I’ve kind of missed the deadline for the New Year’s resolutions again. I’ve never had any. That, I assume, is a wise thing to have missed.
By the way, it really is just pure bullshit below. That happens when I try to write a “And today this happened” blog entry. Then I have a Molog.
But today I fell twice.
I have fancy bruises on both sides.
Of my body. I really did this amazing semi-flight and landed comically. As if I were pushed by invisible creatures from Mars (men) or cut by an equally invisible scythe (on the ankle-level).
Once outside my house. (the right side)
Whoooosh!
Then on the zebra crossing. Dramatically. In front of a car. (the left side)
Whooooooosh!
I went out to buy a shampoo (Nivea, it was) and wool (I knit) and tights (gray ones) and a teacup (I’m a sixty-year-old, what do you expect?). And I baby-sitted my brother (such-a-similar-to-me-little-obsessed-despot). He’s cool. I can hear him snoring right now (always-allergic-nose-clogged)
I’m coming back to Norway. I read my old blog entries and I realize that I prefer to write when I’m happy. Right. I have this funny feeling that I’m true when I’m euphoric.
And we have those micro-universes of individuality all around. Therefore -
The Molog (is here)
(Because it’s like a Dialog or a Monologue but it’s the other way round)
“How should I break the law?”, asked a Pole.
“Maybe you should abide it, Pole.”, said the other me.
“Nope.”, said the Pole with a dramatic smile of a social conformist.
“Why are you Poles such motherfucking synonyms of fatalism, negativism, skepticism and yeah-you-suck-ism?”, the other me inquired politely.
“It’s called a constant unaware irony.”, said the Pole still smiling like an illustration to the other me’s previous pompously pretentious sentence. The Pole was just saying clever things without meaning them.
“You tend to produce statements and I’m left with commenting, Pole.”, commented the other me.
“Tym się właśnie zajmujemy, ptaszku.”, unawarely derided the Pole.
“Do you know that our language is divinely pretentiously complicated and it can’t lead to a human interaction of an honest level?” the other me asked rhetorically or not.
“We have those paths. You know, like incurable cancer-like mentality disorders.”, the Pole sighed a sigh of a dishonest generalized excuse.
“What am I doing here?”, the other me failed to be surprised or confused.
“You’re going away and you’ll come back.”, the Pole produced a mighty statement of a biblical character, “…and you’re a nice person but nobody gets your fancy polish code.”
“It’s not a necessity. Besides, we’re getting melodramatic here. Did we establish anything?”, the other me wasn’t impatient but creating sentences hurts.
“We established your image of an overly introspective romantic loser.”, giggled the Pole semi-happily. Nothing seemed serious again.
“Could be worse.”, concluded the other me optimistically.
Pretty Reversed, ink, ballpen
Amen
Tags: Molog
