Reflections from a new door....
Is it because my addresses seem to be lagging, and I'm no longer reachable at two different adresses?
Ignorance! A tired, slowness that evolves into flummery and trains of thoughts in a crazed fury, unhealthy candy and sweets and chicken nuggets left too long on the stove, burnt and crispy.
Wierd flickering on my computerscreen, my keys starts jumping, somewhere and like syllables and sentences not that look like should.
Stuff. Ends up in boxes, disappears, gets recovered... but only sometimes.
How does it really feel to be living in boxes? How long does it take to be at home?
How do you describe the feeling of otherworldliness och unrealisticy, the feeling of stranger-estranging that occurs in a bed you didn't have before, in a room you only glanced at. A closet someone else bought and bookshelves without any books.
My apartment is a desert, where all the oasis are packed in small boxes. Where Order only exists in a mind too stressed and to disoriented to have the energy to think much about it. Things you didn't want are found, things you do want... well...
Moving, in movement, changable and disspirited, worrying with vectors and wallowing in walls.
The furniture are left behind, furniture cannot fit, furniture must go out. In, Up, apart together and rather not back. Screwed up.
Singstar is my new Guitar Hero... And I beat germans on german pop-hits. *yeay for me!*