Month: July 2002

Well what can I say? I should post more often, but I’ve been busy. I’ve got another job, had to convert/ upgrade all my collegues to friends and think about the meening of life all over again.

What makes people want to start all over again anyway? Getting a clean slate I mean. Does it realy work, can it be done? Unplugging all connections, erasing all notes and asumptions. And for what purpose; other than painfull pasts and unhumane crimes?

Perhaps it’s a thrill, like climbing your dreams without ropes. Or falling miles in your sleep. The challaging of the unknown, only to conclude later that even the unknown is the same as we knew before. So it must be futile but tempting. Like changing your underware with the ones of your girlfriend (which is probably not a wise thing to do anyway).

So, I’m doing it also. But gradualy. Letting the past fade away, letting it rest in the sediments of long forgotten thoughts. Not stirring it up, and hoping it will go away and would not interfere with the present.

Still, maybe the past is the thing that makes the adopting of a new future a challange and a thrill. Well, what do you know, I’m a subcontious thrillseeker! Who would have guessed. I’ll compare it with going realy slow on a rolercoster which disapears in the myst and also apears in the myst. The past is bound to apear in the future this way. Hmm, a bit silly methophore, but you will have to do with it.

I’m not sure if it’s the great amount of chocolat I just ate, or the wonderfull sound of Radiohead booming through my room. The coffee I drank 3 times today, or my infinate feeling of pointless love of beeing in love. I just feel shaky right now.

Boy, Radiohead makes smart music, which is a kind of funny term. I would imply that other music could be dumb, which is -in most cases- not the case. I meant, they make music which makes you think further than the shallowless which makes life loze it’s gloss, and edges

Pain, sorrow, infinite depressions are manditory in a life in which you want to experience small strokes of happiness. I found someone that could experience these strokes in a fictional person, the one I am on the web. No, I’m not virtual, but fictional. I filter out the bias and the realy nonpersonal stuf. And what is left over is a mixture of real Peter, the wannabe Peter and the perceptional Peter, from Peters stand point.

So, I’m shaky. I want to be shaky. Not sure of the place I am, the state in which I am, nor the beeing of my surroundings. This gives me room to sufficate in, accoustics to shine through and, a blank construct to whisper my crying pain in. It gives me the freedom not to be confronted with the bias that became my life. No self pitty, no self inflicted social depressions, but the freedom to choose to be or have one. That is the only thing that seperates me, because that is the one thing I want.

The one thing everybody wants: the freedom to separate myself in the masses which we create by seperating ourselfs from the masses. We want to be become our own mass. A mass we control when we lost it, a mass that leads us when we don’t. Or the desire to get the thing we lost when we found another thing. Silence when we seek noise, light when we are heavy, gravity when we float, and creativeness when we fill out our taxes.