The Misadventures of Grey Feathers
Tendencies
The man quietly walked into the room while shutting the door abruptly. The girl woke from the daze you get before falling into a deep sleep and looked up at the man from her cushion on the floor.
That took long
I had alot going on up there, the man replied in a tired, languid voice.
Think you'll be fine for the rest of the night?
He slips off his long burgandy coat, folds it and lands it flat on the floor. A look of anger comes onto his face.
Why do you always look angry when you think?
Why do you ask so many questions?
You don't respond to them fast enough.
The girl stands up to face him on an equal ground. She searches for his eyes.
I'll be fine, chre, the man replies, I look angry when I think because....
Because?
Because some things don't come to mind when we want them.
The man starts scratching the diagonal scar on his forehead and then quickly recoils. He stares down instead at his black shirt with the math symbol "Pi" square in the middle. He moves his eyes lower as though analysing his clothes. She gives him a common gesture to take off his shirt. Loses patience with him. And takes it off herself.
I wish you wouldn't do that, says the man with a disapointed tone. When a woman has scholarly inclinations there is usually something wrong with her sexuality.
There you go quoting Nietzsche. Grey, sometimes you're just too hard to figure out.
No need to get dramatic. Why don't you leave.
The Genius Is The Illusion
4:15 pm
I wake up from a bad night of nightmares. There are too many birds in dreams and too many of them are after me or after each other. Damned things can't make up their minds. I get up from the bed on the floor and find that my natural balance has been overwhelmingly impaired from last nights drinking. I can only think "why do I keep doing this?". I stumble around for a glass of water only to notice that all my cups are dirty. Fuck this. My hands start dripping with water as I try to vacuum whatever tasteless liquid I can from them. Slight nausea. Deep nausea. Vomit. And another day of convincing myself that I'm never going to do this again.
The usual questions pop into my mind like waves tearing down the rocks beneath the ocean. "Why are you sad?" "Why are you like this?". The usual answers aren't too far to follow like the silver splashes above the ocean line. "It's alright, things will get better" "Remember why you're alive". That's right, I am alive. I'm also an old survivor of suicidal tendencies and a refugee of teenage drama. Of course, this is just a typical day.
Later, I convince myself that I should act as though it were 10am and start off the day with a shower which will lead me to shaving this itchy stubble on my face which is then followed by more thoughts. Starting the day so late often makes your life seem like a waste because your times are twisted around and it's like you're sleeping your time away. Might as well be dead.
Snap out of it, Grey. This isn't like you. You're better than this.
Am I really?
Why not?
I suppose, if you consider that you exist because you think you do.
By the way, you're talking with yourself again.
God damn.
I put on my usual clothes. Black shirt with a "Pi" symbol, dress pants, socks that never seem to match and work torn boots that have red bandana's tied around them to replace the missing laces. I'm going out, but I have no idea where I'm headed. Coffee sounds good, because coffee is always good. I just have to do so with my eyes tied to my back so that I don't have to get into trivial conversations with people I've met before.
Hopefully I won't run into her, I hate feeling bad for things I don't regret. Even if I was drunk.
Tendencies
The man quietly walked into the room while shutting the door abruptly. The girl woke from the daze you get before falling into a deep sleep and looked up at the man from her cushion on the floor.
That took long
I had alot going on up there, the man replied in a tired, languid voice.
Think you'll be fine for the rest of the night?
He slips off his long burgandy coat, folds it and lands it flat on the floor. A look of anger comes onto his face.
Why do you always look angry when you think?
Why do you ask so many questions?
You don't respond to them fast enough.
The girl stands up to face him on an equal ground. She searches for his eyes.
I'll be fine, chre, the man replies, I look angry when I think because....
Because?
Because some things don't come to mind when we want them.
The man starts scratching the diagonal scar on his forehead and then quickly recoils. He stares down instead at his black shirt with the math symbol "Pi" square in the middle. He moves his eyes lower as though analysing his clothes. She gives him a common gesture to take off his shirt. Loses patience with him. And takes it off herself.
I wish you wouldn't do that, says the man with a disapointed tone. When a woman has scholarly inclinations there is usually something wrong with her sexuality.
There you go quoting Nietzsche. Grey, sometimes you're just too hard to figure out.
No need to get dramatic. Why don't you leave.
The Genius Is The Illusion
4:15 pm
I wake up from a bad night of nightmares. There are too many birds in dreams and too many of them are after me or after each other. Damned things can't make up their minds. I get up from the bed on the floor and find that my natural balance has been overwhelmingly impaired from last nights drinking. I can only think "why do I keep doing this?". I stumble around for a glass of water only to notice that all my cups are dirty. Fuck this. My hands start dripping with water as I try to vacuum whatever tasteless liquid I can from them. Slight nausea. Deep nausea. Vomit. And another day of convincing myself that I'm never going to do this again.
The usual questions pop into my mind like waves tearing down the rocks beneath the ocean. "Why are you sad?" "Why are you like this?". The usual answers aren't too far to follow like the silver splashes above the ocean line. "It's alright, things will get better" "Remember why you're alive". That's right, I am alive. I'm also an old survivor of suicidal tendencies and a refugee of teenage drama. Of course, this is just a typical day.
Later, I convince myself that I should act as though it were 10am and start off the day with a shower which will lead me to shaving this itchy stubble on my face which is then followed by more thoughts. Starting the day so late often makes your life seem like a waste because your times are twisted around and it's like you're sleeping your time away. Might as well be dead.
Snap out of it, Grey. This isn't like you. You're better than this.
Am I really?
Why not?
I suppose, if you consider that you exist because you think you do.
By the way, you're talking with yourself again.
God damn.
I put on my usual clothes. Black shirt with a "Pi" symbol, dress pants, socks that never seem to match and work torn boots that have red bandana's tied around them to replace the missing laces. I'm going out, but I have no idea where I'm headed. Coffee sounds good, because coffee is always good. I just have to do so with my eyes tied to my back so that I don't have to get into trivial conversations with people I've met before.
Hopefully I won't run into her, I hate feeling bad for things I don't regret. Even if I was drunk.