September 7. Maculate drawings.

How about this: “for ONCE in your life NOT to be constructing that life around your own future. For once, o dear god, living this life as a self that has the goddamn luxury to have wider interests than his self.” It is a quote from the writer Fleyms, who is hardly known these days. I begin doing what I am supposed to do according to Fleyms. But that’s another story. It would be nice to come up with some more “literature” here. Experimental like ever, if you hurt your eyes by reading it – your fault. If you mis the gem that accidentally lurks in those texts – your fault. This text is like the atelier of a minor Picasso, crammed with aquarels, oil paintings, blurry gouaches, maculate drawings, and just sticky blots of paint in every possible color. Question: why do you write. Answer: because it makes me feel good. Question: is there anything else important besides your feeling. Answer: the good in makes me feel good is a good with solid foundations. I would not be surprised if it is very similar to your good since you have been raised in the very same culture as I have. And that means it will make you and many more feel good too. So by writing I most probably do good. Question: do you always make straight what lies bent before you? Answer: oh yeah.

There is no other way. Ultimate judge is our own esthetic conscience. Our supermoral task is to make this conscience a hell of a pretty thing. How? By whirling around like a frenzy indoor butterfly looking for the light and bumping against every window. And breaking out the walls, and the ceiling too, and the floor, and whatever I’ve left out, and spiraling in every direction, zzzzzz.

07:00. He feels hungry this morning, an occurence for which he is rather thankful since it prevents him from staying in bed too long. He remembers the fact that there is real butter in the refrigerator as he stretches out his arms, intertwines all his fingers, turns his hands around and lifts his arms slowly behind his head. He yawns comfortably and then hops off the bed in order to make his way downstairs. Before he reaches the kitchen, he remembers his friend’s advise: Johnny be careful with the saturated, with the annimal fat. He switches on the television in the kitchen, good to have this extra set here. What was the name of that colleague of a friend of his again, that forced him to justify the purchase of his second television set? He should have said “and what does justify your purchase of a second wife?” but he never has such a quick mind. Doesn’t animal fat make the mind quicker? Lions and tigers eat a lot of it and they need a quick mind, or at least quick decisions, all the time. They are alert every second they don’t sleep. Doesn’t that idea make us feel tired? Strawberry ginger marmelade, a fancy bell-shaped glass. Crispy crackers. How good life treats us if we realize it. The television signal is bad, probably bad weather outside. Does it matter? The voice is calming as always. Johnny eats his cracker and puts the butter back in the refrigerator.

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Published by

Kamiel Choi

Dutch philosopher and poet, sometimes sharing thoughts on the internet.

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