Bloc

All those ramblers, my bag full of strawberries and mushrooms, I set out a bit numb in the middle of the crowd with one thing in my mind: give up. I thought of myself as a beautiful corpse. I made a shrine inside my red channel lipstick and put all my desires in there. Don't get me wrong (or do, whatever), this is all very positive.

I thought at first the hard bit would be ignoring the sea of beautiful men coming my way, but it wasn't. It was my own self-righteousness. Yes, he came in black, all nice and smiley but I went the other way. Then another, a blond god, oh my gosh. If I were to design a man he would look just like that. Lots of tasty angles and the music. No. I managed to hold the mushroom twist and keep on studying paradoxes. I won't let you, blond Greek god, sweep me off my feet. I've got more important things to do.

My mates, bless them, so nice and cheerful, made me feel a glimpse of belonging every now and then. Belonging to the human race, let me explain in time, cos the unseen, the grass, the frequencies of the music, oh yeah, they all blinked at me 24/7. Love, love, love.

But then Serotonin levels started to run low and they all blamed each other for their own faults. To watch it is quite funny, sometimes boring, but certainly lovely under Hemsby sun. Since I decided to fight my addiction to self-righteousness, I managed to keep my mouth shut, never mentioning projections or the "like treat like" theory. A festival is not exactly the right time to trace parallels between Jung and Homeopathy.

My mind wondered quite a few times back to that Alpha A Plus semi-god in black, and for really long 5 seconds I even projected a holography of him leaning on the pool table. What a fucking cliche! I thought of a funny part on The War of Emmanuel's Neither Parts: "He was taught how to make knives and arrowheads out of teeth, mussel shell and split bamboo, he played music in the huts on pan-pipes, bark trumpets, and the goo. No woman was never allowed to see the musicians play in case she should think it effeminate, and any woman who did see was obliged to allow the offended musician to prove his virility."

What a brilliant fashion. Hey DJ, I think you are fucking gay.

Finnish Disco Lesson

:)

Nothing

Do you know the feeling of no feeling? Fucking hell it rocks. I don't feel much anything. It's like... well... I'm not happy, I'm not sad, I'm not concerned or feeling repulsion in any way. I dragged myself to this word document, don't know why. Maybe is the reminiscent of a long time dead joy of expression, who knows. But yes, I walk around in a newly acquired state of mind, facing the once full of promises with a blank face, stumbling into chameleon thoughts changing from red to blue, whispering potential happiness with an accent of sorrow. I ignore them, and they go away. I know you bastards well and your hands are made of jelly, schizoid hands, take you to paradise and hell in no time. I chose neither. I don't choose neither.

I did not force myself into all this, dear reader. It happened to me after a wave of desire and I decided to keep it. Once you spend long enough into it, it keeps itself. I laugh at it and everything else, and I laugh a lot. Now THAT I had to force myself into at first. Not that I don't laugh, I do, but this is a different kind of laugh. It's much funnier than before and yet doesn't make my face go red. It is hilarious. It has no opposite. Just like Love.