Kiddimg, there’s no glory to be had.
Writing this blog entry after so many years feels like turning on a 200 year old machine.
Or maybe a better approximation would be bringing to life an extinct species.
Because blogs are, indeed, extinct
As are my readers. Please note: I am not referring to the humans that used to wear them – these are most probably alive but of course I wouldn’t know. But the readers, that aspect of them that used to read my blog and leave comments? They are dead. But is this so worthy of note? In a way we humans die every moment, shedding our past selves every step of the way. I died so many times as have you. Sometimes we read the epitaphs of our past selves and feel like we are skimming over the lives of strangers. Or maybe is it most times? Not sure.
Perhaps the reason I am writing this now is because today I learnt of the lost silk road cities, once prosperous and joyous places now long buried in the sands of the desert. My blog is any one of those cities. My life, not so much. When was it joyous? I hardly remember
Or maybe the reason I am writing this post is because I came this close to ordering an 145 euro dish at a fancy restaurant but then thought of my family’s class history and thought better of it. Shocking, in its own way. Really, when you have nothing else going in your life, spending money on amything is a pain killer. I realise that now, much more than before.
Or maybe I am writing this because last night I remember laughing in my sleep but can’t remember the dream I was having
The restaurant gave me a drink on the house tonight. Sometimes you just have to go to sleep with whatever little gains the day gave tou, no matter how trivial.
Because what the hell else are you supposed to do?
You know what?
I think I’m bored
I’ve always thought
That the best tatoos
Are shadows on naked skin
I never knew there was a pandemic, you see.
Just a break from all the sameness
Of which I have been reminded
Upon venturing out
How long before I stop caring completely about everyone I have ever known?
I can feel it sometimes like a sudden gust of wind
Or the faint sound of a Siren’s song
Sometimes when I’m lying in bed I picture myself being filmed by an invisible camera, the frames flowing through it in real time to someone’s eyes.
Being watched is the closest thing to company after all
Fiction books, I’ve found,
Are like people.
For when one comes to an end
The only question I ask myself
Is whether it was good company
A post with Text.
Sign of the times.
I’d joined a group on facebook where people could exchange thoughts,feelings and experiences on the lock down we are all dealing with (well, unless you are Swedish or Chinese I guess).
It was not what I expected.
More to the point, it was not what I needed.
I guess I was hoping to find something to connect to, to feel that I’m not flying on my own trajectory away and above everyone else.
Of course I know I’m not alone. But knowing something without feeling it is a facsimile of life.
I guess I lost my hope somewhere between the tenth and thirteenth post displaying home-made bread and pastries.
I had a grotesque vision of people in their pajamas or tracksuits or whatever they are wearing at home throwing food at me while I was chained up in a moving conveyor belt.
Instagram-quality food too. Shiny looking. Or maybe all photos are like this nowadays? I wouldn’t know, I can’t even remember how old my phone is.
I could almost feel my immune system bailing out of sheer despair at my inability to find the willpower to cook anything that took more than five minutes preparation or more than 3 supermarket items.
So I guess it’s like this then – the pandemic as brochure.
I got back to listening to music. Tonight I’ll have a frozen pizza. The picture on the cover is good enough.