getting a ride to the train station from arnold is enough for me. he even took the liberty to entertain me all the way with historical lessons on katoomba abd the blue mountains. i even taught him how to wear the sarung properly. he called it saree. no no.
sincerely, the girl who doesnt know how to wear kain batik. superficial at best.
i am not dead. i am listening to heima, sigur ros is releasing an album soon, wurtzel still wants her ice cream, much is left to explored. do not think for a second i am thoroughly bored. depression is merely a transition towards the heights of clarity. kierkegaard mentioned that ages ago. we climbed mountains yesterday, didnt we? temporarily, before we find a new rarity.
where are our female friends? they are left in their private room, doing god knows what, filling stupid ideas and ghost stories in their head. stupefication at its best. i have a poet for a friend, and no one else. others i try to love and seduce with all my wit and passion, yet their hearts are dead. am i too intelligent? nay, i am the vortex of dread. the sick soul the heterogenous bowl.
i am at a train station, typing because i am too gullible and subsidising to bring a pen. beside me is a woman, reading dylan thomas, enough strangers for a day, i do not want to be estranged. today i shall strike tall and believe myself to be happy.
plath is nobody, her dead body shall not overpower me. dead beards, pigs, moles, snakes, horses, mushroom, away with them. the sea is not our resting place, it is the heavens.
enthrall everything and set sail straight towards perfection and god and illumination. trod through these carcasses, steer them away. do not stow them, for skeletons can find their way out of the closet.
i do not want to err anymore. allow me to be free, and declare love to thee, my rilke my new prodigy.
perkaraperkara 