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Date: 2x25-03-eleven
Currently drinking a flat soda, laying sick
It's pretty nice to be sick as i never really do anything anyways.
"Wouldn't that make it less nice??" youre thinking. Maybe, it cannot function as an escape from a job i dont have... howevr it takes away the ever pressuring feeling of having to create something. Like if you're just home all alone a whole day, you have to do something... you have to make something, otherwise why the fuck would you be all by yourslef? It wouldnt matter in the slightest now would it? Maybe it would, if you like alone time. i like alone time, but not like that. I have to create something all the time, especially when im alone.
So as suck it IS pretty nice to be sick, it seems at first, but the more i put this feeling into words, the more my eyes are dragged to the guitar on the wall between the hitting in little words on the writer. But then again i am doing something right now, still, am I not? Im typing this shit. Yep, thats right. the feeling of worthlessness got to me and i hence started to describe it, without even knowing it was describing itself in that very moment. the worthlessness of not being as good as all those musicians you listen to, not as good as all thsoe painters, the pretty or grotesque works of which you indulge, of which i indulge in so everyday...
Weathervane outside my window. Yeah, that's wassup! ive named her melanie and we have a deep parasocial relationship.
Melanie does not bustle about, though, as I know yall would expect from a weathervane. She's always turned to the right (viewed from my window) and her eye, decorated with another metal from the body and everything else (idk which metal bceauze idk anything about such stuff), pierces me ALWAYS.
When i moved to this quite modern flat, i of course didnt expect such a pictoresque companion, but i didnt think much of it. This bird on the neighboring house, which is in a much older style than my apartment complex, stuck in my mind after the pureminded first few flat nights. i used to bring together the window blinds as a mere habit so as to not get woken up by the sun earlier than i wanted, but then, oh that night that i decided to do it on that (the following) basis for the first time is etched by glass into my mind, then i started closing my blinds at night to avoid Melanie.
I was working as a tour guide when i came here, thats how i could afford the place you see. Now I can barely scrape together half of the rent... or that's what I always THINK. Every month i manage to get money in the end. its like the apartment want me to stay, but want to make an anxious hell out of this staying here of mine. like a mock execution maybe? "NOW YOULL DIE HAHAHAHHA!!" screams your blood-drinking enemy but then they just fucking free you. Were you okay all the time? What if i were a youtube prankster and i were to go around pretending to kill people for a "prank". Would it then be "okay" (if we dont care about that i would scare the freak out of them as a prank while pranks are maybe rather supposed to be just for a laugh) becayse they dont die? or wouldnt it because they would think so? Like even if im not the enemy of these people... Would they really be okay just because I know thta they will be "okay" since i, in reality, mean no such ill as the one i "prank" them to believe that i mean? I don't know. Either way, my apartment is like mock executions every month, but obviously less drastic, because this is just about missing the rent. whats the landlord gonna do? Kick me out? Yes, and then ill live on the street, not be fucking blown up. And I do not have the cathartic moment of my life every time i magically scrape together money every month's end.
Uhh what was i saying again... So when i was a tour guide I was searching up shit for all over town. "Fun to include random stuff in my presentations!"
Well, yeah it was fun, but what wasnt as fun was the very thing i did for "fun": look up my own neighborhood. I live pretty close to center, but like my quarters are nothing important or anything so we never tour them. Anyways, i looked up various things around me and OH FUCK IM GOING TO VOMIT
Hello, im back... I didn't know my fever was that bad. It ISN'T that bad, the FEVER, but apparently I'm bad in other ways too, enough sick to have to vomit, enough sick in the head to write this. I could just delete that "OH FUCK..."etc. passage of course, but maybe it's funnier to leave it as it is, like, "stay true to your working conditions" or whatever (no one said that).
So yeah basically what I was going to say was the house with the weathervane, my Melanie, as I hadn't yet named her when I learned the following fact, was built the SAME FUCKING YEAR as my modern apartment complex. "Okay?" "So?" "And?" Fuck off! It's nothing special, it isn't, except that it's a little intriguing. But why is it so bad? Well, that same day i listened to a song. by Charli xcx i think, though I can't remember which specific tune. Something in that song resonated with me, however, though I can't remember why I was listening to her in the first place. I never listen to her. I've been trying to find that song again since then, alas to no avail. I even scourged her entire discography TWICE. Now is the time to admit that I'm pretty (or very) bad to understand anything that is sung in songs, even in my native language. I suppose i just have a bad ear for that type shit. Last year i started listening to hip-hop, though, and since then my mind, from childhood only having been fed noise music (what a funny term) and lyrics-inaudible emotional emo skramz, has adapted a little to the music and language of the "normies", as hentai-addicted weebs like to say.
Anyways, as such I guess I... or I KNOW i DID hear and understand the lyrics to that charli song that resonated so within me, but maybe that song is in the middle of her spotify discography and so my tired ears weren't as attentive as it came on during my searches, weren't as vigilant...
So ANYWAYS (anyways for like the hundredth time, I know, I know), in that song (maybe it was even by another artist—how the fuck would i ever find it?) something that I DON'T FUCKING REMEMBER reminisced me about the weird fact that my apartment and this house with the fucking RUSTY supposed-to-dance-with-the-wind bird were built at the same time, and when I that day looked out of my window i got hit by an extreme feeling of despair, such that one, or at least I, get mixed in with the relief of the first day of spring, a feeling of some worthlessness that child you... child me could have evaded if I had not been so fucking bland, living just to please. ...and that feeling resembled EXACTLY a line i had heard in that fucking song, not the feeling itself, but the feeling that the feeling brought, if you understand what I mean. The feeling of despair and that line from one Charli or whoever had brought the same feeling, which was not necessarily one of despair, as one of its bringers.
Omg im such an airhead like do you even understand what I'm saying??
And the way I type, no consistent capitalization of the first-person pronoun... no consistent placing of apostrophes... but i like it that way. I love to be free. I know what I'm doing "wrong", and as such, I choose to not care.
Its not like a fucking carefree bitch who hasnt spelled a single word correctly even once. I choose to write like this. and its not THAT bad, right? I'm educated... though not so educated. I wish i had dropped out of school and made music instead of repressing every single word i wanted to utter, repressing my happiness, succeeding with some diploma. I'm just a bit educated, so what? "You can find a job with your education!" Shut up. I can't. #hiki4life!! no i actually don't want to be a "hiki for life" but it's like i'm keeping at least a little bit of psychotic integrity against the harsh world by only applying for ten job interviews a week and not one hundred like a try-hard. ...and eventually i DID get that tour guide job.
To continue where I left off (though you might enjoy my just a wee bit insane ramblings), it was a (solely because of my paranoia) accursed house, that orange eighteen-hunnahs-looking building with the weathervane on top. This is why, again:
1. It was built the same year as my own little abode of splendid modern architecture
2. Something in that song I was yapping about and a feeling I got from the house with appurtenant weathervane and view attacked me with the same feeling (again, if it wasn't clear before, NOT the same feeling as the one i got from the house, but a feeling sprung from that feeling—I could refer to this feeling which the song and house had in common by something else, because maybe it will play a major part in this bitch (in this story)... who knows... I just have to come up with a good name for it.)
3. I'm—apparent by these lines i'm writing—low-key fucking insane!
(I saw just now that I had written "as suck", instead of "as such" in the first sentence of the fourth paragraph, which is a bit embarrassing (even though I implied that i can spell pretty good earlier, i'm very proud of my ability to correctly spell "embarrassing"... I don't really know why. I guess it's one of those words I had just a LITTLE trouble learning as a kid, and maybe my subconscious remembers that...), but I'm not gonna fucking change it because i ain't got no tippex (shaking uncontrollably writing this because that is a brand name, but i have to use it since I find it to be the most comfortable word to describe such ink-coverer... at least I wrote it as tippex and not Tipp-Ex (but what do I know... maybe it's a wholesome 100 brand with a ceo that could have been my friend like i dont flipping know)).)
So basically... what the fuck was I talking about, again? Oh yeah, for days after the intense feeling by the window i kept those blinds SHUT, but eventually i just pulled them up entirely. I turned on myself.
There i stood, looking into the copper(?) eye of the iron(?) bird. I'm not good with birds or metals. Aren't they usually hens or roosters, these weathervanes? i think so. But this was a... i don't know. I turned on myself and started speaking with it.
It was like speaking with god. I don't know if I can do that. I'm probably like agnostic or something, though christian officially. The times I've tried I don't know how much has been I myself coming up with words for God, interrupting the divine to say what i think a god would wanna say. putting words in the empyrean mouth... The bird told me, either way, that she was a female bird and that her name was Melanie. Like surely that fucking steel(?) direction-pointer said that her name is fucking melanie, right, but like where would I have gotten that name from?
Oh yeah, I haven't even thought about this before. I have met a melanie. She lived in the same neighborhood as me before i moved out of my parents'. Melanie, oh Melanie with an M I'm upon this moment of reminiscing forcing myself to capitalize because I revered her. I really had a crush on her. But im not fucking GAY. Read, read, dear readers, how every single person I've ever known have shaped my thoughts to the point of me neglecting this obvious childhood homosexuality as something absurd. Me? Homosex? Never! Although it is impossible to circumvent in essence, I still let my thoughts run in these same tracks my "friends" have paved, denying the homosexual reality of that crush. I wish I could have known people who were never racist or had similar prejudices, such as to gay people, but you know, maybe every kid have those? I don't think so though... I don't fucking know. I do not hate anyone for any such thing they cannot control, except for myself (of course ^_^).
I don't like talking about this... i'm probably bisexual though, but i simply couldn't care. Yet, i write it, yet I feel the need to ameliorate my world of thought. "I'm not like them, these haters" I write. Yet still i hate a lot. Why is this important? I guess i just want to say it so that im not viewed as cringe... though i believe most people think it IS just that, cringe, to embrace the acceptance of everyone... But for real though............ we gotta radiate light(!!) I high-key believe.
Oh yeah, now I know why I'm writing about this... Melanie DID call me "FUCKING gay" (yes, with a weird emphasis on "fucking" and almost none such on "gay"). Why the fuck did this not come to my mind immediately? I suppose my memory isn't as good as i thought... though i DO, as stated by those handful who have noticed it, possess a good memory, especially in regards to words and numbers. But what use is that? Words but not sentences... not whole lyrics... Numbers...? I often memorize the serial numbers of products for no reason. Though, honestly, memorizing words is of great use. I like it. And it was good to be able to do for those german glossary exams during that fucking school time i but ENDURED. Maybe if i could at least fail a glossary exam it would have pushed me to drop out. But then i would have thought "Oh no i was the stupidest in the world why the fuck did i drop out"...
So to get back to what i was typing on this real typewriter (notice how i used fucking "text-align: justify;" in the css, something i bet you absolutely do all the time with real typewriters (100—also, the numbers and em dashes look off—% real)). Did i miss to close one of the pairs of parentheses? hmmm... nah... I love writing not incomprehensible but at the very least strange. I hate—Höre! Something that i hate!—clichés (obviously letting the e bear that acute accent to again make the typewriter ttf's shortage come into light (this is very meta guys)), i really do, REALLY. I like to think i'm not very cliché in my writing. But who knows. Wow that was a sentence beginning with a conjunction—watch out language purists!
I don't suppose that you, in turn, suppose that I have written this just **like that**, but if you do, then know that I didn't, that I don't. Every word, however insignificant, however shamelessly without capitalization, requires thinking. Almost an hour has passed since i threw up (in my bed ^^ so i had to get new sheets and all that).
Now I¨m going to get dinner. But before i do that, i wanna see which letters with diacritics i am able to type! Ok let's see:
éèÉÈïÏíìÍÌôÔšŠöÖźŹåÅñÑ
...not so many... but at least the beautiful letter Ö like in György Ligeti... mmm yummy composition!
Ok now i actually have to eat bitchesssss!!!