Today I was wearing this holey polo neck and a frayed and black kashmiri coat. With a stole, not a beautiful scarf. And the most horrible rexine shoes with heels. I carried a cigarette and a cup of cha that tasted like horlicks, and I was also wearing golden hoops. Was my noir moment coming true? I don't know.
Winter is rather cold in more ways than one. But winter sunshine is so much better! I get more curves through overeating and my nerves improve tremendously. All due to a spot of the sun. Strange how people equate that with insanity; touch of the sun, eh? Language makes me feel uneasy about the world. Terribly. I will no longer brood.
Except of course on why I cannot plead insanity and ask people to go away when I snort snot at them. Will they go away on their own? Must my absurdism have a deeper meaning so that your academic intellects may interpret my misery or the lack of it thereof? Do I confuse you? Do I need the horror of the rouge, blanche et noir of our sordid everyday existences?
Are these questions that keep me awake at night?
I am afraid not. I have sedatives.
But actually I stopped. With sedatives, you may sleep but you stop dreaming. And for noir but not noir addicts, what a pity that would be!