mit Daumen u. Pflaumen

no one calls if it's a regular day. regular is unspecial and disposable. form a habit to forget, make it a standard. "what the hell happened today?" - "lived a little, that's about it." even extreme incidences: car crashes, births and pony rides, international crises, two girls one cup barely wakes us from the systemic ennui.

at a party there were people coming at me from all sides; everywhere i turned there was a tide of familiar faces, the startled sparkling eyes. i screamed "I KNOW EVERYBODY!" and tried to rip my own face off. did anyone there know that time was passing, that it's always passing? i used to think the Italian futurists were idiots, but i'm finally beginning to understand their cliquish charm.

some time ago my real life ended, and another one and began. i'm ghosting, and sometimes admittedly it's fun. but i have never felt so responsible for my own fun as i do now. yet another thing that comes with being alone.

there is no real meaning to this, it's just for the record.

with thumbs and plums,
lp

some doors lead to other doors, while others just lead to clothes, all of which are not my own.

the view from the cozy bed which i borrowed