A myriad number of emotions carve through my surface. I am a seething bundle of collapsed energy. Even as I write this, I wonder at the sense in writing, in the mess of the world that we trap our mind in. A friend said my writing is “Kafka-esque.” It amuses me, that word.
I know not who Kafka was except that it sounds nice to sit in some literary pub in London, and nod understandingly when his name is mentioned. My sheer ignorance of the world, its colorful tapestry of movement, form and words is immense. Music I know not. Literature I remember not. Architecture I understand not. And the sheer consumer branding of materialism that others derive their identification from – oh look, Harley! Coke! Levis! Tommy Hilfiger! Delsey!
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Cast the Levis,
Catch the Coke addiction
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Lug the Delsey
Bite the Godiva melt
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This is by far the crappiest post on this blog. But sometimes we need the crap, the dirt, the mud, to jolt us out the insane reality we believe our life is and realize just for a moment how painful happiness can be in the face of fleet-footed Time.
