Almost blue

So I'm looking out the window and all I see is grey sky with a silver lining. I know if I was in a plane, above the clouds, I'd see the bright blue sky and the sun, shining, always there, up above. I'd be shaking as always, realizing that I'm so small and in a sense, not important. Not in a negative way though, not important as one, but important as a part of everything, part of some organism or a system, still quite mysterious to me...

Now I'd like to be above those grey clouds, I'd like to be going somewhere I haven't yet been. How much I'd like to travel and see places and smell new things, touch them and discover something fresh and yet unseen.

Growing up makes me realize what a heavy weight I will soon be carrying on my shoulders. The everyday falls on you, not like heavy rocks, more like warm blankets, one after another, until you are sweating and can hardly breathe, because it is too warm, too suffocating.

But like my grandmother said, during Christmas eve, life isn't easy and it never will be... Still you must do your best to be a better man, and to leave something behind. I need to learn to love myself.

An old drunk man was sitting in a train. He was talking to himself, because no one else wanted to listen. He was being silently ignored. As if he was a wall, or just an empty space, as if he wasn't there at all. He's invisible, you know. One becomes invisible once he's a drunk, homeless, poor or anything else unpleasant for the eye. We have invisible people in our society - they are the one's we don't want to look at anymore, the one's that remind us of what we do not want to become, the slugs, the trash, the scum of the earth, thrown out of the so called normal society, politely ignored. We close our eyes, shut our ears and hearts to the ones that are suffering. We don't want to look at them, to hear them, to smell the stink and see the pain.
A drunk old man was sitting in a train, smelling like shit and probably feeling like shit too. The rest sat quietly, reading books, sleeping, having coffee... Some were watching the man walk around bumping into chairs, talking out loud, crying, laughing, spitting. We all knew he is doomed. Stuck in that state forever, with no way back. He wasn't going to save himself, and no one else was gonna try saving him.

slightly tired, slightly mellow, slightly hungover

Unreleased words

There are so many unreleased words, trapped in me. I could say it out loud. Theoretically, I could say it all, maybe even shout? Shout it all out. Scream it all out. Write it all out. I could...But I don't. What is stopping me? What is stopping us from saying all?

Have you ever been on a train, listening to a conversation of two strangers, who aren't strangers to each other? Have you ever listened and thought, that their silences say much more, than the actual words? Those long, awkward pauses of thinking what to say, of thinking how much of your mind you want to verbalize, let out, try to explain or express...

I'd like to do an experiment, and say everything that I think out loud. I mean everything. Every thought, every idea, every time I like someone or hate someone, I'd say it. I'm scared of consequences though, so I don't act that way. I know the consequences would be big, because by putting myself out there, I'd make myself an easy target to judge and criticize.

I don't know what's the point of this text really, I guess I'm just curious to find out more about us, humans, and why we are the way we are.  Are we silenced, or do we not want to say everything? Would we say everything, if we could, or would we still keep our thoughts to ourselves, for personal reasons only? Hum.

She's nuts

Was going through my old computer, and discovered some pictures. They probably are more interesting to me than to others, but who knows.

These are mostly self-portraits, but I guess I've always been able to express how I feel the best through that.

 Twenty white rabbits were jumping around in the garden. One little girl was sleeping on the soft, fleshy green grass. The scent of the grass was so strong, that she could taste it in her dream, feel it touching her body.

Her hair were long and dark, her skin was as white as the first snow in winter. With her closed eyes and motionless face, the calm silent breathing, she looked nearly like a sculpture, so peaceful and eternal.

I'm 20 and I want to shout.

Every so often I feel I wasn't born in the right place or during the right time. I mean, sometimes I feel I really don't belong where I am at the moment. I tell myself that there has to be a place for me. A place where I'd feel a little more like myself, or where I'd know that others understand me better.
At the same time, I wonder if I'd ever belong in any place at all. Maybe this feeling of standing out, not being a part of any particular group will follow me all my life, no matter where I go. Who knows really. I mean, I will change, therefore the environment I'm in will change with me. I wonder often, if it's me who shapes the world around me, or is it the world around me that shapes me. I guess that's why I don't quite know who I am. Who am I ?
I feel the urge to travel. Maybe it's because I wanna run away from something..( myself maybe ) or if I want to find something. Or if I simply want to keep on moving, constantly, permanently, till the end of my days, like those caravans, travelling across the world, unpacking their things for the night, gone with the dawn, gone with the morning light. I don't know. Sometimes I feel, that I could just pack my stuff, and head out. Walk for days and weeks. I want to step out to an unknown place, where I'm still a stranger, a passer by, an explorer. A dreamer.

All I know is routine makes me ill. It kills me little by little. It does, really.