19 April 2011

True story bro

“coffee. yeah with milk.” it is half past two inside the biggest gay club in scandinavia, and the woman dressed in all black desires milk in her filter coffee. fuck,
“we should get a cab.”
“I want to drink my coffee. what's the matter, aren't you into human watching tonight?”

I look into her sober eyes reflecting neon lights, and direct them to the smallest midget I've seen. wearing a skimpy black dress she is leaning to the backrest of her small but well elevated electric wheelchair, while holding a drink in her hand and talking to two bald men in armani suits. when I return my gaze to her face, she goes on to say,

“I love it. if I were a midget there'd be no chance in hell I would try to normalize myself into the lie of being just like everyone else, working in a cubicle or filling up shelves in suburban libraries, na-ah, not when having been born to be in the showbiz.”
“meaning where dwarf-celine's skills and passion meet the world's needs.”
“hell yes. I am already an attention seeking loony as I am now so why would I pass the chance to make people laugh and get laid if possessing a body of a little person.”

while she finishes her coffee, I can't but wonder what drives people into a lair such as this. if the simplest answer is often true, then I'd have to vote for sex. too bad I really cannot claim to know what this sex thing is about atm when there's a woman dancing a couple of feet from me, rocking, among other things, her ass implants.

on the backseat of the taxi I read through my emails while celine is mindfucking two drunken guys who offered to pay the ride if she showed them the party. I don't know what to call her, so I will go for a secret admirer here, so, a secret admirer had sent me a long email.

I was sitting in the bus today with eyes blinded by the sun, sitting next to a young russian man who was looking over his young beautiful wife and their small baby, and even I felt his pride when I saw how the wife kissed the cheek of the giggling infant on his first summery day ever, kissed his cheek and mumbled parts of the narrative that he will grow to embrace as his first view of the workings of this maze, in russian of course. those tender kisses on his cheek must make him so whole with the essence of things, if the essence of things really is love.

I am not sure anymore about what I hold in my heart as the definition of love. a couple of years back I found a good enough analysis on love by ayn rand. I know she didn't, apparently, quite live up to her own high moral standards, but still I saw some truth in her view about love at first glance being possible because one is able to see from the eyes and the overall presence of another being that "that stranger has the same sense of life as I do." 

it is just like I had when I saw behind your narrative, the story you put out. I want you to come and visit me again, if you need I can send you...

“give me that,” says celine and takes my phone from me, and calls to someone who needs directions. I listen to her talk as if she owned the world, and I guess she does. as an old goth, she has sucked the life out of life so effectively that her individualism is overbearing at times. she is like the black hole of attention, getting it all wherever she goes without ever making any fucking sense to anyone.

maybe I am just stoned, but I could swear myself to be right when this sense of life thing feels to tie into her narcissistic void, making it all feel nothing but wrong to me. If I were to see myself running wild in the body of a woman, would I go and grab the thing and bring it home, just for us to come to the conclusion that our souls match and because of that we are to overcome death in a state of everlasting bliss?

the taxi pulls over by an abandoned warehouse area. from the inside courtyard of this officially nonexistent event I find an old colleague and a man so beautiful he shouldn't exist at all, both tripping.

“nothing exists except that which you perceive, don't you get it, like just now you came here and before that you were nonexistent,” says the beauty with his perfect smile making everyone but celine willing to believe that he has reached some ultimate truth via nothing but a shortcut.
“you have to acknowledge the existence of other dimensions. I come from another dimension.”
“don't try to mindfuck me celine, you don't know what I know.”
“yes, I know everything you think you know, and fuck you for trying to deny the existence of my consciousness.”

I leave celine performing with the suggestible ones to go inside and walk through a hall filled with people moving in the rhythm of scurry, bathing myself in neon lights before passing a heavy curtain dividing the area to the so called backstage.

a single table is placed on the concrete floor, with two intertwined rows of chairs by it. I sit down, and notice a sofa in the corner of the room, with someone passed out on it. a party where you can pass out in peace is my kind of party.

the bassline comes on heavy from the huge speakers not far from my back, making my spine quake with its continuous tautness. my hands shake as does my whole body, but I manage to roll a joint and light it. on the other side of the table, a pair of eyes is locked onto me, and as our eyes meet, mine... stop. everything appears to stop, and I ask myself once and repeat the question twice, should I redirect my gaze and look at the back wall or something?

the owner of the eyes sits next to me, and it doesn't take long for me to go ballistic due to having found someone who laughs at the products of my idiotic sense of humor.

“well could you have imagined it otherwise, the great soviet union not being able to control every single living thing into doing whatever father lenin wanted them to do for the whole? of course bears played ice hockey. and after the fall of cccp they have degenerated to stealing cars.”

through 3G I surf to youtube, and prove my point with a video of a russian bear committing grand theft auto. and so, after a brief aerobics session on the other side of the curtain, a thick sense of irony overcomes me as I score with the most unlikely of all random declarations possible,

“I want to see the world finally give a chance to laissez-faire capitalism.”

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