Gently lonely

The sound of my heels makes the strange man before me turn around. He says to himself that yes indeed he had heard something. This quaint street in a Parisian neighbourhood isn't so quiet though. And he has his headphones on. How atuned must he be with the world around him. How his insides must churn with loneliness. His mind is the desert. It pays nothing to search inside your own world. There is no water to feed the weeds. There are no weeds to begin with. No object to bestow your love or your admiration upon.

Another man my heels cross notices how many little shops line up here. He too says it outloud, to no one in particular. My heart breaks a little, but it thinks mainly of itself and of a time when such need to communicate might rise within myself. Too late. I'm already thinking outloud. My streets are empty, no step makes me hope for an accidental ear.

The Chat seeks the confort of paws, its own too small for such a big head.

The Psychologist's Couch

Just Got Ditched! Yay! Not. I don't think I'm in love anymore, but it still hurts and I wonder why. Is companionship like any habit, more or less hard to pick up and give up? Doesn't say much good about my human nature, in that case. Would it have hurt less if I hadn't been through a hellish day today, what with Parisian buses and all? I don't know and I hate being so lost. A thought about whoring myself a bit crossed my mind, and despite almost constant self-destructive behaviour, it wouldn't be a revenge and it wouldn't help my self-image. Besides, it's not nice to use people, even if they use you right back, is it?
I wish for a better soul to take care of me.

The Chat longs for forgetful sleep.

Seeing Red

Stumbled a week ago upon this wonderful singer. And she's gorgeous too.

No copyright infringement intended.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q6_lF0Klz5Y

"Loving Strangers" by Russian Red

The image comes from: http://www.listal.com/viewimage/387374 (Added by andré gomes on 9 November 2008)

Again, no copyright infringement intended. And thank you to those who posted the song and the photo!

The Chat can't stop purring.

Universal Sign Language

So. I was out and runing this evening and not 10 seconds into my run I was nicely encouraged to continue by a couple of teenagers (I think): "Run, Forrest, run!".

Amazed by their culture and witticism, I was only able to reply a few seconds later, by that very eloquent third finger of our superior limbs.

How come one only feels smart when comparing oneself with others? "I am so intelligent, I must be, seeing as you're so stupid..."

It could be an effort to exist - make oneself aknowledge by another, be it just a passer-by. Too bad it was done by trying to hurt. I wonder if my aknowledging this phrase amounts to walking into their trap. Or made this sad encounter into a dialogue.

And yet I can't help but feel pretty great, as I rarely stand up for myself. It felt like a victory, like saying "Yep, heard ya, don't give a damn, go *duck yourself".

The Chat would eat a duck, but killing is against his beliefs. And against the law, here, in Paris.

Public Library

It seems I'm only writing in these places so I can brag about it. On the down side, it's freaking cold in here as well, seeing as I'm in the hall of the library. But it's my choice, there's more space here than in the library room.

Thinking yesterday that I should really learn to like myself or rather put more effort into turning myself into a person I could like. I am going to have to live with myself until the end, after all. Egoism seems so easy to motivate - our path is the only life-long project we have a personal interest in. It is extremely brief, if one isn't a believer in the existence of other lives or universes. So, one should enjoy it, even to the extreme. Altruism, however, can be as easily explained - would you live all of your life with an egoistical a$$hole?

The Chat bangs it philosophical head on the table and goes back to its comulsory tasks. Ta ta!

School Library

Just wanna say it's freaking cold, even though I'm just by the radiator - and by the window, it's true. My nose and my hands are cold and it's just another distraction from reading and writing, besides the fanfic :( ah bof, I love it anyways... back to reality.

When I was little and had my own room (oh yeah, the world is a big big place, but Paris isn't, so here one has to share in order to keep warm and dry), I used to ask my mother to leave a light on in the hall - after a while, I think she let it on even without my asking. The door to my room was tall and had a rectangular window just under the ceiling, through which light would pour into the room. The glass was blurry, but the light was there, and helped chase the monsters it created with the semi-darkness.

Nonetheless, I spent years bundled up in the covers before going to sleep because I was relunctant to leave even a small part of my body open to nocturnal, invisible attacks. I did leave my nose out, as it never occured to the child I was then that it is a more fragile and important limb than the toes.

You know, sometimes I don't like my mother. When she used to imply that I am no longer that child (loving, openly affectionate) because I don't like to hug and kiss her and have her do the same to me, for instance. I feel somehow that cut a bit my connection to who I was back then. And the small glimpses I still have of the past make me want to know that child better. But I can't, I am no longer him or her and I forgot so much about those times long gone. I remember sad things only, as if happines never was. But that's impossible. I don't remember the truth.

The Chat is chasing the warm

I have taken some decisions and made some promises these last weeks, then backtracked and thus hurt a lot of people. I am also a big coward and refuse to talk to them, I cannot give them at least the opportunity to leash out. This is no way to grow up, I am incapable of assuming my choices and their consequences, so I always take the easy way out, being it by lies or outright avoidance. I realized I treated written or spoken words lightly, I give them without meaning them. In important or insignificant situations. Words that give me so much pleasure when I read them in fiction or listen to them as music. I give them and manipulate them and demean them and disgust myself and others.

I would like. I want to try. I really should keep up with my resolutions this time. To keep words short and true. To be true to them myself. To be rather cruel and stupid than a coward and a liar.

The fear makes me want to puke. My disgust with myself was making me want to puke myself out of my body. I couldn't look in the mirror.

To treat words like acts – like one word could kill or cut open the flesh literally. To treat words like blood – give them out only when necessary.

Out of automatism, I wanted to add here promises and actions projected in the future. Yet another resolution – word out past rather than future actions of mine.

Destruct myself, I hate what I've become am becoming; reconstruct myself new and pure.

Time isn't for sale, not like I thought – I give you my time and do stuff and you give me money. Because this time I spend for others isn't otherwise recoverable. It goes for good. Oh I see, time isn't money, it is a gift to give and to receive and it should always be enjoyable for all parties. I am a foreigner in a just world. Actions and reactions here aren't always apparent or hidden. Sometimes action is apparent, its reaction, hidden. Other times, it is the contrary. Other times again, both are hidden or both are visible. A thief can lead a long happy life or he can die right after having stolen. Or even right before stealing, before even making the decision to steal. Or yet again he may not be born at all. I have come into this world, I don't know if I have entered it pure or impure, if I am paying in advance for my mistake or only paying my debt. I have made terrible things in my eyes and in other eyes as well, I've not accomplished anything, I am learning. I hope. I feel learning isn't enough without the final exam, whether I pass or I fail. I must take that final test and the tests that preceed it, otherwise learning is sweet, but fattening. Or worse, just a mirage of the true learning. Because I went to all classes but last, last year, I never went to the final exam, and all that time given and received turned sour, then empty. The year has passed and I'm still here, trying to learn.

Writing and talking out my mistakes are a type of evaluation. Cutting back on my words, on chocolate, sleep and clothes, also. These are my faiblesses. I am not speaking about, I am not speaking my next exam because it does not exist yet. I've yet to enter the examination room. I act what I speak. I speak what I act. I try. Because the world is a big big place and there is room for hidden thought desire doubt. Lie is an insidous thing, it can hide in this space between thougt act and word, or in plain sight. Truth also. Truth also is an insidous thing. I breath more freely now. But. But I haven't entered the examination room. Fear is toring through me like a screw. Courage would take it out of me quickly, but it wouldn't be gentle. That is my fear. I am learning about literarity about being literal. To return to the origins to be pure naked blanched. I am literal and thus metaphorical lyrical. Truth and good are beauty why not having seen this before why having stopped before beauty. I am stupid and I take the still surface of the air for a brick wall. No. Honesty is beauty. Right and wrong is beauty. Standing erect, standing up for yourself, standing is beautiful. Bending can be beautiful too. But I need to stand now.

First real post of January

I just wanted to say - complain rather - that I am one of those types. The ones that want more of a good thing although the saying goes that too much of a good thing is not really so good. For instance, sleep in the morning, chocolate, internet, and coffee. Youth, time, well, just about everything I enjoy, so instead of enjoying it I am looking for ways of acquiring more. Which is not healthy, you can give it to me - not to mention it is not possible, in some cases. Unless I find a rich vampire that would take a liking to me or that youth-and-wealth fountain, you know, the one about which everyone dreams once in a while...

It is strange how certain gestures can lead to intimacy. I am thinking about the old lady I am presently caring for. I find myself taking her hand or smoothing her hair, like I would my own grandmother or child - just because I am also feeding and bathing her. Catering for one's such basic needs generates an interesting type of closeness, that grows from gestures and touches, as opposed to how things usually go (from intellectual or sentimental closeness to the physical one). Or maybe I am waaaay too lonely.

The Chat is not chatty tonight. He sips at his coffee and would rather go back to reading fanfic. Which he actually does.