Oct 2014
I want to enjoy life, more than ever before. I want to work out, run marathons without worrying about getting a t-shirt or an Instagram like. I want to sweat this **** off like in the game of life.
I want to indulge whatever I want. I'm craving all types of food and feel like having something from the nearest untrustworthy food stand, sit, eat and belch like an ''I won *****'' paean. Maybe I could go vegan for a day, or try the disgusting raw food challenge or switch it later to become a fast food nasty piggish *****. Food shouldn't be feared, it shouldn't make you sick nor fat. I don't even care about my shape like I used to, food is there to be lustly enjoyed before it is pooped, my friends. I don't mind if I'm slim or fat for the first time in my life yet I still in a pseudo imposed diet and nobody knows why.
Oh God! I want to jump in the water cold or hot, who cares? sunny or cloudy, who gives a dime? Better yet, I want to jump out off a plane for skydiving and feel I'm flying free, high, higher than my thoughts and fears. I want to drink and celebrate as if it were my birthday, and toast to wisdom rather than to wrinkles. I want to dance like the whole world is watching, flashing me and tagging me.
I want all that. I want to spend all the money I have on dresses, hippie, elegant, short, longs and even see through ones but I just want to forget about ''saving for a house'', ''saving for a future that might never come.
Oh man, I want to do more things than I even dared to in my beautiful early twenties. I actually think I should have done more, dared more, even gotten laid more. Why not?
But this stupid sickness has turned me into a trapped bird on an infamous spell. Right after a click, I'm just a free bird in a cage, trapped in a white four-wall safety room whether it is home or work. This right here is a bird which lamely admires people living their life outside and watching the clock inside ticking ''it's one more minute of prison'' going by and by and by like a stream of water in my sweaty hands. That' s where a stupid sickness can drag ones life on, trapped in a safe yet hermetic & suffocating bag. Usually, the NY Times articles, writing drafts and camera lenses from my balcony alleviate this and convince me it is not too bad. But it actually is very bad. and God knows I'm getting tired of this.
If life is a game, if this life is a game, then someone has to lose while the other wins.
Will abracadabra inscribed on an amulet make me win? If Roman emperor Caracalla prescribed that malaria sufferers wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle in order to get healed.
I trust the man. I just want to be free.
I want to indulge whatever I want. I'm craving all types of food and feel like having something from the nearest untrustworthy food stand, sit, eat and belch like an ''I won *****'' paean. Maybe I could go vegan for a day, or try the disgusting raw food challenge or switch it later to become a fast food nasty piggish *****. Food shouldn't be feared, it shouldn't make you sick nor fat. I don't even care about my shape like I used to, food is there to be lustly enjoyed before it is pooped, my friends. I don't mind if I'm slim or fat for the first time in my life yet I still in a pseudo imposed diet and nobody knows why.
Oh God! I want to jump in the water cold or hot, who cares? sunny or cloudy, who gives a dime? Better yet, I want to jump out off a plane for skydiving and feel I'm flying free, high, higher than my thoughts and fears. I want to drink and celebrate as if it were my birthday, and toast to wisdom rather than to wrinkles. I want to dance like the whole world is watching, flashing me and tagging me.
I want all that. I want to spend all the money I have on dresses, hippie, elegant, short, longs and even see through ones but I just want to forget about ''saving for a house'', ''saving for a future that might never come.
Oh man, I want to do more things than I even dared to in my beautiful early twenties. I actually think I should have done more, dared more, even gotten laid more. Why not?
But this stupid sickness has turned me into a trapped bird on an infamous spell. Right after a click, I'm just a free bird in a cage, trapped in a white four-wall safety room whether it is home or work. This right here is a bird which lamely admires people living their life outside and watching the clock inside ticking ''it's one more minute of prison'' going by and by and by like a stream of water in my sweaty hands. That' s where a stupid sickness can drag ones life on, trapped in a safe yet hermetic & suffocating bag. Usually, the NY Times articles, writing drafts and camera lenses from my balcony alleviate this and convince me it is not too bad. But it actually is very bad. and God knows I'm getting tired of this.
If life is a game, if this life is a game, then someone has to lose while the other wins.
Will abracadabra inscribed on an amulet make me win? If Roman emperor Caracalla prescribed that malaria sufferers wear an amulet containing the word written in the form of a triangle in order to get healed.
I trust the man. I just want to be free.
