| match of the day |
[Oct. 23rd, 2008|10:12 pm] |
Morning: Tried to think about the thought that I have number of personalities (as part of dialogues with myself and the people around me) but the rocking of the number 23 to Abrenas iela rocked me to sleep and I felt a dull feverish pang in my forehead, and the two dumb words that swam in my small sinking conscious brain were... Man Utd.
Drew the usual conclusions about the pollution of my analytical powers and worried I was coming down with something. The bus came to a crossroads, my daughter said “šodien ne būs laba diena“, and it hit me: Man Utd – fucking hell, Man united. 39 years old and it had never struck me before: maybe it’s worth trying to read ‘Ulysses‘ again. |
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| spray like a child |
[Oct. 23rd, 2008|10:47 pm] |
Redzēju sava pusdēla mākslas darbu uz pamestas majas jumta. Sapratu, ka to, ko varētu/vajadzētu vinam teikt ir ka čura vetrā. Es, pieaudzis cilveks, nevarētu pat uzskribelēt uz tualetes sienas – tie ierobežojumi (logic hardened by the necessity of adult dialogue – piedod, to nevarēju izteikt latviski) ir parāk daudz.
Un tas, varbūt, ir tieši tapēc ka vinš ar saviem biedriem rāpjas uz tiem 5 staviem ar saviem baloniem. Netikai vini jut to brīvibu, vini arī jut, kā ta brīviba pakāpeniski samazinas. |
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