Eagles, Prague 8 June 2009

Took her to a concert. Basically, sweet-talked her into it by mentioning corporate catering. That hooked her. She didn't pay attention to music too much, just tucked into whatever she felt like and savoured it with a childish grin and awe over her face. From time to time, I glanced at her; quietly and patiently, not to woo her, not to try breaking her, just to paint a mental picture of her beauty, of the way she smiles, talks, moves. I guess she might have noticed a glimpse of sadness, yet that might have been it — if it even was. No pathetic mess, no clingy desperate ex.

She was enjoying chocolate fondue with strawberries — and that's how I'll remember her in the months to come.

Yeah, and Hotel California is still great.

A quick one on man

Just in case somebody feels the same way, they're not alone. Blaise Pascal put it down nicely in the Pensées almost 350 years ago:

What a chimera then is man! What a novelty! What a monster, what a chaos, what a contradiction, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, imbecile worm of the earth; depositary of truth, a sink of uncertainty and error; the pride and refuse of the universe!

Tequila sunrise

Sunday morning, 4 am. I didn't party party last night. Didn't even go out. Stayed at home and watched the ceiling. Browsed the net. Didn't call anybody. Sincerely, didn't even feel like having anybody to call.

A single thought passed my mind — how much has my life changed in the last year and a half. There's no late night calls anymore, no blackouts, no hangovers — and no crazy friends around. The fridge is still packed with bottles. They're all sealed. I should start giving them away.

Sometimes I ache for a fag. To open a window and light one. Sometimes I ache for graver deeds, too. Yet I hold back.

Ooh that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning!

I go buy fresh rolls instead.

The happiest man alive

When I think I can't fall any deeper — I do. I always surprise myself how deep the hole is. The rabbit hole. Physical and mental emptiness even stopped being nauseating; being on the bring of nothingness is nirvanic. I mean, it doesn't feel bad anymore. I can handle twelve-hour work shifts without barking at people around me. I can handle my diminishing and almost illusory private life, too. Maybe I lack sleep — buy hey, that's what keeps me going.

Maybe if they started selling soma, I'd be the happiest man alive.