half sick of shadows

highlight comfort

low-life comfort

absolute comfort

had plenty of thoughts last night, when desperately trying to get a nervous sleep, with a stomack that's yearning for solid food + mental peace but won't get any of it.

anyway, the ones I can recall:

the correct perception of the now iconic sentence of mr. x's "I don't think anyone would appreciate a sugar-stuffed willy wonka mr. x struggling across the stage, panting desperately trying to hold the notes". oh wait, not so sure again.

what my dad might feel. almost bursting into crying by the way I feel that maddening rave that's going on in his head. somehow I seem to be other people at times. as if I had their feelings.

this sequence of useless but painful thought was brought on by godot.

how I DON'T enjoy reading it. how, at some point, it's like I can't decide wheter it's the book I'm reading or my own mind. is my mind the book? am I having such a hard time getting through it because it's just like reality? and that's where I get astonished. hardly can imagine a work of art can actually stop being at least minimally artificial and start becoming almost identical with reality, irrespective of the distance in space and time and all sort of dimensions, if there are such. (I guess, everything that's inbetween, but is impossible to determine by, youknow. actual terms. words or what.)

sure, there must be some willingness from me to create this feeling of the two being identical, there has to be an interpretation, but sometimes this is also the case with reality. with the so-called actual reality.
if i take a step backwards to realise that it's actually a book I'm reading, and that it ceratinly has something to say, I find myself lost for words, because it says it all. it's about nothing. the sort of nothing that is like three layers, like everything is covered by nothingness, but underneath it's the absolute nothing.

but this whole is about how absolutely empty it all can get. when there's so much you almost feel there's nothing. and you die trying to fight this feeling, but even the possibility of getting here is scary enough. and you got here, and now you're here and you can't imagine how it's possible that one can het here, to the edge of EVERYTHING.this is what I've been feeling for a while now, and I suppose I'm only safe until I still have this thought, if I stop having it, I'm far too beyond things.

so X stand for all I want to express (as my primary aim has always been this selfish reflection-thing) but for some reason don't seem to manage to. maybe it's just not the time yet. maybe it's temporary inability. maybe I won't ever be able to. there's just too much to say, too many reflections and I'm flattered by the thought of my body showing signs of what's underneath, so got that symbol put there for myself, as a reminder, and for just anyone who happens to pass me by. as to it's meaning, I'll stick to the 'it's a secret, you know' sort of explanation, so that I can display how mysterious I am in reality. in reality, I'm much more mysterious, and my reason is a lie, but two layers deeper it's still there.

I know I can't really make myself clear to anyone, so won't even try. I'll just lie the truth. well, a simplified version of it, a reflection. as I'm half sick of shadows already, I guess, it won't really change a bit.

nothing covers
everything covers
nothing

x I'm mysterious and hidden and complicated
x I'm not mysterious just pretend to be so and want to be open to the whole world
x but I'm just too mysterious and hidden and complicated to be so

I had the alternate take on my CV, also cryptic messages in IPA and the usual mind-brain question, kindly raised for me by the girl, interrupted but it's just way too much. I was wondering if I could guess the date of my last day in the realm of sense. well, as long as I keep guessing, it's still alright.