Sunday, April 29, 2007

just like damn disappointment ruin a potential day

What happens to my mood? Shifting from desire to smoke cigarettes and read in the afternoon sun to then blatantly proposing to myself that everything I do is boring and unremarkable and that I should simply stop with it all and take up everything that isn't. I think that the mere fact that I know not what would be remarkable and interesting is what stops me. And there is a certain amount of knowledge that I do love what there is. But I get terribly bored and terribly bored as time moves and the sun sets. I don't know what to do.

I read a little more than half of Dorian Gray yesterday; the book, near its middle, and its longest chapter I believe, has a point that goes into describing the various aspects of Dorian's sin and character. It is the change, the full change from the Dorian we knew to who is to be in later action. That chapter is the thing that stopped me yesterday. I couldn't move from that spot, and in all its reference knew that I picked up so little that I wanted to merely stop. I did. Its wonderful. But it killed me.

So today I picked up mid chapter where I had stopped and finished the second half. I think, that, it was good to read it like that. Reading the first portion where Dorian transforms himself. Which, is only half of the truth. Because Lord Henry and even Basil are key to facilitating the change. But poor murdered Basil, he just wants to be a brilliant artist. And halfway through transformation, I pick up again and realize the rest as the rotting Victorian he has become. Either way, the book was far less beautiful--not in the case that 'it' is, it just was for a second time--and Lord Henry would have told me to stop if I had known the case. Sadly I already 'knew' Dorian. Oh well. It is still one of my favorites. Though only Wide Sargasso Sea has made me hold it tightly and read each page, consuming them like fire, burning the pages in orange energy, and bleeding eyes until all the words faded and I was done.

Today was horrible. My flatmate, a woman named Lee from China discovered our dear letter from our masters and she was able to request my aid in cleaning our disgusting kitchen so that we should not be fined. I obliged because she needed my help and there was no one else to do so. She cares, and I don't want her to take up my opinion of the whole affair. Which would have most likely ended up being in a bill around 500 kroner and I would have paid without any other thought on the matter. So for that 3 hours time scrubbing inside of a fucking oven, washing windows, hauling dead furniture down from the fourth story, and scrubbing floors, I have saved money which would have gone towards nothing in particular, and helped my roommate towards her own self-peace. I wish that sometimes we could be cruel. I'd take a knife to my roommate and make him hurt for every minute I cleaned and he bobbed his dumb head up and down and watched television. Then made a mess everywhere. I don't like him. But what to do. We aren't so cruel as to make others bleed and spill themselves on the floor.

Now I suppose I will sleep. For there is nothing else to do but sleep. I finished the book. I watched Ichi the Killer, which was awesome at some points and disappointing at others. Why the Japanese seem to get a hard-on for describing a character's actions through having been hypnotized is beyond me. It always weakens the whole damn story. Just stick with the event without the hypnosis and we are fine.

Its so early. But all I want is lots of days to pass at once. I was telling Perry now would be a good time for an opium addiction. I haven't cared to write about anything except what goes in here. Minus the minor fragments of what goes into a large folder on my computer. Nothing seems to pass except that I run out of food and eat cauliflower in disgust. It isn't much of a meal. Nothing is much of a meal. In fact I've given up hope that food can be interesting here. I'm tired of salmon. I'm tired of taking tap water with every meal. I don't like staring at the contents of my fridge: Eggs, butter, cauliflower, red peppers, broccoli, milk, peas, ketchup, and mustard.

None of that even sounds like anything listing it out. How am I still alive? From nourishment like that. I'm going to have to write a letter to Kellogg telling them thanks for Corn Flakes. 'You saved my life.'

Norwegian Cheerios are not the same as Cheerios from home. They aren't made of whole grain. They taste like paper, and are even more shit in milk.

There wasn't anything in the first place to this; no, nevermind. I went and had a word with that guy who makes me want to be cruel. His room stank. For some reason it looked like he had a bit of rouge and lipstick on and he had the face of a dandy. I was searching amongst his unbuttoned collared shirt and chest hair to see if he had a gold laced handkerchief about him. He did not. I was disappointed. That's the way these things go.

oh god you are beautiful!
now go kill her. she isn't as beautiful as you.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

don't steal my opium addiction idea.

sounds like you eat actual food over there though. sometimes i wonder how i survive on all the garbage i eat.