so lonely, but never alone

fully furnished apartment for sale

here you have the livingroom, the library, the bedroom and probably the bathroom too in the same room. how very convenient!

some fine windows, only the purest quality.

here you can play, sit, get dirty, grow shit. whatever, really. the world is your ashtray.

includes two helmets if you're quick. one named scott, apparently.

view from livingroom/bedroom/bathroom/library/kitchen. superb place for sunbaths and dishwashing.

overview. yeah, i know!

this is where my brain takes a dump

i wonder how many times have i pushed down a key to make a letter appear on the screen.
how many clicks and how many minutes have i spent doing things of such little importance rather than living outside in the fresh air and actually feel alive. how many days have gone by like this.
it feels unfair.

that's when you realise how ill you've actually been and currently seem to still be.

how many times. this keyboard must be more sturdy than me, i reckon.
thank god, or else i'd not only be unemployed, but completely stripped of something to call a life.

same thing, day out day in, same colors, same sun, same sky and the same cars passing by.
routines are a vital part of life, even when your profession is trying to escape from them.

in order to realise how ill i actually am, i need to taste what being healthy is like.
there's no taste left in my pallet, so i must recall memories and the only memories i can recall is great moments from simpsons, like this:
bart walks out into the yard. homer is doing his usual menace to his neighbor and bart asks "do you even have a job anymore?" to which homer replies quite elegantly "well duh, i think it's pretty obvious that i don't"
as we all know, memories fade and get manipulated so easily (if you didn't know this, it's about time you wake up to this icy cold fact), so there's not much help in that, at all.
i usually just end up with the wrong perspective on things - either do it WELL or don't.
perfection must be achieved.

so i just don't.

do you ever dread waking up because you know it'll be at least 16 hours of vast nothingness untill you can fall asleep again and finally count another day that's gone by without you.. dying?

even santa must have been percieved as a freak at times.

even small raptors can look big.

even steven can be a horse.

even i can ..

ah fuck, just ran out of coffee.

oh generations

i wonder if all this information makes us grow old faster

can you believe how much fun i've had

well world. if you plan on leaving me to myself, i think i'll manage.

the hops in our garden is getting down and cozy with some other bush.

aaand some other photos that didn't look too good the following morning

nasen at work

in the middle, there's a me.
so that's what i look like when i bust my ass trying to earn a living.

naaaw a banana

i wonder if he's this happy all of the time.

yes it's true

no it's not

i wonder if germs and alcoholics are more symbiotic

i live a life of great contrasts.
sometimes i wish they'd just melt together as if they were colors. creating a new one that has its own trusted definition.

tired of falling asleep with food in my teeth. that's not very inspirational. nor rational.

my cave where the most exercise i get is when having to walk across the room to grind coffee and then walk back to the sink again..

or when i turn my torso to fetch a beer from the fridge that's 30 cm from the sofa.

or when i suddenly realise whilst a long summer slowly becomes autum that i have fucking roses in my garden. that really says it all.

a life of great contrasts. when outside of here, i act normal and happy to the extend where i've stopped trying to recognise myself and simply accept this new person that has appeared.

no that's not true. i'm pretty much the same shitfaced person i'll ever be. the only thing that varies is people asking what drug am i on now, then.