Not very urgently needed
Klockan 05.13.
Be happy you can sleep. It's not overrated, pretty underestimated really.
Xian.
I'm writing this on a broken cellphone, it crashes all the time. I hate/have to restart it several times a day.
Write my name, fuck.
Sleepless in Stockholm... Or was it Seattle? Shit i don't know, care or whatever.
I had a daydream, or should i say nightdream/nightmare[d] (pretty cool that it works to throw around the letters).
A mare of night, but it wasn't a nightmare... not really pleasant either, but a little bit in an odd way.
I dreamt that i was rich, a successfull multiartist. But the dream wasn't really about me being rich of successfull. Not even a happy dream. I had this room in my cellar, my room of agony and desperation of finding the depression and solving it.
The room was cold (~16 degrees) and filthy, though it had all the necessary things to survive, a toilet that had a stench of vomit, refigerator that's in desperate need of cleaning, and a boiler plate, a stinking mattress on the floor and a computer that only is functional due to a miracle or two.
The walls had ugly wallpapers from the 70's but they were long covered up by spraypaint (random rants and failed attempts of art), alcohol, cigarette smoke burnmarks and I don't want to know what else.
Whenever i felt like coming down to earth and shut up for a while i would go shopping (3 kilos of pasta and 2 bottles of ketchup). And then i would lock myself up in my cell...cellar for a couple of weeks, to write, paint, be creative in my despair. Smash everything that isn't essential for my survival and just exist for a while, I would barely eat at all (0-1 meals of pasta and ketchup a day depending on how I felt).
When the bell tolled for me i walked out of my prison, out of the womb and feel like I was reborn into this capitalistic, materialistic cruel world, and be contempt with it, feel happiness for a while. Be glad that my life isn't that bad for real, that it's just my own little game to feel more connected.
The truth is, it's not even that bad in reality either, not yet anyway. I'm just a posing little whiner, not a winner, not exceedingly go()d at anything, but i'm not worthless either, i'm just above average. It feels pretty ok with me though, it could be a lot worse.
Hypo = The opposite of hyper (super, very), Critical = Urgently needed, so it's "Not very urgently needed".
It's pretty amazing that you can tear a word into pieces, and get something completely different. A man in pieces is still a man in pieces, not very useful, but a word in pieces can still be words and be usable, so in other words, a word is more valuable than the entire human race. And the word is far easier to read and understand.
//The tired rantings of a madman with insomnia.
Ber om ursäkt för inlägg på knackig engelska men jag ville få ur mig det där.
Be happy you can sleep. It's not overrated, pretty underestimated really.
Xian.
I'm writing this on a broken cellphone, it crashes all the time. I hate/have to restart it several times a day.
Write my name, fuck.
Sleepless in Stockholm... Or was it Seattle? Shit i don't know, care or whatever.
I had a daydream, or should i say nightdream/nightmare[d] (pretty cool that it works to throw around the letters).
A mare of night, but it wasn't a nightmare... not really pleasant either, but a little bit in an odd way.
I dreamt that i was rich, a successfull multiartist. But the dream wasn't really about me being rich of successfull. Not even a happy dream. I had this room in my cellar, my room of agony and desperation of finding the depression and solving it.
The room was cold (~16 degrees) and filthy, though it had all the necessary things to survive, a toilet that had a stench of vomit, refigerator that's in desperate need of cleaning, and a boiler plate, a stinking mattress on the floor and a computer that only is functional due to a miracle or two.
The walls had ugly wallpapers from the 70's but they were long covered up by spraypaint (random rants and failed attempts of art), alcohol, cigarette smoke burnmarks and I don't want to know what else.
Whenever i felt like coming down to earth and shut up for a while i would go shopping (3 kilos of pasta and 2 bottles of ketchup). And then i would lock myself up in my cell...cellar for a couple of weeks, to write, paint, be creative in my despair. Smash everything that isn't essential for my survival and just exist for a while, I would barely eat at all (0-1 meals of pasta and ketchup a day depending on how I felt).
When the bell tolled for me i walked out of my prison, out of the womb and feel like I was reborn into this capitalistic, materialistic cruel world, and be contempt with it, feel happiness for a while. Be glad that my life isn't that bad for real, that it's just my own little game to feel more connected.
The truth is, it's not even that bad in reality either, not yet anyway. I'm just a posing little whiner, not a winner, not exceedingly go()d at anything, but i'm not worthless either, i'm just above average. It feels pretty ok with me though, it could be a lot worse.
Hypo = The opposite of hyper (super, very), Critical = Urgently needed, so it's "Not very urgently needed".
It's pretty amazing that you can tear a word into pieces, and get something completely different. A man in pieces is still a man in pieces, not very useful, but a word in pieces can still be words and be usable, so in other words, a word is more valuable than the entire human race. And the word is far easier to read and understand.
//The tired rantings of a madman with insomnia.
Ber om ursäkt för inlägg på knackig engelska men jag ville få ur mig det där.
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