Insomnia

Click.

He exhaled the white smoke into the cold night starring at its evanescence. No, not once he questioned or given much thought at his way of life. The axiological meaning… the principles, virtues, faults.

Why the fuck bother? he muttered under his breath as he put out the cigarette. The black sea above was on fire and silence was the only noise.

I saw him always living out of inertia, as dictated by the society: do this and that to be happy and have friends. Humans are so exquisitely well programmed that they don’t even oppose resistance, thinking it’s the standard pattern. Are you that fundamentalist and obtuse to not conform?

Social acceptance seems to be subliminally imprinted in his mind. The drinking, the partying, the drugs, the sex, yeah, they felt so good in the moment… However, the lingering effects were inversely proportional. Falling off a high point simulacrum into the deepest crevasse. Total emptiness, only filled by some minutes spent in front of a screen watching porn and lying to himself he’s Ok.  He started feeling defined by those moments, and he was right. They say you’re the sum of all the decisions you make. Indeed. If you’re stagnant in the project.

He walked into his room, took his shirt off and crashed on the bed, pulling his phone out of the pocket to scroll some more.

wtf. another bombing.

Where are they? Seems they’re having a lot of fun.

what is he doing, that’s retarded 

That’s a really cool car.

haha so funny

that pasta looks so tasty

Omg she’s so fucking hot

lol did she gain weight?

His hand went numb from holding it up, he shook it and ran it through his hair. He sighted and turned facing the window.

 

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Is this all there is to life?

Work, stress, some holidays, basic friends, insignificant and unfulfilling goals, mere responsibilities , maybe a wife he’ll cheat on because that’s normalized, and kids he’ll spend time with in the weekends.

His mom told him that this world is not the real one. That a transcendental being does exist and He is who He is, and that He is love. The Beauty and the Good. Plato, pretty epic guy intuited that. By contemplation of the nature, the infinite condensed in finite forms. I saw that, trust me. But those were just empty words to him. Hollow. Like the shadow of a tree on a sidewalk.

Now, angst cripples in and takes the best of him. But that’s common, right? To feel the existential burden and to suffer the strings and arrows of outrageous fortune. To feel like no one can understand you and that suffering is unshareable. But people cannot take away the pain of others, because we’re mere mortals. Maybe it will ease the misery temporarily, but how often can you complain and to whom? Humans…they found a solution. Memes are a satisfiable momentarily antidote. He has a whole folder with them. Laughing out of sadness, but until when?

Do I even have a God damn purpose?

Without a higher moral bar to reach to, everything is dust and ashes. You cling to shit that seem important in a place in time, but things change, emotions and feelings shift like a Rubik’s cube. How will you not crash under your mundane choices? One needs something immutable, perennial, the epitome of good. Because if not, we’re just a bunch of animals struggling for survival. No responsibility. Nothing. Void. Is this how they like to live? Deculpabilising by mentally destroying any kind of intelligible force seems like a good way to go. Too bad they have a conscience.

The athlete needs to train daily to win the golden medal. Blood, sweat and tears. Victory is not given to the mediocre, to the one crying that he could not perform, to the one denying the competition and the judges because he did not see them yet.

Even If He does not exist, what He has given to humanity is a set of laws to live by and an atemporal archetype to imitate. Things experimentally proven to make living worth and bearable. This does not subjugate the man, it elevates him to another dimension.  It is by no means a modern anthropocentric concept, but a theocentric one. Man is bound spatiotemporally, but the deity is transcendent, therefore only by keeping in touch with it, we break the laws of physics.

He started yawning and rubbing his eyes.

Tomorrow is another day. I’ll have my coffee and my breakfast and I’ll be good. Damn fuck my thoughts, I’m so tired. He laughed softly and slowly his eyes started to close.

 

Robert De Niro Mimes a Shot to His Head in Taxi Driver

 

The next day the sun will still shine, night thoughts will be washed away and the routine continues. Who has time to contemplate weird spiritual shit. Sadness mostly comes out at night, and they still have the day.  Though, the sleep of reason produces monsters.

But after all, they come from monkeys or to be politically correct ape-like ancestors, right?

 

Be

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Pîsîiala – o taină urbană

Pîsîiala – o taină urbană

 Nu pot să-i înțeleg pe ăștia care ma pâsâie pe stradă. Dom’le, is zile în care Afrodita și nimfele chiar nu-s de partea mea. Adică n-am o pictura artistica pe față, mai am un cos în frunte, parul într-un moț și alegerea vestimentara nu strigă chiar ‘felina praduitoare’.

Am motive întemeiate ca să ma bage în ceata unii indivizii, după cum urmează să istorisesc.

Primul caz este cel în care dragostea-ți șoptește pe stradă. Să acceptam virtualitatea în care m-aș da interesată.

Ei, fetița, da’ ce ochelari avem! Ce suparată ești măăă, maaaama ce ți-aș *insert Wagner’s  Ride Of The Valkyries *

Reacția imediată:

Atunci când grohaitotul mă ademenește cu dulcele-i grai sau onomatopee io cum aș putea să rezonez astfel încât sa ma dau căzută pe spate? La modul realist vorbind. E o problemă de logistică. Să ma opresc? Să mă duc spre el? Și să ii zic ce? “Ioi ma, păpușel, te vreau în viața mea acum.”; “Sa fii tu oare glasului iubirii”?; ” Mulțam de pâsâiala și de trivialitatea apelativului, mergem la o cafea?” Aș fi fascinată să aflu  procesul lor cognitiv.

 

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Cei mai faini is ăia cu mașina care te claxonează. Mai că aș sari pe parbriz în semn de recunoștință. Mi-as ridica fusta-n cap de drag. Cum alfel sa le mulțumesc unor oameni care au un simț estetic atît de dezvoltat?

Sa reconstituim un scenariu. Trec strada, și deodată, acel el mă claxonează. Dar stai, ca ipochimenul nu e singur, n-are sânge în pompiță. Are suporteri . Deci trebuie să se dea cocoș cu ai lui în mașină. Așa. Claxonată, speriată și învăluită în diverse epitete care ne duc cu gândul la juisare, ar trebui să mă opresc în mijlocul străzii, să încurc circulația, și să ma duc la claxonator:

Bună, am auzit că m-ai claxonat și ai urlat ca un babuin după mine. Ești așa de curajos. De cînd îmi doresc un bărbat ca tine. Ce faci? Vrei sa ne cunoaștem mai bine? Vrei o relație serioasa?

Ma intreb asa in nestiinta mea crasă, cum se asteaptă, mai degrabă, cum si-ar dori sa reactioneze domnița semnalată. Nici nu sunt ironică și nici nu am frustrări feministe. Mi-as dori doar sa stiu.

Cred ca vor ramane o taina sistemul lor de gandire si implicit motivele pentru care fac asta. O taina ce-i drept  mai mult decat profana, dar tot o taină.

 

Be