Recently read: Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk, Perfume by Patrick Suskind
The latter being an absolutely amazing book - of such creativity and rare depth, I couldn't believe what I was reading. The former ... a bit of a disappointment, truth be told - I fucking love Palahniuk's books and stories and, yet, this one felt ... hollow and empty. His writing has grown old or at least the same message told in the same way, though interesting in the beginning grows weary and tiresome by the end. Leaving you just feeling unwell or uneasy if you have a weak stomach. Or just ... bored.
On my front, I'm trying to write again - this time for someone. So ... woo hoo for me, I suppose. Excited as I am in the beginning, and coming to the point where every idea I propose in my head is questioned as being ridiculous and unnecessary. I should just allow myself to write and come up with something and then chop it out later if needed. Create something before you destroy it, kind sir.
Life rolls on otherwise. I feel a mild euphoria that fades in and out and mingles with sadness and worry/fear. I don't know why I have reason to be, but I am happy with the simple things. I've come to love the train rides. Really, really love them. As wonderful times for myself to be by myself. Just there. In another zone, if you will. I don't have to look out the window to watch the fields of green and skies of blue. Or the mish-mash of electricity and telephone wires all around me. The concrete jungles interrupted by minor forests of timber and leaves. Or even to see a red moon, glowing like some unholy sphere in the dying embers of daylight. No, the train ride is special and something that I really enjoy. I savour it.
I don't so much enjoy the walk home. Less so if the bag is heavy. Even less so if the folks at home are awake. Or even the walk to the station to begin the journey. I don't enjoy people so much as I do the notion of them and their existence. Their fully-fleshed out personas serving better as puppets in stories than as living, breathing entities that stink or make noise or generally pollute the visual framework of my world.
You know when you wait so long to hear a certain piece of news. Just hoping and praying that something might happen. And then ... unbelievably it does. What do you do then? Did you ever think about what you could and would do in that unlikeliest of scenarios that has just transpired? Where your actions aren't hampered by reality and its constraints?
I depart now. Return someday soon.
