving a caring gift such as mittens, or a sweater, or an unfashionable hat. i mean most relationships last forever, so it is only natural to assume that these numbers, whichever one might be correct, are proof woof woof for the fact that if you knit and you're in love and you care then it will go bad some of the times. which is absolutely scary, very scary, marmaduke on marmelade kind of scary. i'm pretty brave on the outside and pretty scary on the inside. my insight into my inside scariness came one expectedly foggy but turned out sunny afternoon in one of those cold months that are supposed to be very cold, but then you get one of those days that is completely warm, sunny side up warm, and you don't know what to do with it, it leaves you cold, you're expecting cold and you'd go out but maybe you're supposed to stick to the blanket and potato puree plan, maybe smoke a cigarette in the sun but you can't carry your blanket so you quit. so one of those days, when i was brave enough to break the knitter's curse by not knitting and the potato puree plan by letting all the potatoes go bad, so bad that they started drawing grafitti in their drawer-social-home, i took my hand and went outside and i walked on the streets imagining all the people i see are me. what would i be like if i was the tall, big mouthed, worker, who walks into a kiosk and buys a muffin and then spends five minutes daydreaming about ponies or the shrunk lady with a trolley in which she's carrying some lost souls, and she walks them around her neighbourhood, taking them to meet bohr and telling them how she likes food with lumps, or the girl walking with her boy, with scars of past i'll be alone for ever fear in her eyes and a clutch of the hand around the boy that should've scared him a bit, but it was too cold for him to feel it. no wait, it was warm, but he was naturally cold. and after i imagined everyone is me in a very non-narcistic but more probabilistically wonderful way, i got pretty full, like after attending a buffet in a long time, you can't stop stuffing yourself, and even if your stomach is somewhere around 1l or maybe more, you've eaten the equivalent of a baby elephant, equivalent maybe in kilocalories or at least in kilometaphors. that fullness was terrible and i never concluded properly why i was scary inside, but the experiment didn't fail, because it wasn't set up to be an experiment in the first place, but an experience, and i've experienced it, a priori.

the "recipe" involves control murder, which is, in fact, unpunishable in some states (of mind).

how does lemur skin reflect the sea?

watching movies is electrifying. soon, when i'll become a mad scientist, i will be able to explain why. until then, i will live with the thrills of someone who's more inclined towards magical, unreasonable explanations. and that's pretty cool, as well, in spite of the unlikely event that my brain pushes me to attempt, that of being able to share it with someone. but know this: every time i get up from my favorite chair in the cinema and i touch the metal railing on the side of the stairs, i feel a little electrical impulse. i can't explain it, and it scares me, and i love it, and i do it every time, as a weird and a bit masochistic confirmation that movies electrify me, not in a cleverly engineered way, but in a sort of mystical, absolutely ineffable one.

 A Serious Man - Ethan & Joel Coen

 Winterland - Hisham Zaman

The Naked of Sankt Petersburg - Ada Bigaard Søby

some cinemas have a magical je-ne-sais-qoui. but je sais quoi! some have color particles that make you see colors that you can't see in the real world, particles that play with your sense of smell, too, by letting you feel the soft, terrifying scent of a storm approaching on the sounds of jefferson airplane or the fresh pungent air of a snowy sunny day in sankt petersburg, special frequencies that make you hear the sounds inside yourself, chairs with stronger gravitational pull that no one can explain.

and this little cinema, tucked in the heart of copenhagen, has it all. after watching a movie there, on a lazy afternoon, when you couldn't care less about the handball finals and you feel a mad joy for the impractical side of life, called impractical by the self-proclaimed practical majority, who might as well be the most impractical of all, you realize you're starting to see the world in those beautiful colors, and maybe it always had them, but you never saw them before, and it's so wonderful you want to ask people if they see it, like a real "virtuoso of the casual encounter". 

and you're lucky. you really are. even if it will take ages until you'll be able to explain it to someone, you can wait, the electrification process you're going through might just keep you alive forever.

we come in pairs

"You comply with my aesthetical needs", said the antenna to the mutt. they were in love. both their nouns had double consonants. they were in love.

or was it a line from gainsbourg, vie héroïque?

it makes more sense as something said by an antenna in love with a mutt. 

You could say that we're alone / But we're lonely together

you know those people who always have a visibly watery nose? some nose-substance stays up in their nostril and twinkles in the sun. and you know what else twinkles in the sun? my smile, cause i finally went outside, i went offline. and you know what else went offline? my facebook account because i finally understood its pointlessness. and you know what else is pointless? wanting what you don't need when you can't have it. and you know what you can't have? what about what you don't need?

i know, we hate to admit it.

everything you need to know about girls

and if they figured it out in thailand, where even many boys are girls, it must be true.

dear 2010

no year made me feel so directionless like you did.

you even made me feel like this, once:

were you out to get me?

 we didn't speak the same language at all.

(the chicken is you)

 i was also a bit scared, a few many times.

but i thought a lot about it...

and we're cool, 2010.

the blackout's divide

we're experiencing a blackout. and this is no metaphor. light is out. black is in. therefore, a blackout. and you'd have never thought, but blackouts are the best way to tell adults from children (and this can be interpreted more loosely).

during a blackout, a child (and some of the more laid back or nonchalant adults, as well) will be thrilled with lighting up all the candles in the house, enjoy the quiet and, perhaps, if reminded by an adult in proximity, will feast on all the goodies in the fridge before they go bad.

during a blackout, an adult will worry. primarily about the fridge, secondarily about the candles burning the house down. he or she will be angry, irritated, almost as if he or she was served a fly in their soup or found pee pee drops on the toilet seat. 

which one are you?