a tendency to oversleep
between thursday and april
between thursday and april
it's fascinating
how many beautiful things
you can draw with
a pen or how many beautiful
words you can write.
and what have i
chosen? ugliness.
how many beautiful things
you can draw with
a pen or how many beautiful
words you can write.
and what have i
chosen? ugliness.
my existance doesn't make sense. the word is misspelled comme ma vie. i'm misspelled but everyone can make a mistake, even nature, it's a very human feature. i always make two cups of coffee in one mug. i put the kettle, and when it's warm enough to solubilize the granules i pour water into the mug, but coffee isn't hot enough then, it must be skin burning, it's not hot enough to burn my hard palate, the tip of my tongue, the upper lip, and the uvula. my favourite sound is [t], i love the feeling when the tip of the tongue touches the uvula in a quick almost unnoticeable movement. i'm unnoticeable, transparent. my second favourite sound is [th], the tip of the tongue flicks between the softly gritted teeth, i don't have one canine, and i enjoy scratching the tip of my tongue over the central incisors. this sensations gives me a sense of reality. perhaps, a false one. now the fly is gone, and the ashtray is full. the ashtray is a rather misleading concept. it gives an impression as if it was a party yesterday, but there was none, so on the closer look it just marks my loneliness.
the dog with a happy face, the pink tongue is hanging out of his mouth, comes to me inclining he wants to play. oh, so it's not Friday. on Fridays he would spend the whole day in bed, refusing to eat and to play, feeling nauseous, confused, unenergised, and unmischievous. but a few seconds ago, while i was looking away, trying to guess what day it was, he has stolen a pack of Kleenex from my desk, so it's definitely not Friday. i'm always seeing Monday motivation posts on Wednesdays, but i haven't seen any today, so it must be not a Wednesday. but i have deleted my social media accounts, so now even on Wednesday i can't see a Monday motivation post. maybe after all it's Wednesday. but in a long term perspective it doesn't matter what day it is. in a long term perspective nothing matters. on the second thought in a short term perspective nothing matters either. sometimes i forget to put water in the kettle. a boiling kettle without water. why can't i forget some blurry memories in the same manner? why can't we choose what to remember?
all right, where's your toy? i ask the dog kissing him on his velvet lips. where's the croco-dildo? the dog runs out of the room to return with a piece of green rubber with a crocodile head, the legs and the tail are missing, not because the dog has bitten them off, the croco-dildo is disabled by design. it's very sad and unusual. or is it usual to be broken from the start? is it a common feature of my species? a lonely underfed under-appreciated artist.
i've always suspected that pet toys were created by the same people who were designing sex toys. what? no, no, of course you aren't just a pet, you're much more, i answer the dog's questionable look, you're my friend, a very true and the only one i have. i'm not certain though if a primary job of those designers is to design sex toys or pet toys, perhaps they don't make the distinction. i must have a look at kids toys. if they resemble sex toys, then my theory is correct, and by the way the connection between sex toys and kids toys is very obvious, the sequence, firstly you buy a nice sex toy to spend some nice time with your nice boyfriend, then after this nice time comes a kid, probably less nice, then you buy kids toys and another nice sex toy for yourself, since your nice boyfriend has left you having decided that the kid wasn't nice enough.we play, the croco-dildo is so wet after being in the dog's mouth, i can't hold it, it slips away. ew, gross.
on Fridays, when the dog is dying, i would sit on the wooden floor and stare at the wall. i'm so bloody good at staring at the walls. each wall is different, each has the perfect spot to fix your gaze on, find this spot, and you can easily spend the fucking eternity with your eyes glued to the wall. the room consists of 4 corners, plus 16 corners for the door and the windows, and there're 43 railing on the balcony. i like to watch the corners from different angles. unlike my coffee 43 is an odd number. it can't be divided by two. it's even an aliquant number. see, i'm fucking smart. there're a lot more corners in the room, the corners of unsold painted canvases. the croco-dildo dies each month, and we go to a pet shop to buy a new one. i would always ask the same salesman if a new croco-dildo is gluten free, and the salesman would answer it still is. each Friday i'm frightened that i'll need to buy a new dog, but it seems that dying once in a while is just a bad habit of my old dog. he's not very old yet, he's 4 years old and he resembles Anubis, and how can you be 100% alive if you look like the god of the afterlife?
well, everyone has a right to possess one bad habit. to enjoy it, to take care of it, i must admit, my dog is a creative motherfucker, he could have just been smoking like me, or he could have chosen to dance on MDMA on an overcrowded dance floor on Fridays. you can become an influencer with this bad habit of yours, you know. i tell the dog. is dying trendy on Tik-Tok? i wonder where my painting would go to after i die? will anyone care enough to throw them away? i've deleted my social media accounts because the social media gave me a false alarm that i had a few online pals to chat with. the truth is, it's only me, my dog, and my pain-tings. i doubt someone has even noticed my disappearance. nevertheless, it's not really important.
obviously, today isn't Friday, so we go out for a walk. at a local shop i'm buying a kinder surprise, oh, oh, oh, i hope there's a toy car, and a pack of cigarettes. you are not 21 yet, a cashier informs me. wha?! are you telling me it's not my ID? i fake the resentment. do i look like someone who steals IDs? well, probably, i do. i would never steal an ID, it's so boring, what isn't boring is to steal identities, faces, lives, personal stories, to walk in someone else's shoes. i'm 31. i inform the cashier. okay, the cashier nods. do numbers make us grown-ups? oh, oh, oh, could i please have another pack? you asked for menthol slims. yes, yes, but i already know that smoking is highly addictive and i've already started, so this warning massage is a bit out-of-date for me. okay, which one would you like to have? fatal lung cancer? heart attacks and clogs? slow and painful death? i'd prefer smokers die young. here you go. thank you so much, just one last question. yes? is there life after 30? you've showed me your ID, you're 31. yes, but I doubt there was life before 30. and one year isn't enough to judge, is it? do you have our discount card? the cashier asks. i shake my head. i don't. would you like to buy one? no, thank you. each time i visit this shop, they ask me about the discount card, and each time i refuse to buy it. because if i do, they will stop asking, and it feels like we're having a small talk here. though i believe the cashier doesn't care if i buy the discount card or not. 30 years ago lonely people were talking with a TV set. i wonder do lonely people talk with Siri now? shall i try it? but c'mon, it's hard to get bored with porn hub available, pardon my pun.
yikes, i've got a toy car! in the car we're stuck in traffic. the dog on the back sit, the cabin air filter makes me sneeze, i'm dying young behind the wheel. the line not having moved a bit, the cigarette finished, i'm trying to crash it in the ashtray, but i completely forgot about a piece of chewed gum that has been there for fucking eternity. why is it still tacky? the cig making a strange hissing noise, it adheres itself to the piece of gum, and returning the favour the piece of gum glues my index and middle fingers together. bloody hell, i mutter, honking from behind, yes, yes, shit, sorry, what a beautiful attachment, fuck, i'm trying to drive and to separate my fingers. why didn't you bark back at that bastard who couldn't wait a sec and was honking like mad? i ask the dog. i know, i know, you're a well behaved person, you don't bark without a strong reason.
i've always suspected that pet toys were created by the same people who were designing sex toys. what? no, no, of course you aren't just a pet, you're much more, i answer the dog's questionable look, you're my friend, a very true and the only one i have. i'm not certain though if a primary job of those designers is to design sex toys or pet toys, perhaps they don't make the distinction. i must have a look at kids toys. if they resemble sex toys, then my theory is correct, and by the way the connection between sex toys and kids toys is very obvious, the sequence, firstly you buy a nice sex toy to spend some nice time with your nice boyfriend, then after this nice time comes a kid, probably less nice, then you buy kids toys and another nice sex toy for yourself, since your nice boyfriend has left you having decided that the kid wasn't nice enough.we play, the croco-dildo is so wet after being in the dog's mouth, i can't hold it, it slips away. ew, gross.
on Fridays, when the dog is dying, i would sit on the wooden floor and stare at the wall. i'm so bloody good at staring at the walls. each wall is different, each has the perfect spot to fix your gaze on, find this spot, and you can easily spend the fucking eternity with your eyes glued to the wall. the room consists of 4 corners, plus 16 corners for the door and the windows, and there're 43 railing on the balcony. i like to watch the corners from different angles. unlike my coffee 43 is an odd number. it can't be divided by two. it's even an aliquant number. see, i'm fucking smart. there're a lot more corners in the room, the corners of unsold painted canvases. the croco-dildo dies each month, and we go to a pet shop to buy a new one. i would always ask the same salesman if a new croco-dildo is gluten free, and the salesman would answer it still is. each Friday i'm frightened that i'll need to buy a new dog, but it seems that dying once in a while is just a bad habit of my old dog. he's not very old yet, he's 4 years old and he resembles Anubis, and how can you be 100% alive if you look like the god of the afterlife?
well, everyone has a right to possess one bad habit. to enjoy it, to take care of it, i must admit, my dog is a creative motherfucker, he could have just been smoking like me, or he could have chosen to dance on MDMA on an overcrowded dance floor on Fridays. you can become an influencer with this bad habit of yours, you know. i tell the dog. is dying trendy on Tik-Tok? i wonder where my painting would go to after i die? will anyone care enough to throw them away? i've deleted my social media accounts because the social media gave me a false alarm that i had a few online pals to chat with. the truth is, it's only me, my dog, and my pain-tings. i doubt someone has even noticed my disappearance. nevertheless, it's not really important.
obviously, today isn't Friday, so we go out for a walk. at a local shop i'm buying a kinder surprise, oh, oh, oh, i hope there's a toy car, and a pack of cigarettes. you are not 21 yet, a cashier informs me. wha?! are you telling me it's not my ID? i fake the resentment. do i look like someone who steals IDs? well, probably, i do. i would never steal an ID, it's so boring, what isn't boring is to steal identities, faces, lives, personal stories, to walk in someone else's shoes. i'm 31. i inform the cashier. okay, the cashier nods. do numbers make us grown-ups? oh, oh, oh, could i please have another pack? you asked for menthol slims. yes, yes, but i already know that smoking is highly addictive and i've already started, so this warning massage is a bit out-of-date for me. okay, which one would you like to have? fatal lung cancer? heart attacks and clogs? slow and painful death? i'd prefer smokers die young. here you go. thank you so much, just one last question. yes? is there life after 30? you've showed me your ID, you're 31. yes, but I doubt there was life before 30. and one year isn't enough to judge, is it? do you have our discount card? the cashier asks. i shake my head. i don't. would you like to buy one? no, thank you. each time i visit this shop, they ask me about the discount card, and each time i refuse to buy it. because if i do, they will stop asking, and it feels like we're having a small talk here. though i believe the cashier doesn't care if i buy the discount card or not. 30 years ago lonely people were talking with a TV set. i wonder do lonely people talk with Siri now? shall i try it? but c'mon, it's hard to get bored with porn hub available, pardon my pun.
yikes, i've got a toy car! in the car we're stuck in traffic. the dog on the back sit, the cabin air filter makes me sneeze, i'm dying young behind the wheel. the line not having moved a bit, the cigarette finished, i'm trying to crash it in the ashtray, but i completely forgot about a piece of chewed gum that has been there for fucking eternity. why is it still tacky? the cig making a strange hissing noise, it adheres itself to the piece of gum, and returning the favour the piece of gum glues my index and middle fingers together. bloody hell, i mutter, honking from behind, yes, yes, shit, sorry, what a beautiful attachment, fuck, i'm trying to drive and to separate my fingers. why didn't you bark back at that bastard who couldn't wait a sec and was honking like mad? i ask the dog. i know, i know, you're a well behaved person, you don't bark without a strong reason.
we found a deserted dead end street. the dead end street is blocked by roadworks, so there's a dead end on both ends. an odd place to take a stroll. the dog is sniffing a waste container. no, no, no, don't you jump on the top, you're too heavy, it's unsafe. he puts his front legs on the lid. he knows that this exercise can earn him a ball. but i pretend i don't understand what he wants. my father always advising me to play dumb. though i believe he meant to play dumb among people. but i have to practice. do you want me to take your portrait? very well, then. i get my old Polaroid camera from my backpack. stand still. ah, a Polaroid won't develop, i press the button and release the dog throwing him the so much desired ball. it's too cold, the chemistry won't work, i explain. the chemistry never works for me. that's why i praise the climate change, with warm weather i'll be able to prendre les Polaroids vieux in winters. i know, it's irresponsible and selfish to think so.
a grey bin, a sticker with vector bottles, an empty pack of chewing gum, the last piece of gum goes into my mouth, the pack goes into the box for glass. i take out a box of colour chalks. i kneel down and draw a stick figure on the smooth asphalt surface. each artist usually draws himself. but i make this stick figure a girl.
a grey bin, a sticker with vector bottles, an empty pack of chewing gum, the last piece of gum goes into my mouth, the pack goes into the box for glass. i take out a box of colour chalks. i kneel down and draw a stick figure on the smooth asphalt surface. each artist usually draws himself. but i make this stick figure a girl.
hi there. i greet her.
hello.
you look good.
thank you.
the dog comes to us and suspiciously sniffs the ground.
hey, hey, do not scare the young lady. he drops the ball and takes a blue chalk into his mouth. a good idea, i comment, when i was five, i was sure that when milk teeth would be replaced with permanent teeth, the latter would be deep blue. deep blue and true cyan have always been my favourite colours. i was very disappointed when my dad told me the permanent teeth would be normal white. so i don't mind if you colour your fangs in blue. i tell the dog.
that's why you painted me blue? the girl says.
that's why i painted you white. what's your name? i ask her.
i don't know, you've drawn me.
i have, but it doesn't mean you haven't been existing before that. the chewing gum has become tasteless, i take it out and put it in my ear tunnel.
shall we be friends?
of course. you must be wondering why i didn't draw your ears.
you didn't?
oh how silly of me, you can't see yourself. i'll show you. i switch on a front camera on my smartphone. you see, human ears are, um, basically ridiculous. the form is hideous, this body item is grotesque, and I'm not referring to sans serif, you probably don't know what it is, never mind, but ears look as if they have been glued to a head and would come off any minute. Arms are beautiful, fingers are dazzling…
if they don't resemble sausages…
of course, there's another body piece that is designed to resemble a sausage. a neck, shoulders, legs, feet, a torso, they all fit, except for the ears. even the most horrid and crooked nose is always on its place. when I was five the only element i wasn't able to draw was an ear, you know those stick figures, like you, i tried to attach ears to them and I couldn't. I asked my father's permission not to draw ears, I told him, dad, can I skip the ear phase please, the ears are impossible, unbearable, the ears are cruel and they're making fun of me. damn it, the bloody gum has stuck in my ear tunnel blocking it.
you couldn't say that if you were only five.
well, no doubt I meant it.
and what did your father answer?
hello.
you look good.
thank you.
the dog comes to us and suspiciously sniffs the ground.
hey, hey, do not scare the young lady. he drops the ball and takes a blue chalk into his mouth. a good idea, i comment, when i was five, i was sure that when milk teeth would be replaced with permanent teeth, the latter would be deep blue. deep blue and true cyan have always been my favourite colours. i was very disappointed when my dad told me the permanent teeth would be normal white. so i don't mind if you colour your fangs in blue. i tell the dog.
that's why you painted me blue? the girl says.
that's why i painted you white. what's your name? i ask her.
i don't know, you've drawn me.
i have, but it doesn't mean you haven't been existing before that. the chewing gum has become tasteless, i take it out and put it in my ear tunnel.
shall we be friends?
of course. you must be wondering why i didn't draw your ears.
you didn't?
oh how silly of me, you can't see yourself. i'll show you. i switch on a front camera on my smartphone. you see, human ears are, um, basically ridiculous. the form is hideous, this body item is grotesque, and I'm not referring to sans serif, you probably don't know what it is, never mind, but ears look as if they have been glued to a head and would come off any minute. Arms are beautiful, fingers are dazzling…
if they don't resemble sausages…
of course, there's another body piece that is designed to resemble a sausage. a neck, shoulders, legs, feet, a torso, they all fit, except for the ears. even the most horrid and crooked nose is always on its place. when I was five the only element i wasn't able to draw was an ear, you know those stick figures, like you, i tried to attach ears to them and I couldn't. I asked my father's permission not to draw ears, I told him, dad, can I skip the ear phase please, the ears are impossible, unbearable, the ears are cruel and they're making fun of me. damn it, the bloody gum has stuck in my ear tunnel blocking it.
you couldn't say that if you were only five.
well, no doubt I meant it.
and what did your father answer?
certainly not, you have to draw ears, too, try better. i sigh. what if I push the gum out from the ear gauge with a cigarette? hm.
this is ridiculous.
exactly, that's exactly what i'm saying, ears are ridiculous.
no, what you're saying is ridiculous.
the piece of gum falls onto an asphalt-grey asphalt. the cigarette is now stuck in the tunnel.
do you want me to draw you ears? so you can probably wear ear rings?
no, thank you, i like how i look.
well, thank you. i'm trying to light the cigarette in my ear hoping that when it becomes shorter it will be easier to get it out.
would you please help me? to smoke the cigarette?
but It's in your ear.
not in the ear. it's rather going through my ear. you smoke it, and I'll be able to remove it from my ear.
you've just said it wasn't in your ear.
oh, you're clever.
i'm sorry, i don't smoke.
a shame. i mean good for you.
this is ridiculous.
exactly, that's exactly what i'm saying, ears are ridiculous.
no, what you're saying is ridiculous.
the piece of gum falls onto an asphalt-grey asphalt. the cigarette is now stuck in the tunnel.
do you want me to draw you ears? so you can probably wear ear rings?
no, thank you, i like how i look.
well, thank you. i'm trying to light the cigarette in my ear hoping that when it becomes shorter it will be easier to get it out.
would you please help me? to smoke the cigarette?
but It's in your ear.
not in the ear. it's rather going through my ear. you smoke it, and I'll be able to remove it from my ear.
you've just said it wasn't in your ear.
oh, you're clever.
i'm sorry, i don't smoke.
a shame. i mean good for you.
self-portrait. i believe i'm a 2d stick figure stuck in the 3d world
i tried pot once, and ended up staring at the wall for the whole night. she tells me.
yeah? that's why i didn't draw you on the wall, from the asphalt you can see the sky, der Himmel, le ciel, do you like it? why the sky is masculine? so you don't do it frequently, do you?
i told you I've tried it once.
nah, staring at walls?
i think not.
so what effect will weed have on someone who stares at walls daily not being high?
the reverse?
what's his name? the girl asks.
he doesn't have a name, he's just a dog, a name is too personal, I don't want to get too attached to him, in case he dies someday, 'some dog dies' is more affordable than 'your favourite dog, your family member, your only friend dies', don't you think?
and what is the reverse to staring at walls?
not being able to fix the gaze on anything?
i give her a slightly painful smile as the cigarette after all gives me a light skin burn. but i've managed to get it out.
i'm always asking wrong questions. how do people with colourblindness pick up their favourite Skittles flavour?
yeah? that's why i didn't draw you on the wall, from the asphalt you can see the sky, der Himmel, le ciel, do you like it? why the sky is masculine? so you don't do it frequently, do you?
i told you I've tried it once.
nah, staring at walls?
i think not.
so what effect will weed have on someone who stares at walls daily not being high?
the reverse?
what's his name? the girl asks.
he doesn't have a name, he's just a dog, a name is too personal, I don't want to get too attached to him, in case he dies someday, 'some dog dies' is more affordable than 'your favourite dog, your family member, your only friend dies', don't you think?
and what is the reverse to staring at walls?
not being able to fix the gaze on anything?
i give her a slightly painful smile as the cigarette after all gives me a light skin burn. but i've managed to get it out.
i'm always asking wrong questions. how do people with colourblindness pick up their favourite Skittles flavour?
it's just a bad day, it's just a bad week, it's just a bad month, it's just a bad year, it's just a bad life
would you be interested in having some wine? i have half a bottle of cheap chardonnays in my fridge, i bought if for my last birthday, got shit-headed…
with half a bottle?
with half a bottle alone. and alone… so, there's still half a bottle to go.
i don't think i should, it's too early for wine.
of course, i agree.
don't you feel lonely here? i can draw your some company, another stick figure, a nice one, and a chalk house, and a car, and a dog, and a cat.
i don't need a car, nowhere to go.
i can draw you something. a beach, a forest, mountains.
thank you, but i like the sky. why didn't you draw me with spray paint? so i would last longer?
because a 5-minute friendship is the strongest bond.
will you come to visit me? tomorrow, perhaps?
i will, if the weather is good and it's not raining.
on the back trip it is raining. aquaplaning is fun. if tomorrow isn't Friday, we'll take a beach trip, i promise the dog.