Thanks to the sort of hallucinatory headache you sometime experience if you’re lucky, after a day of paralysis, in the evening I could space out for half an hour or little more. It was such a blissful moment, one of those moments when you’re consigned perceptions so diluted that every sound is only echo and every vision is only shadow. And gaps left by consonants in human communication are all blurred in a single vocal with many shades in it. All was so quiet and I could wish it lasted forever. In this period of time I reckon I fell asleep. I had a dream. A still living person but long removed from my life appeared on a sort of airy landscape with very few connotations. He was going somewhere, or so it seemed, and he was so terribly serious. When I touched his arm in a sign of greeting he talked to me. What he said I don’t think I want to write about, but it was the kind of thing that generates confused feelings in your conscience. The memories it brought back… But we were never close, so I have no reason to trust the words of a ghostly figure.
Month: May 2009
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Suffering from nihilism
What’s wrong with living in the past? Living in the past doesn’t necessarily mean being completely disconnected from the present time, it just means not accepting anything the present creates around you day after day, preserving something valuable. This thirst for the “here and now”, I really don’t get it. It’s vile. It’s not progressive, it’s just a form of nihilism, the worst species of nihilism, the kind that rejects everything on some basis that’s not product of a rational need, it’s just product of ignorance, because it’s easier to reject than to go back in time and understand what came before, what has brought us where we are now. How can anybody accept present without at least a vague idea of what the past is about? Roots need to be understood and digested before you can cut your ties with them.
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Histories of petty crime I
There’s someone in need of some serious spanking in the neighborhood. Someone having fun going around wrecking other people’s cars, making huge holes in their tyres, and so forth. What the hell. The average working person earns just what’s needed to live from day to day, to send kids to school and pay bills; the non-working person, usually somebody who’s retired after a crappy life doing awful things, has just what it’s needed for various vital expenses, and some brain-dead louse, aged from 15 to 30, with a fucking family always ready to save his ugly lazy useless ass, has the luxury to go around making a mess and destroying in a mere five minutes all the efforts a person surviving on a lousy pension or salary does in a whole month or more, forcing this person to jeopardize the whole family balance for a selfish and senseless destructive impulse. How I’d like to kick those people in their sorry asses and make them admit they’re the most useless scum ever; how I’d like them to be forced to do some real work once in their lives so they would at least know money is not produced by trees growing in the shitty courtyard behind their paternal houses. Those fuckers seriously need an injection of conscience.
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Never mind cats you meet on the streets
I realize I’m talking about cats most of the time. What to do? Cats are owning my brain.
I was taking a walk earlier, and I always take the same route, because there’s not great variety of available choices here. There’s always this big white cat outside a wooden door near home I like to observe whenever I can, and this cat is beautiful but it it also looks very miserable. It’s an albino, with one blue eye and the other green, but so very pale it’s not easy to tell they’re not the same color, at least if you don’t look carefully. The nose and the inner part of the ears and also the paws are of a lovely fair pink that make it seem they’re made of confetti. The expression the cat has is just amazing: a mix of resentful and astonished, with just a hint of pitiful. I cannot tell if it’s a she or a he, as the cat doesn’t trust strangers enough to let them check… Well, to tell the truth, today it demonstrated a little bit of friendliness and for the first time ever it came closer, but it’s still not friendly enough for more. Anyway, this cat is awesome, it’s so big and it has the thickest bushiest wildest fur ever attached to a feline specimen. But the poor thing has seen better days. Months ago I remember it was as clean and as white as a plush before you get it out of the toy store. Now it’s quite some time that I always see it wandering in the courtyard of the house where I suppose it lives, but it always stays on the outside, on the doorsteps or behind some vase, it doesn’t look like somebody actually gives a damn where it is or what it does. And the fur looks weird. First of all it’s dirty in several points. The craziest spot of grey dirt is on the forehead, like somebody rubbed a piece of charcoal on it, and it makes the cat look like it has a mohawk or something. Also, some patches of fur are hanging down the animal’s body like they’re going to fall down at any moment, so the animal looks a bit like a trashy carpet somebody has thrown away. I just wonder… what transformed a cat whose looks were like those of a TV commercial into some wrecked creature? And it looks so malnourished when it used to look the symbol of all feline luxurious life. I was tempted to give it some food, but what if the owners get mad? What if I make things worse? What if the cat is actually a crazy thug, hence its pitiful look and mohawk and everything else? And most importantly, why can’t I mind my own businesses just for once?