“Now I come to you full of future. And from habit we begin to live our past”. -Rainer Maria Rilke to Lou Andreas Salome, Florence Diary.
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questions darted pertaining of life abroad, whether that privileges anything, one knows whether to answer, it’s okay, it’s good, it’s fun. because the possibilities of extending conversation exist. so you contemplate within two seconds whether to slip into the mundane details of living eating praying paying walking studying speaking, or to give them entirely new perspectives on things they never expect to be said. choices. to entice or to be concise.
sometimes it all depends oaaan the mood, like how much you have eaten through the day, or how bored you are at work (or the absence of it), or how intrigued you are by the person next to you. lately they all do.
*
so amidst the tar and nicotine now slowly depositing itself into your lungs, you listen to them getting all worked up over yesterday’s match, all gallant and brave at giving commentaries on the screen, but cower cover and annihilate their selves in the presence of authority, nobility, stature. so everything is superficial at best, and so you witness resentment beneath all those formalities, rules, and procedures. ah, bureaucracy.
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what are rules created for, anyway? is it meant to contain or to liberate? question of the day.
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i’m just being complimentary.
complimentary to whom?
complimentary to you.
doughnuts. i’ll say no more.
*
why not we write about real things with real permanence, time date, and everything? why put everything in a foggy haze, as if our purpose is to confound the reader, to drag him down to our own solitude, our sadness, our so called melancholic despair stemming out of purposelessness?
perkaraperkara 