To be honest, I feel dark thoughts these days. The ones that crawl like spiders out of your ears, while leaving a slimy black residue all over the place. Room, sidewalk, classroom. They are everywhere, slime is in everything. My grandma said I should say a prayer everytime I have them. I remember once watching a tv programme with some priest saying you should make a cross with your tongue, inside your mouth, invoking Jesus for protection against whatever entity guides this fear within you. I don’t do that anymore.
You know, I do have some faith left, but I don’t have the energy and motivation to be a believer. It requires a particular commitment, and I am bad at commitments. Gym, relationships, going out with friends when I promise I would, God – just a few of the commitments I suck at.
It’s been raining for some time and I am so exhausted and bored. Need something to make me want to stay up. I would run away but I know I would leave black slime behind me, it follows me wherever I go. Today I cooked some rice, it was dry and tasteless. Just like my sense of humour, which I must censor in this place. I remember the times when my sense of humour was not prohibited. Now they gather around you, preaching their freedoms and liberties. But it’s only theirs’, others’ are not freedoms and liberties, those are something else. It’s like a diet that advertises itself as ‘you can eat everything’ but then you look at the menu and you can only eat carrots. They make you believe carrots it’s the only way to go, the best way to go. Carrots are the healthiest and the most delicious. You do eat everything by eating carrots. Carrots are right, while non-carrots are wrong.
Today I left my room to buy some carrots. One lady was sniffing around the isle of pastries and asked me where is the bacon smell coming from. I wanted to say from her but I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I am tired of fake pleasantries. But they are part of the carrot experience. I start to lose my common sense and i feel remorse for each and every time I give in to this artificiality. Everytime I express myself in writing, or I briefly confess something which is not the script they expect me to recite, I think about it all day long as I feel something bad will happen as a consequence of my expression. I feel they will come after me in a way.
So yeah, here I am today, and they are comfortable seated inside my mind, on comfy leather chairs, the brown, antique type, but I do keep them distracted. Last night I went out on a date. The guy would make a good house plant. He kept on talking about his mum, how much he resents her because of many things, but especially today as she was visiting and forgot to make him his favourite soup. Then he went on to tell me how much he loves to dominate and punish women in bed. Surprise surprise. I told him I can make soup and he asked me on a second date.
Should I make an appointment to dye my hair blue? This way, I won’t indicate any longer a basic, simple, dull shell and I’d probably be less suspect in this place. They might even hear me out thanks to it. I do like blue, makes me think of the sky. The thought of chemically destroying my natural hair again makes me sad. But being yourself and ‘natural’ is outdated and progresses towards being immoral. There is a sense of obligation that you must be someone by adhering to something different than yourself. Nature’s current semantic field in this urban jungle is somehow limited to ‘organic’ foods and climate change. So I am gonna get some blue hair and hopefully I will lose my common sense too, as it becomes a burden in this carrot world.