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What do you do when you are burning up from inside;
the wind leaves your mouth dry and hot gulping for air
or in the metro squeezed between strangers at five pee em
you feel their touch, even through layers of cloth
it smolders your skin;
or when you hold somebody else's child and realize that
yours would be born in december;
when you wake up with a gasp from a dream where
someone loved you to rain showering in your face
or when even in your dreams they cast their eyes sideways
uncomfortably, pulling their hands out of your desperate grasp;
what do you do
when this sweet, heavy, unbearable, empty laughter boils in your chest
so easy to turn into tears;
what do you do
when you want to let go
but there is nothing to;
then how do you lean out the highest tower and scream:
i love
and the word falls flat on the street
a darkened spot on concrete, trampled by the busy people
of this city
without body or content;
what do you do
with all this restless heat
that leaves nothing behind, not even coals or ashes...
and you know
tomorrow you will drown

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sky is purple and orange like fading bruise
the marks rain leaves against window
remind me of my cat's scratches.
like a Dostoyevsky character, I hate the sound of wind in the trees
as it echoes in the shapeless emptiness inside me.
it is one of those evenings
when the manner the grass lies in the neighborhood park
causes a pang of sad anxiety:
such is the backdrop against which
in the opposite house
a fifth floor window is lit up
showing a good-looking woman dishing out unknown food
while a handsome man leans over the table to straighten the cutlery.
but I turn my gaze to sky, now colourless,
cut by the sharp, black contours of roofs.
their life fill me with longing for mine,
the one that passes me by
unnoticed.

Kate Moss' shaped emptiness

There is something wrong with me, or maybe it is all about being a maximalist, about building the expectations which are impossible to fulfill. I find it hard to maintain friendships. Or any kind of relationship with other human being for that matter. There just is no control - these other people, they stop loving you or start loving you too much, they demand for you to change, to be somebody else they would find easier to love.
And the language we use to express ourselves just complicates everything. Because what I write and what you read, these are two different things. Everything is open to interpretations and every interpretation is a misinterpretation. Author is dead, hell yes, Roland Bart, as if it wasn't obvious. And we spend nights yelling at each other, childishly believing that if the other can't understand the content of our words, maybe the loudness of our voices will be more convincing.
With all that out of hands, I turned to dieting as the last fortress of control. I have seen plenty of shows on eating disorders. If I could, I would get some lovely anorexia. Sadly enough my willpower is not what it ought to be so I must be satisfied with a simple diet instead.
Which poses the next problem - what kind of diet?
Internet and bookstores are throwing at us sharky looking blondes with too many teeth in their mouths, sharing their stories of success; or slender doctors with graying temples and used cars salesman's smile, explaining the medical dangers of obesity and the joys of being slim and fit.
What scares me about this crowd is how religious they all sound. What should be a very simple thing - food one puts in one's mouth to fuel the body to be able to do what one pleases - is turned into an absurd cult. Some actually mention god as an ingredient in a successful diet plan. Like in 50 Top Secrets of the Fittest by Julia Havey*
"Here is what a fit person does: 43. Lives a balanced life - exercise, work, family, and GOD."
So, single unemployed atheists, don't even bother - you don't stand a chance. And as I'm part of that particular demographic group, I guess I should just drop my feeble tries, go to the kitchen and hide my godless face into some whipped cream cake. In a bible camp nine years ago I actually heard theory that people have a God-shaped emptiness in their chest, which they try to fill in with drugs, food, sex or what else they have handy, stubborn to realize that only religion can fill them up (couple of years later though I deciphered this as a clumsy misinterpretation of Aristotle).
In a way I wish it was as easy as that - to have a god to stuff into my hungry emptiness, to have a true belief in such god anyway. I bet I would shed kilos like cats shed fur in autumns. I bet that's what got Kate Moss to look the way she does. Her relentless belief in God. That and not her funny little idea, that "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels."


Well, as believing in some abstract father figure is not really working for me, I guess I'll go with teachings of miss Moss. Maybe I should make that fabulous saying in cross stitch and hang above the head of my bed. I guess I'm off to do just that.

*To witness Mrs. Havey's preacher's skills, just follow the link:
http://www.vicebustingdiet.com/26-week-program.html and chose one of the audiofiles. They are equally amazing.

One of those self-obsessive blogs

This is on of those self-obsessive blogs. I am going to write only about myself. What's worse, I'm going to describe my dieting and exercising routine in detail. O.K., I might throw in occasional sex scene. Or a cultural discovery. But they will still be presented in a very boring way - as all egomaniacs I think every single detail of my life is worth knowing. Like I have a chipped nail, so I am going to do a manicure. Soon. Or that I should vacuum my room instead of writing this.
Yes, I should definitely vacuum my room.
But just wait until tomorrow - I plan to mention my actual weight and my my goal weight, to describe a kick-boxing class and also note every single thing I have been putting in my mouth.