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Entries in Life (9)


Reiterating an irritation.

There are days when everything annoys you. Every little occurrence and thing makes you uncomfortable at best. Angry at worst. Sounds are too loud. Lights are too bright. Every single fiber in the fabric of your clothes chafe against your skin. And all other things rub you the wrong way.

Smiling faces become smirking masks. A handshake become a crushing, yet somehow disgustingly sweaty and clammy, vice-like grip. A hug transforms into a human straitjacket. Any morsel of food tastes like cardboard pulp with a splash of Styrofoam garnish. Your loving and previously beloved pet is now a leech on your life force. The best of friends change into complete twats. That favorite track you've been listening to all week now sounds banal and you can't for the life of you remember what it was about it that you found so lovely. Delete it. Regret it. Download it again.

Buttons won't button. Clicks won't connect. Programs crash at the most inopportune moments. Why is the spacebar sticking in the keyboard? Words won't fit properly into any sentence you utter. Be it through your mouth or via the tips of your fingers. Both of which seem to be detached from any reasoning part of that lump of clay you call your brain. You forget important things. Dwell on the inconsequential. Speak when you shouldn't. Remain silent when you mustn't. You lose the plot. And your favorite pen. You stub your toe and spit on your lapel/collar. Shit. A thousand times; shit!

A feeling utterly inhabits you. Becomes your very essence. A feeling of malaise moving through molasses. But don't worry. As soon as your head hits the pillow those jarring thoughts will begin to deconstruct. They gradually shift from coherent narratives and concepts into incoherent flights of fancy without you ever noticing. Slowly slipping you into the comfortable World of Dreams. I'll meet you there. We'll ride a unicorn together.

Listening to: Broken Social Scene - Meet Me In The Basement
Reading: Last Exit to Brooklyn
Watching: The Walking Dead


In spite of inspiration.

I find it mind boggling that there are these deep and perculiar people out there. Walking around in the world. These amazing individuals who have lead these lives of immense complexity. Perhaps they have had dramatic ups or downs. Contrasts that have made permanent marks in the very essence of their being. Alternately they may have existences pointing in one definite direction and have never veered from that trajectory. Not even slightly. All of them are fascinating paths to travel. No matter what the eventual outcome might be.

Maybe they are the extraordinary offspring from likewise extraordinary parents. Progenitors that have nurtured just the right attributes and interests and morals in their child, in order to create a truely beautiful individual. One that is kind and with a sharp intellect which can cut through any adversity. Conquering it. Restructuring it into a wonderful opportunity. Exceptional folk that can find even the most miniscule grain of hope in a salty sea of shit.

Or their parents completely fucked them up beyond repair. Through shitty parenting and guidance. Or lack thereof. Or abuse. Forming, fermenting and unleashing a completely selfish asshole onto the world. A reprobate who is a detriment to all those unfortunate enough to be around them. That unlucky child might turn into a violent criminal with serious psychological scars and issues. Whatever the case may be they are all interesting people. With interesting stories to tell.

My life is nowhere near as intriguing. I have had a few negative influences and some positive experiences. Some of them seemed massive to me. The scope of which I couldn't fathom. I imagined. However, if I take a step back and get some distance and put it all into perspective my life has been a pretty clear and straight line going forwards in time. Towards no particular goal or horizon. 

I have never been a person who has lived life at it's utmost extremes. No matter what part of the positive/negative-spectrum that might be. I am not one of those people. Not an inspiration to all others, who volunteers their time at a soup kitchen during Christmas Eve. Nor a menace to society, that punches a pensioners in the face and steals their coin purse in order to buy some cheap smack. Never mistaken for one of those people who has traveled to all corners of the world.  To obscure and exotic countries, eating little known national dishes while riding upside down in a hang glider in the middle of a thunderstorm. I won't ever be that deranged loon of a person who rides the most frightening roller coaster stark naked while lobbing fragmentation grenades into the awestruck crowd of innocent onlookers down below. I'll never fuck a walrus. While even though the most morally ambivalent of the examples, it is just not in the cards for me.

I've read some books, watched some movies, met some people, loved some people, hated some people, traveled a little, eaten poutine in Canada, smoked a few cigarettes (with varying contents) and here I am. And that's OK. Interestingly uninteresting is my angle and I'm sticking to it. 

What's your story?


Long days, tall orders of coffee.

Tomorrow the school year officially starts. Back to university and all the toils that this implies. Luckily the government grant (for me as a student) just went through and I finally have  some funds on the old  bank account. After the bills are paid this will of course be whittled down to a mere husk of its former cashy glory. But there is at least enough left over for me to be able to enjoy a hot cup of coffee outside the confines of my home, whenever I choose. And I choose to quite often.

I've said goodbye to a few friends this summer. They're moving away to far-off lands and brighter futures and better prospects than this town could possibly offer. I hope to be rejoining them soon. So that we can once again discuss random bullshit on topics of which we know little. while at the same time imbibing in the joys of "life". They'll know what I mean. Hopefully.

Good luck to you all. But mostly to my bromance partner Sven. Who is traveling to The Great White North. A place I myself enjoyed immensely. Tell them Patrik sent you..



Accessorize, exercise, jizz.

Sex as a subject has become rather pathetic, to be frank. The myth that those who sleep with a lot of random people are really confident is complete and utter horse shit. In my experience men and women who behave in this way are in fact incredibly insecure. Constantly seeking confirmation and reassurance that they are as beautiful as they have convinced themselves. Is that acting secure? Turning sex into some sort of power game or just immediate gratification drains it of all passion. I don't want sex to just be pieces of meat flapping against one another. Marinated in alcohol and anxiety. People shouldn't be picked up like accessories. You are not the centre of the cosmos. Your fleeting happiness is not the answer to the mysteries of life. Get over yourself. And the two of you clumsily jamming your genitals together on your room mates well-worn old couch is not passionate and sexy. No matter how many times you repeat this lie to yourself in an attempt to maintain that  hard on/stay wet. I gave up one night stands some time ago. At first it wasn't a moral choice or even one that came out of any deeper introspection. It was just a path taken out of a practical nature. People in general are absolutely terrible at fucking. Just awful. The quality was never as good as with someone I got a little bit familiar with. People who have such low self-esteem that they pathologically need to swallow another human beings bodily fluids every weekend tend to not have been in many meaningful relationships of any greater lengths. Therefore they have, out of a strictly numerical standpoint, fucked far fewer times. Practice makes perfect. There appears to be a tipping point where the quality of the bedroom shenanigans and the quantity of sexual partners converge and then invert. Both in a grander scheme and in specific situations. Taking pride in appearing sexually attractive to people who will fuck just about anything is like being proud that you are Garry Glitter's search engine of choice. It's at best quite meaningless, at worst loathsome. Tickling the fancy of someone you find to be truly unique. Having them share their innermost contrivances. Being able to disappoint in a painful way. That is sexy. That is beautiful. Poking someone in the groin while trying to refrain from spewing because of the motion and too much tequila is not. Unknown people are not. Acting tough will never be.