MonocleCat333

“Maybe sometimes you reach your limit in life, and you have experienced it all – even though you don’t know – you can feel it. You can feel it by the way you are living your life. Like there are no aspirations left inside you.

Like nothing seems to add value in life. Meaninglessness surrounding you.

The only thing that keeps you going is the urge of expression. Expressing this weird feeling you feel, by trying to objectify it and let it out.

It is like you want to die but there is some hidden creativity inside you. It keeps you living because it needs to be freed. A creativity that was born from too many experiences.

Experiences created by a heightened intensity of life, that sometimes seem impossible to bare and push you towards death. So even though they push you towards death they are also the source of the creativity that keeps you alive.

Absurdity. I’m swimming in a sea of absurdity. Maybe death is the answer”

MonocleCat333

18279Bob didn’t even know why the top of his left ear was cropped, but he knew all this other stuff. How could this be possible he asked himself – not once. 

He logged off, frustrated and sad went to the mirror that stood against the wall and started to lick himself clean from all the stupid things he read on the internet.

Just when he started to lick his balls the unlocking sound of the door and the usual squeaky noise that comes with it interrupted him. He looked up at the door with his sad eyes and the big smile. At that moment a flashback hit him, just a couple of seconds – a couple of frames. He saw himself walking tall on his two hind legs alongside with two human companions in a big, grey city – like it was a dream or another life already lived. 

The door opened. 

“Come to daddy you big fuzzy-puzzy”, muttered Daddy while dropping his backpack on the ground, moving towards Bob. Bob meowed and didn’t move at all because he didn’t want to cuddle, it was January and Bob doesn’t like to cuddle in January. He stared at Daddy with his usual stare.

It was difficult for Bob to figure out if he was sad or just wasn’t happy. He also couldn’t figure out why he wanted to express himself so badly sometimes, that he searched for possibilities to do so. Like the internet, using it as an instrument for satisfaction. Where he could react to some things. To anything, didn’t even matter what. Just to scream away some words, expressions and locked up feelings maybe, that he couldn’t keep closed up inside himself. 

Daddy grabbed Bob with a lot of affection like he missed that cat all day long and finally had the chance to be with him. Bob didn’t do anything. He was just sitting there drooling from the side of his mouth on his fur, not showing any emotion at all, except his everlasting smile.

A.A.

Divergent

Wtf is wrong with me, I can’t think.

I can’t even write anymore. No thoughts, no words. Like there is nothing left in me to express.

Someone just squeezed out that little bit of “something” still left in me and used it all up – that’s where I am now, in the kingdom of mutes and illiterates.

I want to say something, describe things but the words aren’t there. Even my mind gave up. It broke – by the hands of the best.

The last meal before execution, when you try to enjoy the taste of your marinated artichoke on your quattro stagioni – but your mind tastes only the death that is coming your way – and hopelessly you keep eating because there is nothing left to fight for. Everything is written down and organised. Every needle of your lethal injection is already there, carefully filled with potassium solution waiting to make your heart stop.

⁃ Like it was still beating?

“When you want something really hard, you will have it” – a lie someone told me once – I kept repeating it to myself while lying in a bed that wasn’t mine, sheets and pillows already used by someone else. I couldn’t care less, because I just walked out of a class that taught me “why not to care”.

And I will not care, and I will die out like the last of my breed. Like a Dodo – a useless bird that couldn’t even fly, hunted to extinction, left to die.

A.A.

Exhaust valve

Let us dive into it. A basic notion of chemistry and physics is lacking those days like common sense is lacking by most of the people. Times have changed I guess. I don’t think I have become smarter, most probably the world has become more ignorant.

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Actually, if there was a God he should’ve made radiation develop cancer in all those individuals who actually think that radiation causes cancer. That way natural selection would eliminate all those who got way to comfortable living day by day without the urge of using their brain once in a while, at least – or just invest some little time to actually learn something basic instead of staring on one of their high-res displays for hours, most probably on the little one.

No, logically that would be incorrect. Natural selection would be out of the question if God was involved anyhow and the “I’m-2-lazy-2-use-my-brain”-symptom is most probably not genetically determined.

Let me explain. Light – basic light that you need to see, to read, is radiation. Warmth, from anything like your heating or the sun, is the same. Radio waves used for radios or cellphones, wi-fi, infrared used in saunas or on your old-school remote control – those are all types of radiation.

Basically, the whole electromagnetic spectrum (all the waves) is radiation. Starting from the extremely low frequencies to radio and microwaves to visible light with all the colours (red to violet) until the ionizing waves among which are the X-rays and Gamma rays; ALL RADIATION. Except for the waves, there is also particle radiation, among which are the alpha and beta radiation.

Radiation is basically the emission of energy in the form of waves or particles.

Everybody who paid a little attention at school would never say something like “your cell phone (or radiation) will give you cancer”. That would be the same thing as saying that your body warmth is giving me cancer every time you are hugging me. I can totally relate to the fact that it is very tempting to think that some people can giving us cancer, just by being in our presence, let alone hugging us; but that is only figuratively speaking – we can’t claim that as a fact.

I mean all those who think that radiation is causing cancer, should, as a matter of fact, act like a good parent and yell at their kids every time they turn on the lights in the toilet, because if you have to choose to get cancer or take a shit in the dark, the choice is obvious. Although you never know, from another perspective, who would like to live in a world where you have to defecate in total darkness every single day, right?

However, some types of radiation can cause cancer. Ionizing radiation can do that. That is a small fraction of all radiation. Ionizing radiation means that the radiation is strong enough, or has enough energy to go through existing atoms, molecules and change them by detaching electrons within them; “ionizing” them.

In short: It is possible that a small fraction of all types of radiation, basically the ionizing radiation (a wave or millions of particles) can go through you (some of them) and by having enough energy they can alter your chromosomes by knocking electrons away (directly or indirectly) in your molecules, thus damaging your DNA, causing mutations – tumours – cancer.

Because some types of food can be poisonous, we can’t say that food is poison. The same goes for radiation.

Can’t really say why I am writing all this. Kinda weird thing to write.

But maybe I am saying all this just to be mean because today I’m kinda bitter like my coffee. On second thought though, the world lets me act this way because the basic knowledge standards became so low that I can actually take advantage of it and say “fuck you” to a lot of people at the same time – whenever I feel angry.

Anyway, it felt good to write something down.

A.A.

Three o’clock

And we still are. Not to mean something or to change the world, nor to be great or legends, write history with our deeds. Not to be happy and fulfilled. Not for any of those things.

We still are with an imperfect body getting older day by day, wrinkled fat rolls or bony structured back screaming at us how we don’t fit in: we are nothing like the perfect person on that perfect billboard, standing there with the right lighting and a crown on the head.

Semi-hypertrophied muscles, we tried to perfect year after year are still asymmetrical – lacking proportions. Our skin, covered with acne, scars, hair and wrinkles.

We ARE, but with a traumatised mind changing moods like a metronome that can’t keep up its rhythm, tic by tic. A heart skipping a beat every now and then while we skip a night’s sleep more and more often. Narrowed arteries and painful joints. Yes, we still are and still without the crown. We are not kings and kings are not gods.

But we still are and still have the choice of what we will do to what is done to us.

We still are, like Sartre saw us, with a smiling face but ruin in our eyes.

With all that, we ARE nevertheless; and perfection is what we strive for, on our own and without a stop. The wrong thing to do as a matter of fact.

The self is never perfect and never will be, the other only is. The sole perfection we can achieve is a constructed one – through someone else, for someone else.

And yet we still are, perfect or not – it all comes down to the choices we make. At the end, you are your choice and I am mine.

A.A.

The grin

Million dollar smile, a big one, – with teeth like pearls radiating a deadly charisma to the surrounding glances – hiding all the dirt behind itself, overshadowing it. A mask, that of a sociopath who is ready to attack and devour anything, just for the sake of destroying something.

Homocides are happening behind this smile. Everything is set on fire… just to light the way to hell a little brighter.

A smile wide and gorgeous but behind it children rotting in the ground. Women beaten to death and men humiliated.

Kittens burned and puppies drowned to make the smile grow bigger and greater, to hide the cruelness just a bit better. Nothing but Invisible torture playing all over again – on repeat. Yes, I’m the rudeness you never saw. Invisibally harmful, greedy, and cynical. I still smile with arrogance wishing to hurt every living soul.

Only if I also could find joy in the pain of others than I could be a happy man, with a smile that really meant something – for once.

Don’t be afraid, it’s me.

A.A.

The loss – Потеря

He was standing there watching. Nothing more, just watching what was happening.

This was the present, his present…it was happening. Like a dream where you try to scream but the dream is soundless, like an old movie. Still, you do your best, trying to defy physics, to change something that is impossible to change because the change is out of that reality. You open your mouth, you take a deep breath, deeper, deepest breath ever. You contract all your muscles, you open your mouth so wide your eyes automatically close… you scream like your life depends on it, like you’re screaming your soul out of the bottom of your lungs but nothing comes out, especially no sound. Nothing happens to change what’s happening. But this isn’t how it started. Day two of his depression was the beginning.

Like every human being in a capitalistic society, where everything represents a number and where social interactions fade away on weekdays and working hours, he was depressed every now and then. Usually, it should not take too long before he felt ok again, he had everything he ever wanted. But along the way, something went wrong, terribly, and those sporadic depressions seemed like paradise after what followed. 

 Depression. Day two. He didn’t eat well, didn’t sleep well. He was lacking concentration. In the living room, the clock was ticking loudly, forcing him to look at it. Every time he did, it reminded him that it was lunchtime. He was shaky and anxious… also a little dizzy, light headed and he could perfectly feel his heart beat in his chest, like the bass of a drum played by a large man. His whole body could feel it. He was hypoglycemic and had no appetite. There are those days where you need to eat but you can’t, it was one of those days for him. The phone rang, right before he forced himself to get to the kitchen and grab a handful of cereals, right out of the box, just to pump a little sugar into his bloodstream. The phone rang and the phone has priority over food. Always. While he was walking to it someone kicked the door in and everything went slow-motion. rabbits

“They say time heals but it doesn’t. 

Time doesn’t heal, it just makes everything obsolete. 

We’ll never be perfect again”.

He read that somewhere on the internet.  He became the ambassador of those lines.

He woke up tied on his favorite chair, which became detestable hereafter. Everything became detestable hereafter. The soundless dream started with him seeing his wife looking back at him. Then he saw a much older man without a face but very present, next to his wife with some weird foreign cookies in his both hands. Just like one of those surreal movies he always loved to watch. He didn’t know what was happening. His wife was whispering “don’t watch” to him but she was also acting way too friendly to that stranger. The stranger was opening the cookies and the packaging made an awful sound that he would never forget in his life. Once the cookies were stripped down of every bit of packaging the stranger started to feed his wife, one cookie at a time…slowly, and every time she ate one of those cookies, the stranger took a piece of her clothing off. 

A perfect way of torture without violence, because violence was bad, we all know that. Little we knew that there are far worse things than violence. One last cookie and his wife lost every bit of her clothing, standing naked right before the stranger, still whispering “don’t look” but also, still acting way too friendly to the stranger, almost like she liked the freak show that was going on. The naked wife, finally,  became the cookie herself to the stranger. And the stranger without a face was seizing every possibility he had to enjoy that cookie like he never had dessert before.  

 The boy was still tied to his favorite chair, he was watching. Watching and losing everything, second by second. Something was happening to him that he couldn’t control. He yelled at the stranger: “ you may have what I had, but you’ll never be me!” – soundlessly. 

A.A.

 

Потеря

Он просто стоял и смотрел. Ничего больше. Просто наблюдал за происходящим.

Это было реальностью. Его реальностью. Это происходило сейчас… Это происходило, как во сне; как в беззвучном немом кино, где ты пытаешься закричать, но не можешь произвести и звука. Но ты все же пытаешься изо всех сил, пренебрегая всеми законами физики изменить то, что изменить невозможно по причине нереальности этих перемен. Ты открываешь рот, делаешь глубокий вдох… Глубже. Глубже которого никогда не делал. Напрягаешь все мускулы, открывая рот настолько широко, что автоматически закрываются глаза… И ты кричишь так, будто твоя жизнь зависит от этого крика. Будто ты пытаешься выкричать всю свою душу через лёгкие, но ничего не происходит. Ни малейшего звука. Ничего не происходит для того, чтобы изменить происходящее.

Но все начиналось не так. Началось все со второго дня его депрессии.

Как любой человек, живущий в капиталистическом обществе, где всё представлено в цифрах, а социальное взаимодействие угасает в рутине рабочих часов, время от времени он испытывает депрессию. Обычно это долго не длилось, ведь у него было всё, о чем он когда-либо мечтал. Но что-то пошло не так, и те случайные моменты депрессии показались ему раем, по сравнению с последующими событиями.

Депрессия. День Второй.

Он едва ли спал, питался и того хуже. Был не способен сконцентрироваться. Часы в гостиной громко тикали, заставляя смотреть на них. Они напоминали, что пришло время обеда. Он был встревожен до трясучки. Он испытывал головокружение, находился в состоянии бреда, а сердце стучало так сильно, будто огромный человек бил в барабан в его груди. Он ощущал этот бит всем своим тело. Он испытывал гипогликемию и отсутствие аппетита. Бывают такие дни когда нужно поесть, но ты не в силах. Это был один из таких дней. Телефон зазвонил в тот момент, когда он усилием воли засовывал руку в коробку с хлопьями, чтобы этой горстью хотя бы немного накачать кровь глюкозой. Зазвонил телефон, а телефон важнее еды. Всегда. В тот момент, когда он направлялся к нему, кто- то вышиб дверь, и все предстало в замедленной съемке.

Говорят что время лечит, но это не так.

Время не лечит, оно атрофирует. «Вы больше никогда не будете совершенны,»- прочитал он когда-то в интернете. Он стал воплощением этой фразы.

Он проснулся, привязанный к своему любимому креслу, которое отныне стало ему ненавистным. Отныне все стало ему ненавистным. Беззвучный сон начался с того, что он и его жена смотрели друг на друга. Затем он увидел незнакомого мужчину, стоявшего рядом с ней. Он был намного старше; лицо было расплывчатым, но его присутствие- абсолютным. В руках он держал коробку печенья. Все было так, как в его самых любимых сюрреалистических фильмах. Он не понимал, что происходит. Она прошептала: «Не смотри». Её поведение с незнакомцем выглядело через чур фамильярным. Незнакомец начал распаковывать печенье с таким жутким звуком, который будет невозможно вычеркнуть из памяти. Как только все упаковки были сняты, незнакомец начал кормить его жену. Печенье за печеньем… медленно. И с каждым проглоченным ею печеньем, он снимал с неё одну вещь за другой.

Идеальная пытка при отсутствии насилия. Мы все знаем, что насилие-это плохо. И как мало мы знаем о вещах, намного ужаснее, чем оно.

Последнее печенье – и она оказалась абсолютно голой, стоя рядом с незнакомцем и по- прежнему шепча: «Не смотри,»- но всем своим видом показывая, что наслаждается происходящим шоу уродов. И вот, его обнаженная жена сама стала лакомством для незнакомца. И он начал поедать его с таким изощрённым наслаждением, будто ни разу в жизни не пробовал десерта вкуснее.

По-прежнему привязанный к своему любимому креслу, он чувствовал, что теряет всё. Секунду за секундой. С ним происходило то, что он не мог контролировать. И он заорал незнакомцу: «Ты можешь получить то, что когда-то принадлежала мне, но тебе никогда не стать мной!» – беззвучно.

А.А.

Russian translation: K.I.

 

About nothing – It

There is nothing left to write about – so about nothing I will write. 

It was beautiful from the outside. Shiny – pearls and gold, diamonds on first sight but rotten from inside… like a corpse not yet fully decomposed…dying and dead both at once and at the same time. 

Every eye caught a glimpse of it and desires burned: possession and love, mixed and poured into flutes were consumed by their stingy souls like cocktails, making them wish for a piece of it. And a piece they’ve got, every one of them.

But every time they pierced the crystallised layer just to the spoiled core – expectations collapsed like a house of cards leaving them with an unfulfilled wish of an impossible dream: how beautiful everything could be. 

Nothing was – so about nothing I am writing. 

It was exquisite but it was dying, could she keep it alive? She dove into the depths for it and into the fires – everlasting, everburning, to drag it out and keep it alive. She risked everything she had and everything she would have, there was no past no future for her.  Imagining a past or a future without it was impossible to her, so drowning in the depths of the ocean or burning in the fires of hell was a means to an end.

nothing13

She knew it was hers, beautifully rotten and dying, just like she needed – tailored for her heart. She knew she was the soil for the spark to its metamorphosis. She risked everything because she knew what it was and what it will become, but only in her hands…so she kept reaching for it and never stopped.   

Beautiful right? But yet again a fairy tale that never was. There was nothing – and only about that, I will write. 

You are not the one who is oooh-so-pretty, nor are you oh-so-wrong or heartless. 

You are not gorgeous, nor are you ugly. 

You are not guilty, nor are you cruel. 

You’re not a heartbreaker. 

You’re not the kindest, nor are you the smartest or the dumbest. 

You are just someone, somewhere in between others, with them, just like them. 

It’s me and my mind, we made you special, made you all those things… relating to us. 

Everything in vain. 

We made you something that you were not, like a faulty machine, we miscalculate people. Maybe because we were raised with an excessive obsession for the romantic era or maybe we wanted to create something we always longed for. God knows but it’s a shame he’s absent for now, maybe forever so we won’t ever know.

But one thing I know, I am egocentric and I will be until I destroy myself to leave nothing behind – so I can continue to write about nothing. You should love me for that.

A.A.