Le Sigh

I often find myself dreaming of the Irish and the Slovenian landscape. When I encounter it however in the kingdom, my first thought is that I won't be able to roam such beautiful scenery by myself unless I'm begging for free risks to fall upon me.

This is sad.

There is a certain speech to some buildings that I hear. I don't know why.
Perhaps the fact that they're surrounded by modern construction of a roaring Casablanca in the city center yet manage to keep such a mystery and poverty of the old days in their looks.
Or because these are the places that get impregnated with their inhabitants or that do the inverse.
Or just an old forgotten memory resonating in some way or another through these crowded quiet roofs.

Fantastic Mr. Fox

On Rewatch

Why the cuss does it have to escalade?
Considering advice is enough. It's not an order.

Departures

On rewatch tonight.

A Turbo Engine

...Is no longer a secret to me. I'm so grateful I'll hug punch my favorite senior and buy rounds of pies to my entourage

Kino No Tabi On Rewatch

The edge of my fading memories, the far off, frozen, unreachable life,

In a crack, in the mirror that no one can hold

Seven broken doll sing silent tears of mud

Drain the maggots’ blood in the day that will never be returned,

And pierce the eyes with the briars of a clock

That crumbled to dust within seven days,

……..

The cruel judge records the faded letters of my life..

Only a bird with broken wings can sing the truth

………

With light only silence

………

Death is frozen all the way to the edge of its molecules

While the night loves eternity,

at the same time it chops down desire with a stone axe

Drink up the pain of a brain being split open!

………

The twelve winter messengers who were washed ashore

The mirage above the piece of paper

The spent country made of glass

The corpse sings with a necklace of many, many tears on its breast

The duck’s shadow on the cliff where light has ceased to exist

Will the blameless traveler ever tell of this story?

………

When nineteen cold moons have crossed the sky

After the day of pronouncement, and the night has passed

The world will end with the rising of the sun,

What else can we do other than smash the green plate

………

The blue lamplight roams about.

In the jewel of the night, the fake empire will sink into the water…

Here is the thing :

I write to flush away ideas.

And while flushing away ideas, I see other aspects of them.

I end up writing more.

It eventually escalates into mental harrassement.

I don't exaggerate : it takes a wanton neurotic activity to black out in the kitchen while a close dear friend is confiding herself and crying out her pain.

I told her I didn't listen. I told her she had to repeat. She had the decency to at least ask what was bothering me.

When I replied that my character's ideas are starting to become toxic to me too, she was about to smash my head in the pan then send me out of the balcony for a five floors fall.
It was a wake up call nonetheless.

So now, I'm writing to flush out the effect of writing all the while writing to flush out ideas.

I really want to be done. It doesn't look I will be done by the end of this year though.

Or, I should cut back on social life, because I'm not giving up on Dutch courses and certainly not my workout, even less reading time.

I need to write.