That redhead was really clingy but i like it this way. She leaves a trail of good thoughts after i wake up. My dreams do have shifted towards the aesthetics of art history students = Art in the mirror of the burgeoise. But I'm loving this essence which is kinda self-ironic in a not-conscious way, pointing towards a real world of beauty.
What happened? Wait. What really happend in this time fragment? Reading all these great or not so great philosophers is making me crazy, because THEY were crazy. Who can understand this stuff. Just words...not decipherable like poetry. Just more tightly knit in a way. It's crazy not to consider it crazy. And sane to interpret the crazy. But i can't because im restless.
I doodle around and remember microscopic fragments of long forgotten dreams. So microscopic, i can barely attach a feeling or a picture..but memories still. I'm restless so i get up to eat a banana.
A girl comes my way and greets me. I totally forgot about her. I don't know her. It's the most curious thing too have "greeting relationships" with total strangers while it happens far to easily to stop aknowledging long term colleagues in public. She once tried to chat me up in the cafeteria with a slightly ambigous comment about dried decor mushrooms. Then she sat alone while i was eating with a friend. She looked sad. But can you love everyone? Or: Do i have to be attracted to everyone who likes me?
It doesn't matter. I greet her with a quiet voice as she enters the library. A while later she comes out and heads down the floor. She stretches and talks ..to whom? I look at her ..and she stares right into my eyes „Busted!“. I feel like a voyeur. She almost looks disgusted as i stare into her eyes for seconds before i try to make it look like i just tried to look at the big hallway clock.
Back inside the readers hall it feels bizarre as she sits down a couple of seats away. Many girls have liked me in secret. Or at least they thought their desire was a secret. But you always know. Do you? How many people would have liked you, could have liked you....
A real art history student greeted me the other day. I did not recognize her. But she recognized me from a seminar so it seems. Another secret. Propably. Tears are coming as i feel more and more crazy about not being able to love, about dreaming about perfect girls while imperfect girls are everywere. But i can't. Even if its not fair..but what is fair.
Reading good and not so good philosophers does not help. Or does it? Everything seems to melt into one piece of molassis i can't escape. Fuck. I close my books and drive around with my bike in a neverending chase. I want to swallow the world, to escape from what i've done wrong.
10 mics.
Living a placebo dream
or dreaming a life?
What happened? Wait. What really happend in this time fragment? Reading all these great or not so great philosophers is making me crazy, because THEY were crazy. Who can understand this stuff. Just words...not decipherable like poetry. Just more tightly knit in a way. It's crazy not to consider it crazy. And sane to interpret the crazy. But i can't because im restless.
I doodle around and remember microscopic fragments of long forgotten dreams. So microscopic, i can barely attach a feeling or a picture..but memories still. I'm restless so i get up to eat a banana.
A girl comes my way and greets me. I totally forgot about her. I don't know her. It's the most curious thing too have "greeting relationships" with total strangers while it happens far to easily to stop aknowledging long term colleagues in public. She once tried to chat me up in the cafeteria with a slightly ambigous comment about dried decor mushrooms. Then she sat alone while i was eating with a friend. She looked sad. But can you love everyone? Or: Do i have to be attracted to everyone who likes me?
It doesn't matter. I greet her with a quiet voice as she enters the library. A while later she comes out and heads down the floor. She stretches and talks ..to whom? I look at her ..and she stares right into my eyes „Busted!“. I feel like a voyeur. She almost looks disgusted as i stare into her eyes for seconds before i try to make it look like i just tried to look at the big hallway clock.
Back inside the readers hall it feels bizarre as she sits down a couple of seats away. Many girls have liked me in secret. Or at least they thought their desire was a secret. But you always know. Do you? How many people would have liked you, could have liked you....
A real art history student greeted me the other day. I did not recognize her. But she recognized me from a seminar so it seems. Another secret. Propably. Tears are coming as i feel more and more crazy about not being able to love, about dreaming about perfect girls while imperfect girls are everywere. But i can't. Even if its not fair..but what is fair.
Reading good and not so good philosophers does not help. Or does it? Everything seems to melt into one piece of molassis i can't escape. Fuck. I close my books and drive around with my bike in a neverending chase. I want to swallow the world, to escape from what i've done wrong.
10 mics.
Living a placebo dream
or dreaming a life?
