Monday, 17 November 2008
This life.It bores. When ennui comes swooping down in an avalanche of hatred and self-defeat...when the greatest and best ideas fail to enchant...when the aesthetes win every time over the idealists...
My life, it bores.
There was one, who tried to teach me. The meaning of life. He thought it was a realm of ideas, that life was fervent, and sweeping, and every moment was required to grasp ideas. That wretched word-idea. I positively hate it. All around me people discuss it. The State, and society, of love and the future. The Orient, the West, America.Che.Modernity.Oxbridge. Fiction.
It is then that my lungs and I cry. My lips curl into a sneer of utter disgust.Immediately I fancy that my throat is parched. For 'ideas'-and discussing 'ideas'- leaves me high and dry. Like a smoke, or the lack of one. Everyone around me smokes incessantly. The smoke curls up into the sky and disappears into the blue. Much like their ideas. Huh! I say. I must get a coffee.
Coffee? Coffee means a tequila-like shot of an awfully sweet liquid. It is so sweet that it gives one momentary migraine.Yet that it is a moment of relief. I am not that bored when I drink coffee. Except when I pay insane amounts for coffee in cafes.
Individuals are lonely. Which is why they spend a lot of their parents' hard earned money. On bad coffee. I fall in love with solitude so often. The problem is, not with lonely hearts, just with lonely hearts. It is all very complicated. Yawn.
I think I survived uni because of Milonda's coffee.