anorexik blog

Mrzila je tu riječ, beznačajnost. Plašila ju je više nego išta drugo na svijetu.

Kad je bila dijete, često je sanjala iste snove, i to ne sve; samo one najstrašnije.
U jednome je stajala na obali i slušala vjetar. More je bilo crno, a njegovi divovski valovi dozivali su je. Znala je da se ne može vratiti ako zakorači, ali svakoga puta ipak ne bi mogla odoljeti pozivu. Budila bi se u suzama, a njezina pidžama bi bila mokra od znoja.

Zbog ovkvih se snova rodio njezin strah od spavanja. U tom su je carstvu čekali sivi demoni dugih prstiju, čudno našminkane žene i muškarci s podmuklim osmijesima. Čekali su je i kada bi im i uspjela pobjeći, vratili bi se. Nekad bi bila mirna dan, nekad dva, nekad čak i mjesec dana, ali uvijek bi se vratili.

Međutim, jedne noći se odlučila oduprijeti, i to upravo u snu s demonima.
Bježala je satima kroz mračne šume i tmurne ulice, dok su joj se zvijeri i beskućnici smijali u lice. I kada više nije imala ni trunke snage, okrenula se i pogledala odurno lice jednoga od svojih progonitelja. Piljila mu je u oči pokušavajući prikriti gađenje.
I njeno grlo je bilo jače od nje, otrglo se komandama centralnog živčanog sustava i zatreštalo: Hajde, bring it on! Spremna sam! Ako od tvoje ruke trebam umrijet, nek umrem!
I demon se povukao, a njegova četa je ustuknula.

S vremenom su tako nestajali i ostali koji su joj prijetili. Neki se danas vraćaju da bi uništavali njen odmor, ali više se ne predaje, barem ne lako. Grlo joj ne dopušta. Urla čak i na more i vjetar.

Ali jednome snu se najteže opire. U njemu vidi samo grob s izblijedjelim epitafom. Na njemu se na trenutak ukažu slova njezina imena, da bi ih zamijenila BEZNAČAJNOST.

Rekoh sebi: Pogledaj staru krpu,
pronađi u njoj ljepotu
koju je jednom davno posjedovala.
I napiši pjesmu o njoj.

Pretražih svoje pamćenje
ali ne nađoh lijepe riječi.

Rekoh sebi: Sjedi u svoj stolac,
osjeti njegovu udobnost
i posveti mu strofu.
Sjedoh osjećajući svakom stanicom
ali ne nađoh udobnosti.

Rekoh sebi: Zapali još jednu cigaru,
udahni njezin slatki smrad
njezinu sposobnost da te približi smrti
i pronađi život u njoj.

Još uvijek pokušavam izdahnuti,
ali bol je prevelika da bih je ignorirala.
Nedostatak kisika u mojim žilama
diktira već predugo praznom želucu:
Izdahni.

Volim TRENUTAK
kad postanem svjesna
da imam moć nad svojim životom,
svoju malu – jedinu – moć,
moć da izdahnem.

Danas je stvarnost znanstvena fantastika. Svako štivo koje opisuje sadašnjost neminovno sadrži njene elemente jer je danas ono što je još prije nekoliko godina smatrano znanstvenom fantastikom dio svakodnevnice.

Reče neka čudna internet stranica.

Ako postoji država na svijetu na koju bi se ova tvrdnja mogla prikladnije primjeniti nego na Japan, zasigurno se čuva kao najveća tajna u podzemnim laboratorijima negdje na jugu SAD-a. Japan je u 20. stoljeću postigao golemi napredak primjenjujući drevnu sklonost disciplini na postavke globalno omraženog kapitalizma. Štoviše, na njegovim četirima glavnim otocima kapitalizam se prilagodio kao da je tu izmišljen, i nije nimalo omražen, nego prodire u sve sfere japanskog života bez protestantske etike s održanim tradicionalnim vrijednostima.

I japanski život odraz je kapitalizma – razvija se s njim i unatoč njemu, odvajajući tako ljude koji su preporodili Japan od onih koji su ga ponovno oživjeli.

Ova podjela je donekle generalizirana. Kažem generalizirana - zbog toga što Japanci mnogo bolje razumiju Zapad nego Zapad njih, on ih doživljava u prvom redu kroz idealizirane predrasude: kao da današnjim Japanom još uvijek hodaju samuraji koji samo u slučaju krajnje nužde sa svoga puta skreću u restorane na sushi ili, nedajbože, na čajnu ceremoniju s gejšom, samo nekoliko trenutaka nakon što je origamijem okitila najnoviju ikebanu.

S druge strane, postoje ekstremi koji u svakome Japancu vide Sonyjevog hakera ili Toshibinog inžinjera.

Bilo kako bilo, činjenica jest da je Zapad najintimnije upoznao Japan tek kada ga je silovao atomskom bombom. Ili, da budem preciznija, atomskim bombama.

I ova izmučena predivna zemlja samo čeka da eruptira elektronički vulkan čija će lava kad-tad preplaviti svijet, pokazujući nam svima što ustvari znači razvitak.

Samo se nadam da će me u tom slučaju neki yakuza uzeti pod svoju zaštitu.

šaljen vrhove svojih prstiju
tamo daleko, do tebe
da dodirnu tvoju kožu
da upiju njenu toplinu
i donesu mi tvoju dušu, tvoju ljubav

volila bi da možeš ti dodirnit moju
da se grlimo
dok gledan tvoje riječi
zamišljan da ležin u tvom zagrljaju
i da ne osjećan ništa osim topline

Na CARTOON NETWORKU, meni i danas jednom od najboljih programa, jednom davno bio je emitiran crtani zvan Freakazoid. Za one koji ne znaju o kome se radi, Freakazoid je superheroj koji baš i nema neke supermoći; koji trči ulicama s rukama ispruženim kao Supermen kad leti govoreći đžđđđžžžžžđđžž; koji se digne iz bolničkog kreveta, padne i kaže I meant to do that.
Njegova apsurdnost ne staje tu. I supervillans (odnosno njegovi protivnici) su malo neobični. Neću se previše zadržavati niti na tipu koji prodaje Oops-Insurance (ima srasle dlanove s bokovima pa koonstantno ruši stavri laktovima i govori Oops!), niti na kompjuretskom zločincu koji se dijabolično smije i urla Laugh with me, laugh with me!, a kada ga Freakazoid baci u provaliju viče Scream with meeee!
Ne, opisaću vam scenu s Lobeom, Freakazoidovim najgorim neprijateljem.
Zarobljen u prostoriji punoj eksploziva, Lobe gleda kako satovi odbrojavaju sekunde i negdi na 7 (correct me if I'm wrong) kaže najbolju rečenicu ikad izgovorenu u toj situaciji: It's the waiting arround that kills you.
I nije li to istina? Mrzin čekanje.
Ali volin iščekivanje.
Razlika?
Ovo drugo uključuje nadu.

ZAŠTO JA NE MOGU BITI OBIČNA, PROSJEČNA? ZAŠTO?
ZNAM DA NISAM NEKI GENIJALAC, BAR NE JAKO VELIKI, ALI ZAŠTO ŽELIM BITI? ZAŠTO ŽELIM POMOĆI LJUDIMA KAD IH PREZIREM? NJIHOVU ISPRAZNOST, NJIHOVO SEBE, NJIHOV EGO I MOJ EGO! NEKADA BIH VOLJELA DA SVIJET ZAVRŠI. DA TO BUDE TO.

Ali onda se sjetim koliko je lijepo kad ti hladni vjetar probudi kožu i koliko je priroda savršena i netaknuta i božja. I mislim da mogu ignorirati ove GLUPANE oko sebe. Samo zbog mora i ptica i jednoga para zelenih očiju. Ili plavih, a nekad izgledaju kao da su sive ili čak smeđe, ali to je samo uz sivu košulju. Očiju koje me negdje čekaju.

Voljela bih da te oči nose baloner, da mogu reći baloner. To je lijepa riječ, zvuči kao da je netko u savršenom velikom balonu i da ga vozi. Ja sam baloner i volim te, volim se pripijati uz tvoje tijelo i biti nepotreban jer te neću ugrijati ništa više nego jedno mlado izranjavano srce koje će u 0:29 nekog glupog još uvijek četvrtka ili već petka izaći iz prsnoga koša da ti kaže da si njegov baloner.

I onda je svijet opet lijep i nestvaran i NIKADA NEĆU PRIHVATITI OVOGA! NADAM SE DA JE TO JASNO. Imam svoje carstvo i u njemu mi je dovoljno da te znam, da me tvoje oči podsjete da ipak ima boga. S tobom ne postoji zadnja rečenica. Mogu li se osloboditi i želim li se osloboditi?

Kako da ne ispustin jecaj
ove glupe boli?
Ne, nisan tuzna.
Ne znan, valjda nisan.
Ne miriše na tugu.

U tuzi bar pronalazin okus radosti,
Tuga mi uvijek da razlog
za ponovni pokret.

Ne, danas san tupa.
Danas ću besciljno lutat svojin mislima
tražeći uspomenu na tebe,
neki novi detalj - dovoljno snažan
da me izvuče iz beznađa.

Samo se nadan da neću u prolazu osjetit
poznati miris i udahnit
punin plućima
da ga prepoznan,
i skužit da je to samo prepuna pepeljara.

Nadan se
da mi se neće opet zgadit život.

Judy woke up hugging the man she loved. She felt complete, as if a huge burden was off her back. Tania rudely entered their room and gave her a terrified look. She uttered a single word: April.
In an instant, Judy got up and rushed next door. She got the feeling April would do something to herself last night, when she found the note at her bedside. At first she was really mad because April had been in her room and she had probably went through her things again. But then the Cousin made her read it. He wanted to know what that mad girl had to say. Judy opened it.
– Her handwriting is messy, just like her mind. I'll read it to you. - Judy knew it was more serious than he thought. She started:
If I die tonight, tell the world that my wings aren't broken. Tell them that I still love, that I can still see the smiles and the sadnesses. I will close the window and turn off the lights. I will remain artificial to all those people that I long to know, that I wish to know me. To see me as someone of flesh and blood, someone whose soul needs to be touched. I too need to be loved, to run into the one I love when I'm far enough from his thoughts for him to forget me. I want someone to listen to me all the time. And to interrupt my every thought. Judy, Love, Love, Love, my love, I hope you're happy. I hope you'll miss me, at least for a moment. I will miss you forever. A.
– Sorry, girl, but this love is reserved for someone else. This world is reserved for someone else. – Cousin tried to be funny.
– Don't be mean. She's just jelous, that's all. - Judy tried to rationalize - I'll talk to her in the morning.

Dust lingering in the sunlight enlarged the room's emptiness. The bed was untouched and April's bags were gone. Tania ran to the window to assemble a search party. April was nowhere to be seen.
– Do you think she...
– Tried to do it again? I sincerely doubt it. But you can never be sure.
– We'll go out. We'll find her. Or her body. These people are friends, they will understand. - Tania's eyes lost their spark, she was losing it.
– Tania! - Judy slapped her - Get a hold of yourself! You don't just walk out there and tell your friends that today you wont play hide and seek, that you have a new game: seek only.
– Sorry, you know I didn't mean it like that.
– Look, she'll be all right. Even if she did it – the very thought gave Judy the chills – she'll be fine. She'll get some sleep, God knows she needs it. Besides, we're in the mountains, if she didn't want to be found, we won't find her. She obviously had nothing to tell us. - She decided to keep the letter to herself. And the Cousin.
– Yes, she just went away, what is with her? She was always weird.
– I think that not even she can give you the answer. Come on, let's go downstairs, we'll have some breakfast.

Tania showed them to their rooms. Judy unpacked and went downstairs. She couldn't wait to meet the Cousin. Tania told her that he wasn't very handsome, but that he had a lot of qualities.
– He's a sweetalker, a great listener. Everybody loves him. He is cool and he is smooth. Look, there he is now. Cousin! Come over here, I have someone special you just have to meet. This is Judy. Judy, my dear Cousin.
– Your dress is the most interesting cloth I've ever seen. – his sharp voice filled Judy's core. God, how she loved that dress! But, at that point, all she wanted to do is rip its stitches. How could a dress beat her? She swore she'd never wear it again.
– But it's not even close to the person who wears it. - he smiled.
She was in his power. A twist here and a twist there and she became addicted to him. Their thoughts were like pinball. At which moment did she begin to feel like Tommy? It didn't matter. Pure instinct of their fathers, the monkeys, lead her all the way.
When April joined the party, the partiers were half-asleep. One of them was murmoring a joyful event from his past, while the others made their best efforts to follow the plot. Needless to say, those efforts were meaningless. So were hers. Somewhere around my grandma reached for the ladder that looks like those ropes they use for speleology April excused herself and escaped to the kitchen to pore herself a gin.
Judy and the Cousin were there.
– May I please join you? I can't handle those amounts of drunk people in one room?
– Sure you can. Meet Tania's Cousin. He's from Geneva.
– April, pleased to meet you.
He shook her hand and continued his discussion with Judy. He didn't even look at her when they shook hands.
– I didn't catch your name. - April tried a bit harder. No reaction.
– Are you as dazed with Judy as all the others or is he just rude? Son of a bitch! - she murmored, knowing he was too busy with undressing Judy with his eyes.
As she listened to their words, she saw that they were speaking a different language for her, and she didn't even try to converse. She looked at Judy who had fit in quite well – she was glowing. He circled around her as a bee around a flower. She deserved it. She was the most beautiful flower in the universe.
Once again April excused herself and went to bed. They didn't try to stop her, although she expected they would. She knew that they could feel it, but still – they did nothing to change her mind.
Her room was cold. She put on a sweater her mother knit for her and started unpacking. She thought that the wull could bring warmth to her heart, or at least get her mind off the conversation. What did she miss? What was wrong with her? She was trying to repeat every word, to find the essence of that spark between the two lovers. She wanted a spark, she wanted someone to talk to her, not to see anyone else but her. She hated men.
But this guy was different. He had style. He...
Suddenly she understood why Winston Smith knew that he was dead when he wrote down with bigbrother: he confronted himself and conquerred the image he was selling to the world. How could she look Judy in the eye tomorrow? How could she look at Cousin and not let the smile away from her lips?
She spent the rest of the night waiting for the first birds to whisper to her that the dawn has come. The Moon was different, it was bigger, as if it wished to remind her that she's not at home. There was something beautifully sinister about it. Once again, it was calling for her soul. She could hear its silence sing to her. It wanted her back, she thought, for what they once had was special: long ago when she was Jupiter and people still called it Luna, when it was a part of her world and she was the ruler of its world.

Tania rushed out to greet her visitors waving her hands in a strange, frightening way. She seemed to have engaged too much muscle power in it. April wondered if it was the alcohol or just the running that made her friend look deranged? It didn't matter. Not after everything they had ever had in common became irrelevant. It belonged to the distant past. As she watched Tania in her insanity, she couldn't help but wonder how she could ever had any affection for such a person.
She was once in love with Tania. From time to time, she actually thought that Tania loved her back. There was something in the air when they would talk to each other. When their eyes met, April used to feel as if a strictly guarded safe would unlock and she'd walk in. A millisecond was enough for her tour. And all the sights were the same: Tania's soul written all over hers.
Seeing her again made April try to remember when her obsession faded. She couldn't. Nor could she remember when it had first appeared. Something much bigger than their perception had its hands in this, and April has never resisted it. She was angry with it many times, but things would always straighten down. After all, it was the culmination that counts, not the prologue.
– Everybody's finally here! – Tania screamed while releasing April from quite an odourly hug.
– It seems like a real party – she answered.
– Why, it is. We were dancing, jumping and running all day. We even tried to return to our childhood. But I guess we really are too old for hide and seek. Bob and Sam took all the alcohol and ran off to a cave a couple of miles north. That was quite mean of them.
Mean, indeed. Those she did not wish to meet. In fact, ever since Tania returned from the madhouse, April didn't want to meet anyone related to Tania's 'normal' life. She tried to get into the psychology of Bob and Sam. They probably had some fancy names, such as Robert Jr. and Samuel the Great. Their parents were lawyers or politicians, always keen on confrontation. The money they gave to their sons was a way of compensating for all the beatings and other punishments they later found inappropriate. Little did they know that their money was the supplier of all the evil goods their sons loved so much to consume.
– Is there anyone for me here? – Judy woke up and started the girl talk. – You know how I wish to meet someone... special. You know.
– My cousin from Geneva is a true gentleman, you'll love him.
Tania was more right than she knew it. What Judy was about to feel is far beyond the semantic field of the word love. She must have been aware of it, because she couldn't stop asking silly questions about the Cousin. At one point, she even asked how tall he was.
April didn't take part in the information gathering. Her thoughts were somewhere between envy to Tania because of her sanctuary and envy to Judy because of her beauty. She has never had that kind of resort and the places where she hid from the world were never even close to this. Maybe Judy was right when she teased her for seeing far too many sheets. But she will never know what it's like to wake up and not remember whom you are holding; to die inside every time you come home, lie in your own bed and feel that it's not really yours; and then just cry yourself to sleep.

The Studded Nail opened its curtains. Steam played the leading role, flooding the stage, preparing it for the sideshow, the man with no legs or arms who crawled from the back. A couple of dames sitting in the front row took no notice of him as he rolled the perfect joint using only his lips. They never watched the shows – the only reason they sat that close to the stage was because what they had to talk about was (as always) confidential.
– You must understand, she was desperate. How couldn't she be? I've heard that she was unable to separate imagination from reality.
– I know that, but it doesn't give her the right to try and take her own life. It's interfering with God's work.
– And will. – the redhead had to agree. She took a moment to light up a cigarette. The lighter cut a scratch in her pink nail polish. – Damn! I know what you're saying, but I've heard that everyday stuff like, I don't know, crossing the street or maybe having a cup of coffee with a friend, were unreal to the poor thing.
– Yes, I've talked to Judy about it. She told me that April told her that the colours of the world somehow mix, that her words sound like they are spoken by a stranger.
– Really? Judy said that?
– Cross my heart. And I qoute: the people who were once familiar seemed plastic.
– No! Now thet's just funny!
– And the buildings she entered seemed to be made out of paper. She mentioned talking horses and levitating women but I couldn't follow...
– I can't believe that Judy would tell you that, I thought they were closer.
– I don't know, Judy likes April, but there was this one time. - she paused.
– Yes?
– April tried to kiss her.
– Jesus! No way!
– Way! I'm telling you, there is something seriously wrong with that woman, she's spooky.
– I couldn't agree more. Just look at her, sitting there at the bar, telling stories to the Crying Fool. They are made for each other. Did you know that his drinking cost him his wife?
– Typical! Who else could listen to that nut? I think she never really belonged here, if it wasn't for him, what would she do, watch these freak-shows?

April could see the pair looking at her. She could feel their words undressing her. She despised their perfect little lives, their lack of wishes. The Crying Fool spotted the sadness entering her heart, and started jumping on and off the tables to amuse her. She tried to calm him down but he just kept on jumping. She could see him stumble over a chair, his skull broken, his brain poring out. He must have felt her worries so he halted and said:
– I want a story. Tell me about the time you tried to kill yourself.
She gave him a smile knowing that he said it just loud enough for the first row to hear him.
– I'll tell you a new story, but it won't be about failed attempts. I'll tell you how I got over it.
The chatters stared with astonishment. Oh, how they wanted to move closer, for this was a topic not even Judy knew anything about. April pulled up a chair for her gentleman and lowered her voice.
– I simply decided to embrace my insomnia. When I saw that there was nothing I can do about it, I realized that it must be a gift, rather than as a disorder. I’ve developed a whole new life and with it a whole new relationship to the world. From 9 to 5, I perform my work as well as I can, and in the nights I enjoy myself, my new self. You know, I've never written more than a scientific sentence before this. Hell, I even began to paint.
– You are growing inside.
– Sure, and if my muse is asleep, I simply go out and follow the road, no matter where it takes me. The street lights became my new best friends, and they still keep some of my deepest secrets. Believe me, no sun-on-the-sea-scene could match the way these orange lights reflect themselves on the streets. And I follow them to reach their beauty.
– Have you ever reached it?
– Well, you could say that I have. After all, my nocturne wanderings ended in The Studded Nail. You wouldn’t believe what I saw before this. The strangest places, which were far enough from my room for me not to go back.
– Tell me about those places.
– No, I have to go. It's almost six and I have a train to catch. I'm going to see the Alps!
– And Tania.
– Yes, Tania.
– Are you sure you are ready for her?
– I'm as ready as I ever was. I must go now. And I'll tell you all about my adventures when I get back.
– I'll take your word for it.

As April was going home, it never ocurred to her that that night was the last one she spent with her friend. A couple of days later, the Crying Fool misteriously disappeared. It was after an argument he had with the owner of The Studded Nail. Maybe the front row would know something about it. They probably know more than the police, whose only evidence is Clown's body found lying near the city dumpyard.
If she knew, April would have told him about the places she'd seen, she would tell him all about her preinsomniac life, about her men, maybe she would even mention that she loves him with her whole being and that she feels like his mother sometimes, calming him down, putting him drunk to bed, bathing him to sober him up, but she would be careful not insult him: she would explain that she enjoys it and that he is not less worthy to her. He could never be.
She would have made him happy, if only she knew.

April's eyes browsed through the room, stopping on the books she piled for months. By the movement in their fibers, she could see that they were dreaming. It was their REM, she knew that. She got up and walked towards them. Her Babel tower, her attempt to reach God was mocking her. She took the first one: Cancerogene Cells Today. Did she really think anyone would take the word of a nut? Especially when the word be that even the worst tumor can be cured by the power of the human mind! She tossed it through the window. She took the second one and flung it. And the third one. She started throwing the rest of the books around, one by one. Before she knew it, her Babel tower was down. And she was dancing around the ruins. Ha, who's the fool now?! You stupid books! As she moved, it awoke the noise of ancient Roman drums, she was praising rain with the Indians, she was burning Jewish literature with the Nazis.
Suddenly she stopped. She caught glimpse of a pair of scissors lying on the desk next to the window. Their cold metal made her warm inside. Frightened, she looked away. The Moon was full. She asked it why she feels alive again. He just pointed to their left side. April forced herself to look back at the scissors. Moonlight revealed four letters on them: r e s t.
The Moon's silence was driving her insane. Why won't he answer? She reached for the scissors. Her every muscle was pierced with extreme pain. She wanted it to stop. She wanted to rest. She wanted to find peace.
She undressed, felt her lowest rib and counted three fingers upwards to mark the spot. The scissors lead her hand towards it. A slight pinch made blood spring from her body. She didn't feel pain as she stabbed deeper. She was cold, but the Moon was telling her not to stop. She fainted.

When the good doctors diagnosed my insomnia, they gave me a list of 'institutions' that dealt with it. Since I was busy pretending to listen to their philosophies, I managed only to take a glimpse at it: one state hospital for sleep deprivation two bedsit incorporated three saint johns special hospital. Sure, and perhaps I should try Mary's bed and breakfast, if these don't work? I don't even know why I came to these clowns in the first place. After all, I've never believed in their cures – my education included just enough of chemistry for me not to. Should I mention that I was a natural? I know most of the components of the »cures« and I refuse to put any of them in my organism. When I tried to stop my colleagues from putting them in the organisms of others, I found no understanding. My teachers were quite disappointed as they were signing the form for my expell – their wish to cash in on my endless potential would never come true.
I’ve never believed in potential, either.
If you ask me, everything is a matter of practice. A man could be a champion in everything from sports to arts if he wanted to and if he tried really hard. At the time, I wanted to be the champion of sleeping – all I had to do was lie down and keep my eyes closed. The physical reaction of my brain would be lulling itself to sleep. What could be easier?
I was younger than I thought.
Yes, six months ago, when I first gave it a try, I believed that it's normal if I didn't make it from the first take. Maybe third, fourth. But every time I tried, I would find myself sitting on the bed hours later, realizing that I was awake all the time.
In the next couple of nights I tested all possible positions which could help me. Lying on my left side for an hour and then changing to the right worked for a while. When that too wore off, I realized that all of my efforts were meaningless.
I tried a different method tonight. I read about it in the Sphere. The article said that lying on your back slows your heart's rhytm and makes the whole body calmer. Guess what, it didn't work! I really am an idiot sometimes, but I don't think that I can take it much longer. I don't know what to do. Except... no, I couldn't. I shouldn't. Come to think of it, what have I got to lose?

It was 5am when they arrived. Finally! Tania shouted from the front door. She was begging April and Judy for years to come and see her mansion, her sanctuary – she loved to call it. A few heads peaked over hers and slipped back in when they saw that nothing particularly interesting was about to happen. They were all preposterously drunk, of course. Who else would be awake at that hour? Even Judy fell asleep during the train ride.
April wasn't that lucky. Her desire for sleep had long ago become merely a need for rest. But she didn't mind; she was taken by the scenery. Who could resist the Alps in spring?, she thought. The cold mountain tops filled her with strange peacefulness which would only be interrupted when a sharp-roofed cottage would slip in her view, reminding her that humanity exists.
In those rare moments she would devote herself to Judy's anemic skin, spread all over her seat. Judy's make up had melted hours ago and a drop of saliva was naughtily sliding down her lips. Although it tried, it was unable to ruin her beauty. She was so calm, so steady while the Moon was protectingly smiling upon her.
After all, she was in a different realm, the one much more beautiful then April's. She was in the fluid world of dreams, which April unwillingly left ages ago.

Čemu ova potreba da ozlijedin ljude do kojih mi je stalo? Možda se osjećan ka da su dio mene tada i sama pokušavan ranit misto koje bi oni možda jednom ranili, samo da spriječim razočaranje. I tako ih udaljavan od sebe i od svoga svita.
Ma, it's for the best, ja iman svoje knjige, zvijezde i šizofrenične ličnosti, ne trebaju mi stvarni ljudi. Mašta je toliko ljepša. Kurva zavodljiva! Ona ne odlazi, ona me nece jedne veceri pretuc ili zalit vodon.
Ali šta je, tu je. Jedan veliki čovik (mislin da ima svojih 80-90 kila) je reka da se odrastanje desi kad razbiješ onaj mali ćup u svojoj glavi koji ljudi zovu mašta. I nisan sigurna jel došlo vrime da se moj razbije, a opet nisan sigurna ni da već nije razbijen.
Ne mogu zamislit život bez mašte, bi li bio automatiziran? Bi li se sve svodilo na ustajanje, pranje, odlazak na posao, trošenje plaće na hranu i račune, jebanje sa ženon/mužen kojeg ne voliš više, jer je i on ovo šta si ti (zombi), i počinak? Bez snova, naravno.
Mislin da takvi ljudi ne postoje, ali ako san u krivu i buden sama sebi dokaz da se to ipak događa, molin vas da me podsjetite da počinin harakiri.