I decided to fuck profoundness, importance and meaningfulness. I decided that isn't the proper way to live.
I've spent so much of these past few years searching for some infallible truthes only to find myself surrounded by all of the dull day-to-day stuff that makes me human. Waking up. Eating. Socialising. Bathing. Small talk. This is a life time of small talk. This is nothing great. Nothing that will be written in the history books. And I've got to learn to enjoy that. And I kind of am, despite how this sounds.
But it isn't bad, no no. Embracing tackiness and kitsch will be fun. I think I'll dye my hair a bright and gaudy red. A la
Lola Rennt. The kind of dye-job that isn't about the color so much as the
look at me vibe it gives off.
I will become gregarious and amiable. I'll stop wondering off when I'm with friends.
I'll become the life of the party. Maybe a drug addict while I'm at it...just to spice things up.
I will make my life a celebration of tedium and cliches. Long live meaninglessness!
I dreamt:
I asked David, very tentatively, was it his mother that did things to him? It had something to do with his Mormon (dreamworld) faith, and although it bothered me it was no issue to him.
He said, no, thats disgusting!
He said, I do things my father of course.
That way we don't have to worry about pregnancy.
