I moved the trash can out of its original place as the rain outside is strong enough to fill water in it and be carrier of disease. The view of the mountain is harsh and makes you think of days when you just badly want to go outside and find a spot in a coffee shop and read Simenon. I miss being excited by a Simenon. The last time I read it I almost wished I'd never actually finish Maigret's Christmas. I'm almost finished with The Big Lebowski. And I now have to buy more bottles of alcohol for my stove.
Sunday, 27 June 2010
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Unfinished with reading Ian Rankin's Black and Blue by my bed, I went outside and stared at the stretch of man-made light. The patio's a minor mess; pieces of dried fish, a laundry hanger, rods made of nylon lining the pillars of this structure I've spent at least a month in. There are no interests to travel; only books offer the cleanest form of passing days. Inside the books are left near the window and prone to tearing from the rain outside.
The neighbor's house is queer because its second story has a door to a place that passes for a terrace but minus the floor and the railings that make it real.
The neighbor's house is queer because its second story has a door to a place that passes for a terrace but minus the floor and the railings that make it real.
Thursday, 17 June 2010
I finished taking a bath and went for the door to hang my towel. I tried opening it but it was locked. From outside. Such was the case because the set-up of the locking system outside could lock people in just from simply closing the door. There was no panic, the thought of shouting resurfaced, but not enough to actually commence doing. My room's on the third floor; across, there were no people, at least no one I know, only a two-story building whose second one isn't halfway done. The floor became its roof.
I fixed it by forcing it open. There was no panic, an almost cry and tired shriek came out, but no more than that. No more than the usual tiresome, of course.
I fixed it by forcing it open. There was no panic, an almost cry and tired shriek came out, but no more than that. No more than the usual tiresome, of course.
Monday, 14 June 2010
A shoe-repair shop selling bottles of toilet bowl cleaners. Beside it a bakery. Students coming out of a building, a seen transom. A cafe where cubicles of TV monitors are connected online; the second story is an ear and nose and throat clinic. A walk in an unpaved road and in one of the aisles children are seen eating soya porridge with an old lady. You look up and the mountains have wire posts that parallel the vague slopes. There's no light sometimes and the water runs from a deep well so it isn't sometimes safe to drink.
On my left are two girls watching on Youtube a video of two boys soaked in mud and french-kissing in a bathroom. By the looks of the angle the camera couldn't have been set on a table, so they were probably more than two inside. On my right a boy I met and dismissed as nothing short of a retard in college years ago is playing Grand Theft Auto, murmuring lines to himself that I couldn't consider normal, with kids behind him, talking older than their age. Everybody here's getting by.
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