Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.) (lantichristo) wrote,
Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.)
lantichristo

this is not my beautifull life ...


When I, by accident, read the newspaper about foreign news, or, again, by accident listen on the news from the Greek channel ... I can but think of Charles ... A man I actually loath, but appreciate some of his work. When he isn't talking about fucking, alcohol, whores and throwing up - make no mistake, almost every page in all his books he talks about the one or the other - he has actually written some truths, in, possibly unexpected, moments of clarity. So today I was forced to listen for a moment the news on the Greek channel (my father was watching) And all I could think of was Charles'
"Ham on Rye"

So many quotes fit the situation. Hell, the whole book fits the situation. But two of my favorite quotes - and I think the most representative of the book - are the following.


"The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole goddamned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves.."

"They shit and they chattered and they were dull as horse dung. The girls looked good from a distance, the sun shining through their dresses, their hair. But get up close and listen to their minds running out of their mouths, you felt like digging in under a hill and hiding out with a tommy-gun"



-Charles Bukowski


These words fit perfectly with what I think about that place ... so far away now, thank Thor! But so close, with my father trying to cling on it as a junky to his junk.


I can not write anymore.
It has been a while now, that I can only remember words of others, but can not write my own.
It is not a writer's block actually.
I just feel drained.
And I have no inspiration, or time to go out take pictures. Last picture I took was a really depressing picture of my father.
Right now he an mother are playing Backgammon. I am looking at them. When they play they look as if everything is fine. Everything is going to be alright. Nothing has changed. Everything is going to be fine. She is not Bipolar and he has no cancer. Everything is fine when they play.
I wish this game would last forever.


I want to get shitfaced and feel or think of abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Zilch!
But I really hate drunk people and I hate being drunk myself. I can get as far as tipsy. Further than that I just feel sick. I do not want to go out party or clubing or do anything with friends.
I avoid birthday parties, anniversaries and dinner invitations ... because I know they will all get drunk.
Apart from me.
And they will all get chatty.
Apart from me.
And someone will always want to talk to me and open up, and say something profound and meaningful and really ... deep ... And I will either want to slit my wrists from embarrassment (yeah I get to feel embarrassed when OTHERS making fool of themselves. Even on television, when someone is being an idiot .. I am the one who feels ashamed ... It's been like that since I remember myself) or try to get a grip on myself from laughing in their face ...  Because drunk people talking  ... is like farting with their mouth. Bad breath and incomprehensible sounds that might have been sentences.

I do not know how to handle this situation.
It is really tough.
Especially when he forgets or does not understand what is really going on ...  and I get to tell him over and over again. Without really telling him that he has an expiration date ...
The doctor said: " Tell him to live his life"
How the Hell can he live his life? He is half the man he used to be. He is in constant pain. And he thinks there is a magic way that will make it all go away. And I have to repeat the same things everyday. Because everyday he
forgets.
And he puts on the Greek channel on the television in his room ... and I can't stand it ... and all I can think of is ...


"... But get up close and listen to their minds running out of their mouths, you felt like digging in under a hill and hiding out with a tommy-gun"




Tags: dear diary, my father's illness, rumbling
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