Still steaming

One day, I realized, this life-style isn´t paying out as much as the work that is invested in.
The seconds, minutes, hours of moments you wanted to believe to be pure and honest, you wanted to be them, in them, they just rushed by. All week working daytime, hunting the streets by night, for what, never sure. A search, infinite. A game, you play to your own rules. Destruction seeked, mission acomplished. Get a few drinks to calm your nerves. They turned out to be a whole lot more. Foggy conclusions and promises made, forgotten in the morning. Off you go, back to your fourty hour week of work. It will drain the last of you. Only stupidity is smarter than this.
While you don´t want to endure this anymore, what you chose, you see how days pass and nothing ever really happens, well at least not what you really had in mind, illusive, dellusive, idolized, ideolegized. You live parallell to the moments you seek so much. They are always there, but you don´t see them, you ride on excess, you live right by them. But you are there, they are there, it is you who makes it all, but you keep making it all up. And I thought, I had lost something, but didn´t know what to find in the first place. It all takes a while to recognize, to see behind. Everything is here, the worst will come first. You let it all pass. And you are already. You make the moments, the movements, words, thoughts and actions. So don´t change yourself, and especially not on behalf of others. Just stay, but move.
So, after coming to conclusions one fine morning, before breakfast, before another day of work, dull and grey, because I wanted to see it like that and it sort of was and is and will be, I packed a little bag with clothes, a flashlight and an old, tattered book I had found in an abandoned building, the pages well worn. I could have sworn it rather found me. It lead me to something new, it was about time, I think my situation demanded this book. It continued a map, not just any map, but the map to a place called Saturn. I left it all behind. Only my cat I had given to friend the night before to take care of. I even left my apartment door open. My half finished cup of coffee, still steaming on the kitchen table. What could have been worse, leaving to find maybe something entirely different to what I knew or leaving to a dreary day of work and coming back on a night that would turn out like any other night I had lived the past fifteen years. I just had to do it, find my way to this place. After what I had read, I had to see it. This first step done, the want to go there, I already had changed a lot, but I was far from imagining what really lay before me to endure. For now, I was on my way.


R.M.Parkner Saturn - A Diary Of The Forgotten Place

all about cats

As my cats often visit me in my dreams after they passed away, I can´t stop to wonder why they keep on going telling me how not so bad and very wonderful their afterlife is.
The male cat visits me more often and now has the ability to speak in words and not at all typical cat sounds. The female cat seldom comes around and she is still like she was when she passed away with eigtheen years on her arched back. She is still blind, deaf and can´t hold her water, forgets everything she´s done a second ago. I think she might be joking with me on that.
Well, the male cat has a very fine, nice and old voice of a gentleman now, which suits me fine, because I relate to that, somehow. He is always a young one when he comes around, nice fur and everything. He always makes me cry and I hold him in my arms, and it is then that he tells me, how not bad it is for him now, and that he had to go, he just had. And listen to me, he says, what a nice voice I got now. It isn´t so bad to have gone, and I can still visit you, he says.
And I am glad for him, and for her, though I quite like to believe, that she, too, has changed back and is making fun of me. I am looking forward to be meeting them soon again, when they come visiting in my dreams. And they can be sure, I will have a nice can of cat-food for them ready, not that awful dry stuff my mom used to feed them. See you soon, guys.

not so squeaky

foggy

language