You see. It’s all in your head…


He pulls the shades down. he darkens the room. he puts his music on, and floats in a reverie. (reverie. what a pretentious word). not really. he just floats away in a cloud of… sadness. yes maybe sadness. with a trace of anger. but diffuse anger. the kind when one doesn’t exactly know toward whom this anger is. emptiness.

He walks toward the kitchen, grabs a dish and smashes it on the floor. he enjoys the sound of breaking glass. the shattering of a million pieces all over the place. he has to clean now. but he WON’T. because he doesn’t give a fuck.

Great. Channel his anger toward something more destructive: writing this post. he is writing this post and not me. No no not me. I am still at work making movies of dead corps. they contract and detach and float away. by the millions I tell you.

- I didn’t like what she said to you.

He is not well, you see. Perhaps now I could say that after all these years, there are too many people living in his head. It’s crowded in there. I mean, there’s no place to think. sometimes I wish things were more organized, like people could take shifts over the played character… or the projected or presented personality, however you want to call it. he can’t even write this properly. pathetic.

- What did you say?
- I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to you. explain yourself. why did you like what she said.
- After all she was being herself.
- What the fuck are you talking about? and who is she?
- I’m going to stick the penis in the airshaft and see what will happen.
- I thought we stopped doing that.
- Who’re we? we only share this fuck but we are in no way shape or form related.
- Yeah. don’t associate yourself with others. especially you. you piece of shit.
- I’m sticking the penis in the airshaft. she liked it last time.
- Would you fuck off with the penis already. no one is in the house anyway.
- Will someone open the shades. it’s kinda gloomy in here.
- Please be quite I am trying to listen to the music.
- Not Fauré again. what the fuck is wrong with you.
- It helps me calm down.
- Who the fuck asked you.
- It’s helps me… float.
- Great.
- Fuck you.
- I am breaking this fucking dish.
- You broke it! you clean this mess now. I am not fucking cleaning after you anymore.
- Fuck you.
- Yeah. walk away. YOU ALL WALK AWAY. no one does anything around here except me.
- SSSHHH. You’ll wake up the kids.
- That’s it. you know. Where’re the razor blades.
- What are you going to do?
- I know what I am doing.
- Stop right there.
- That hurts…
- I am floating again now.
- Yeah float away…
- I love Fauré.
- We all do.
- Is it cold? Or it’s just me.
- Hello? Anyone there? Helloooo. I…
- I…
- I…
- I…