Wednesday thoughts.

Fleurs, 1860, Jean Benner

I start to think that when someone says to me "Have a nice day", they say it because I look sad. I, of course, can't tell how I look like. But I am not sad, and now I am sad because I don't know how to explain it to you. That I am not sad, even though I may not be happy either. But they don't get what's the difference between being sad and being, just say, unhappy. What is unhappiness? It is not being happy, isn't it? Then you must be very sad, little girl. How am I supposed to tell you that you don't have to be sad to be not happy. You cannot be happy all the time. You cannot be happy when you sleep. Do you feel sad when you sleep? No. You feel none. That's what I feel, most of the time. That's what I think I am supposed to look like, whenever you look at me. Nothing's there for you to see. Nothing is the absence of everything. So please stop assuming that a quiet thing is too sad for this world.

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Well, I have to put it this way: Loving me is like living in an asylum. You are my patient; I am your doctor. I want to fix you. You are not allowed to approach me. I can call you to my little office and let you fuck me under the table. You are forbidden to masturbate to a piece of my hair. You are your insanity and I am your madness. I can put you on an electric chair and burn your brain like a sunny-side up egg. You, are very willing to let me love you in my own way.

When you get out of here, you must know that I am also a patient. Not much different than you. I try to fix you, because I have failed to fix myself.

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I admit I am hard to be friend with. I know that. I am aware of that. When people ask me "Do you have any friend?", I, desperately want to appear as a nice and decent human being, reply "No, I don't have any friend. But I do have one, and I think it is good enough". After a few times, I learned that most people don't really like that answer. It is honest, but it is not what they want to hear. As if it makes them feel that something is not right, and they have to question whatever they have known about life so they can, somehow, understand, even though just a little bit, what I just spit. Every person I have ever met has the same reaction. They promote the social life and how great it is. They praise the value of friendship and how I benefit from it as an investment. They warn me about the misery of being lonely and how one day in the near future, which is just right around the corner, it is going to consume me whole. And they say a lot, a lot lot more.

I am sorry. That's all I've got to say. I am sincerely sorry.