Me and My Imaginary Friends

Summary

The content reflects a personal narrative of resilience, creativity, and the search for connection amidst struggles with writing, painting, and memories, juxtaposing the mundane with profound existential musings.

Abstract

The author shares a deeply introspective account of their daily life, filled with the frustrations of creative blocks and the solace found in life's simple pleasures such as beer, food, and art. Despite the challenges of an uncooperative canvas and elusive words, there is an underlying optimism and a determination to break the monotony. The narrative touches on the death of a friend, encounters with strangers, and the paradox of feeling both alienated and connected in a world that often seems indifferent. The author's zest for life is evident, as they navigate through the complexities of existence, questioning their place in the world while embracing each day as a new adventure.

Opinions

The author likens conversations with some women to a divine dialogue, implying a sense of unreciprocated communication.
There is a strong preference for the spontaneity and diversity of public transport over the isolation of private travel.
The author expresses a sense of being an outsider in a world consumed by self-destructive tendencies, yet they feel cursed or blessed by their own excess of energy.
The recent suicide of a friend has paradoxically made the author feel less alone, suggesting a shared sense of struggle or existential angst.
The author experiences their memory as fragmented, comparing themselves to a fog amidst black holes, which turns every day into a new, disconnected experience.
Despite the tumultuous inner world, there is a clear appreciation for life's potential and a defiant refusal to succumb to the idea of being a machine.

Me and My Imaginary Friends

Photo by Chuck Boakye

Talking to some women is like talking to God. Most of the time it feels like I am talking to myself. Spot on. No matter how you twist it. Unfortunately.

Good thing there’s a cold beer, happy food, dope, super sexy kinky stuff, and funky art. Imagine an existence without a single one of them. I am not a machine. I refuse to be one. Game on.

The day looks promising. No doubt something is happening today.

When nothing works

The fucking canvas is not cooperating though. So much for painting. The words seem to be ill today, almost dead. So much for writing. But it’s okay. Been there, done that. I know what to do. It’s hard to break old habits and most of all, extremely boring.

If you have a limited imagination like me, there’s no point in waiting in front of the laptop or staring at a canvass. No, the action is on the street. That’s why I use public transport, I mean: who are you going to meet in a taxi or in your own car?

Lust for life

I have said it before and I will say it again. There is always something to do when all seems lost. And there’s so much more to do when everything looks promising.

Energy. I always feel a little bit like an outcast in this world where everybody is dying or killing themselves with good intentions. Blessed or cursed? Does it even matter how and what we call it?

Sometimes I feel like expired food in the fridge that should have been thrown away a long time ago.

Yesterday a friend of mine killed himself. Funny how an event like this makes you feel that you are not alone.

Memories

Thinking about the weird encounter I had very early in the morning on my way to the liquor store. This woman that I have never met before, was calling me by one of my first names and talking about stuff I can’t picture ever happened. Good, nice stuff; for the record.

I am like a fog between all these black holes in my memory. It’s becoming a problem. Life isn’t boring, everyday it starts again from scratch. Every day is a new adventure.

How fucking great!

And how do you feel today?