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”Just want to be happy” B -Side
”Just want to be happy” B -Side
Unbelievable. I sat down and levitated for a second, in imagination, I referred to Wes Anderson’s story of Henry Sugar, I did a little improv scene, mimicking what I heard yesterday. I write too complicated, my mind is incredible scattered, and I have no interest in pulling it together, interest and the compulsion is two different things. I do have the compulsion, because this scatter is unnerving, uncomfortable, I want it to stop, but feels like it won’t. The idea that I need to enjoy the experience is also unnerving sometimes, although I think it might be true.
So here we are, I’m writing and having a catharsis moment, with no intentions, “you’ve forgotton to do everything else, might as well paint the truck” is the sentence that is running in my head. Maybe this is what happens to travellers, with each place and object and space and people and food you leave behind, you leave something there. Sometimes I look over the world and see pieces of me everywhere, and sometimes I look inside and see pieces of the world in me. I feel like it’s too much to handle, but I know it’s an excuse, and anything comes your way is to be embraced and danced with. At least in theory, in practice, I’m homesick to a million things, over the course of a week, I get upset I can’t have different local breakfasts, something I had in Columbia, another day something from Cyprus, I try to imitate sometimes, but it’s not the same, local is local, and I’m not there.
I write the title of the texts before I start them, and don’t know how I do it, but I have the tendency to loop back at the and and somehow finish over there, I really don’t intend, but I do, one way or another, this might be due to my compulsion to complete tasks, or my guilt that I’m not doing so.
I’m realising so much about myself everyday, and about people, every day is filled with revelations I don’t know what to do with. I don’t think the revelations are that profound, after all I have many, and their importance are fading.
“What do you feel like doing?” my friend asked me. Honestly I have no idea, I just know I need something that is functional, and stable for now, somewhere where I belong, and don’t have to make massive changes to my entire existence. I just want to be happy. (see the loop back)
So here we are, I’m writing and having a catharsis moment, with no intentions, “you’ve forgotton to do everything else, might as well paint the truck” is the sentence that is running in my head. Maybe this is what happens to travellers, with each place and object and space and people and food you leave behind, you leave something there. Sometimes I look over the world and see pieces of me everywhere, and sometimes I look inside and see pieces of the world in me. I feel like it’s too much to handle, but I know it’s an excuse, and anything comes your way is to be embraced and danced with. At least in theory, in practice, I’m homesick to a million things, over the course of a week, I get upset I can’t have different local breakfasts, something I had in Columbia, another day something from Cyprus, I try to imitate sometimes, but it’s not the same, local is local, and I’m not there.
I write the title of the texts before I start them, and don’t know how I do it, but I have the tendency to loop back at the and and somehow finish over there, I really don’t intend, but I do, one way or another, this might be due to my compulsion to complete tasks, or my guilt that I’m not doing so.
I’m realising so much about myself everyday, and about people, every day is filled with revelations I don’t know what to do with. I don’t think the revelations are that profound, after all I have many, and their importance are fading.
“What do you feel like doing?” my friend asked me. Honestly I have no idea, I just know I need something that is functional, and stable for now, somewhere where I belong, and don’t have to make massive changes to my entire existence. I just want to be happy. (see the loop back)