I Know Nothing

I know many things. I know Girls in hip-hop music videos are just there to give me an erection. I know I’m very shy when it comes to flirting. I know rappers have a thing lately of replacing lyrics with their name. I know apples grow on trees and trees grow on land and the word ‘land’ can also be used as a verb. Planes land on airports and airports are full of people and people are beautiful but none of them is as beautiful as you.

I know I’m not artistic enough to make a happening. I know I’m not shameless enough to introduce myself as an artist. I know I’m not brave enough to fight a bear empty handed. I know bears live in caves and caves are dark and darkness is light with the colors reversed. I know dogs bark and bark covers willows and willows weep and weeping is pretty much all I do lately.

I know you don’t talk to me because you don’t care and I know you don’t care because you don’t know me and I know you don’t know me because you don’t talk to me. I know ducks are noisy because I’ve heard them and I know cinnamon rolls are delicious because I’ve tasted them and I know water is odorless because I’ve tried to smell it and I know you’re pretty because I’ve seen you and I know you’re shallow because I’ve read your Facebook statuses.

I know doctors diagnose and drug addicts overdose and my self-confidence is comatose and trying to find something to rhyme with diagnose is the worst thing that can happen to someone. I know drugs are bad except when they’re prescribed and I know dobermans are harmful unless they’re leashed and I know books should not be judged by their cover unless the cover says “A Brief History of The Balkans” because the Balkans actually have a pretty long history.

I know love is a four letter word and hate is a four letter word and the bigger the word the less used it is and I know that’s why no one uses “Cheiloproclitic”, even if it accurately describes most of my feelings for you. I know that if I want to know you it’s because I don’t know who you really are. I know leaves are green and blood is red and the ocean is blue and everything is relative. I know that if everything is relative, then I can’t be sure of anything and therefore everything I know is wrong.

I know nothing.

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Tiny Pictures Are Driving Me Crazy

All see of you is a tiny picture and a green light. The light supposedly tells me when you’re on your computer.

And what I write does not seem to be that meaningful and I can’t really draw for shit and all the time I’m staring at you like some kind of really freakish stalker which I really don’t want to be but am. I’m already sick of having been angry and I’m hoping I’m not angry like that for a long time and still here I am looking at your picture thinking about clicking it and sending you a message saying “hello”, which will let you know immediately that I like you and, honestly, that’s a little scary.

It’s a little scary because it takes me about a year to grow a pint of self-esteem. My last misadventure took me four months to get over and, even if I feel like I have some self-confidence back, what some people have told me convinces me that my self-confidence is nothing but a necessity my mind has to desperately search for someone I can finally be with. A mind thinking of itself is never sure of anything. My days are spent asking myself if I actually like you or if you’re just very pretty. Which you are. The thing is, I’ve only heard your voice once and completely forgotten how it sounds. I’ve never made conversation with you.

If I talk to you, I don’t know how you’re going to react to my aversion to pop music, or nightclubs, or getting drunk, or thinking rationally, or common sense. Nothing’s for sure but maybe you’ll hate me. Sooner or later i’ll have to tell you that I tried to commit suicide thrice now; I love flaunting that around. I don’t know how you’ll react to that. Maybe suicide makes you sick. Maybe suicidal people disgust you. Maybe depressive people disgust you too. Maybe you won’t like the movies I like. Maybe you hate the books I read.Your friends probably hate me. Maybe you do too already.

The bottom line is, it’s hard to decide if I really like you or if you’re just one of the dozen girls I’ve liked this year. Either way I’ll probably talk to you once my procrastination wears off or I get a little more confidence.

Not So Brief Thoughts That Should Not Be Taken Seriously Because They're Bullshit

Let’s face it. All we really want is a nice picture of a special someone we can carry around in our wallets. Here’s the real crossroads I’m in.

I haven’t written anything significant since Flowers and even though I know I’ll be back on my metaphorical horse soon, I just can’t find any inspiration. I’m not sad anymore, which is good but it’s useless. I’m not angry anymore, which is good but boring. Every single sad memory I seem to fathom just gives me brief glimpses at what I’m really trying to express and instead I just end up writing something mediocre. Hence, this post. Let’s express ourselves honestly again.

I’m uninterested in anything. Summer days pass me by like a rock on the beach. I know no love, I know no hate, I know no interest. I try desperately to feel something for anything or anyone, and fail. This is not depressing, or else my point would be broken.

Pictures used to awaken feeling in me. I used to like people. I used to be attracted to people. By the way, that word, “attracted”, it’s a very inappropriate word but it serves to describe what I mean. I used to fall in love quite easily. I mean, hell, I can’t remember the last time I thought a girl was anything more than “pretty. By the way, that word, “pretty” is quite vague and depends on the person judging but it helps to get my point across. Nowadays I don’t even look twice at girls anymore. I don’t look twice at men either, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Political movements plague my once peaceful internet social networks and now everything has to be a debate. I’m particularly taken aback by the fact that one of the biggest political movements in my country right now is based on a Twitter hashtag. That’s just…unholy. I can’t visit two fucking internet profiles without finding a political message. I don’t even care about politics right now. Whatever happens is alright. We’ll all get used to it.

Don’t get me started on my phone. That shit hasn’t made a real phone call in such a long time, it’s starting to forget how to do it. You would think, being a phone, making/receiving calls would be it’s primary function. Not this one. If it weren’t for the fact that the screen lights up and I can play games in it it would be dead.

I’ve always been good at bullshitting people. Like, pretending to adore the sunset and the sunrise and baby’s laughter and tiny dogs. I must admit I do appreciate tiny dogs very much but that’s unrelated to the matter at hand. I woke up this morning and I couldn’t get my mask on. I could not pretend I was thrilled to be anywhere. It was the first time in ages that I just could not make pretend happiness.

I’m losing my touch.

ALL OF THEM.

Not-so-brief Thoughts About Darkness

Our perception of the world is based on light, and still most of us can’t escape darkness. When you close a room, and you imagine the inside of the room, your mind imagines it full of light so you can perceive the details. Reality is, the image in your mind is completely black. When we drink water from a sealed container, we know the water is clear, transparent, and yet, it comes from such a dark place that we probably wouldn’t drink if we imagined it like that.

Little kids are afraid of darkness. Grown people are afraid of closed dark rooms. Old people are afraid of death. It’s all the same thing.

A lake at night is much more terrifying that a lake in broad daylight. You can’t see beneath the water’s surface. What you can’t see, you cannot explain. What you can’t see, you fear.

So much darkness around us and still people fear it.

I’m just walking in the borderline between light and darkness hoping I won’t fall into either one because once you choose one side you can’t see the other.

I’m falling into darkness because darkness loves me and she treats me like a friend.

I’m falling into darkness because all my friends are here: Sorrow, Hatred, Depression and Loneliness.

I’m falling into darkness because my world is based on darkness.

I’m falling into darkness hoping I run into someone like me and we’ll drink our worries away.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

It’s funny how perception comes and goes and even if you pretend to be ok, your inner self knows you’re actually pretty miserable. Sure, I talk big and act like are going to be just fine, but that’s just because I want other people to believe it. Actual fact is, I’ve kind of forgotten what it feels like to truly smile. I’ve forgotten how it feels to really enjoy oneself and let things go. These days, as all days, I depend on music to cheer me up. Like an IV, those songs seem to just get me through the day. I relish on fake emotions. As far as perception goes, I can still see how a bird flying from a tree is both significant and beautiful. I can still appreciate the uniqueness of the wind flowing in a field, I just can’t make it affect me. I am, for lack of a better word, bitter. Very bitter. I am always in some kind of emotional pain and I get very angry with very little. Still, I find some comfort in playing music regularly and hearing the same songs over and over.

Today I went by your house. Like, not in front of it, but near. I remembered I could truly smile after seeing you. I was so excited I would sing out loud inside my car. I just didn’t know what to do with all my happiness. I remembered that once i left your house insecure and a little depressed because I thought it was to good to be true and I didn’t want it to end. I remembered how I felt like seeing you was something I had been doing for a long time. It felt natural. It felt like home when I was with you. It’s been a long time since I felt at home.

Flowers

I am outside the movie theater, and it is raining. The watch in my right hand says it’s nine thirty P.M. My left shoe says it’s too torn to walk in the rain without some of the rain accidentally seeping into my sock. My right shoe says it’s OK. My jacket says it’s getting really wet, but it can take it. My shirt says the jacket’s doing a really poor job. The flowers in my left hand say they like the rain. My right hand says it’s too late, and it does so without looking at the watch. In the purest of aspects, my right hand’s right. The movie probably finished fifteen minutes ago and she hasn’t come out.

My brain says she’s probably making out with some other guy inside the theater. My heart says there’s no way that’s happening. The other guy’s lips says I better believe it because it’s totally going down. Her lips say it’s nothing personal. Her brain says it is. Her right leg says his hand is going way too high. Her left leg says it’s fine. His left hand says it wants to go higher. Her eyes can’t say anything because they’re closed, but his eyes are wide open and they’re saying that those breasts look like a C cup for sure, maybe even a D. Her throat can’t really say anything since his tongue seems to be doing all the talking.

Still, the rain tells me to go home and the horn of the passing taxi asks if I need a ride and my head simply responds, no. The posters outside the cinema say I would like the movie showing after this one, just in case I have nothing to do with my time. My watch gets excited at the mention of time. My wallet says if I watch a movie right now I’ll have to return home walking. My shoes, in one voice, say that walking home is not going to be very comfortable. My wet socks agree. My feet just nod.

Her shirt says it wants to come off but her brain says it’s not coming off inside the theater. The janitor’s glasses say that shirt’s coming off for sure because he hasn’t been standing here for the last ten minutes to not see some decent action. His broom just wants it to be over so she can get to cleaning. The mop agrees. His new pants say they feel uncomfortable with the newly found tension and his boxers say they should just get used to it. His seat says it’s gotten way too warm and it would like it if he just got up and left, but no one listens to seats anyway.

My watch says it’s too late and my jacket says it’s too late and my wet hair insists it’s been too late for quite a while and the flowers in my left hand say it’s never too late but flowers are stupid anyway. My shoes want to get a cab and my socks want to dry off and my jacket wants to rest on a nice clean hanger and my shirt wants to be washed and my glasses just want to see her, and I’m in no place to comply with all their demands right now because it’s nine forty-five P.M and it’s raining so much my legs say I’m thirty percent heavier now than fifteen minutes ago.

Her mouth just asked him if he wants to get out of there and his mouth says yes. And the janitor’s glasses are disappointed and both his hands are disappointed but excited and her shirt can’t wait to be off and her hair can’t wait to get loose and her legs can’t wait to spread and the broom can’t wait to clean. His car keys in his pocket can’t wait to turn his car on and his car can’t wait to drive and his bed can’t wait to have people on top of it and my heart finally says it’s too late.

The flowers in my left hand fall to the trash can next to the movie theater and the trash can thanks me loudly as the tires from the cab I just signaled seem to sigh in relief. My shoes are relieved and my socks stop worrying but are still wet and my hands are trembling and I can’t understand what they’re saying and my glasses can’t see a thing and my jacket thanks me but does nothing to make me feel better and my watch says it’s almost ten P.M. My right hand closes the cab door as my mouth mumbles my address and the cabbie nods in understanding and his feet cheer having some kind of purpose again.

The theater door opens with a low hum of appreciation as their clothes and their hair discover it’s raining outside and his hands offer his jacket to her just because he wants too look like a gentleman, and her mouth mutters a quiet thank you and her nose smells the cologne he’s wearing and finally comes to the conclusion that his jacket smells like me. And her eyes says they’re not crying and her brain says they are and her cheeks say it’s a good thing it’s raining and the tears get confused with the raindrops falling from her face to her chest to her legs to her feet to the floor.

Then her eyes see the flowers in the trash.