Cat on the Cobble Dancing on Violin

It's raining again. Now it's been a week and not a day went by without getting the asphalt wet, sometimes even with little floods on the cobbled-streets. Mostly it is just boring raining but tonight it's spiced up with some thunder and lightning. I'm very much enjoying this mixture of sounds: the cars, the big booms, some human voices, the horn of the tram, the violin play coming somewhere from our house, the thing that's hung on the balcony and tinkles as the wind blows it. That thing, which I don't know the name of, but as a fucked up chorus accompanies the night orchestra of this bizarre mass.

I don't mind the rain right now. Even though recently I've been so depressed of days passing by on me and I could easily say rain is a subsequent obsticle on the way of me starting living my life, a vis major I cannot forsee and defeat or avoid. I should hate it. Fuck it. Maybe I would have minded the rain yesterday, maybe I'll mind it tomorrow. I hated it and I'll hate it because of destroying my Cons as I'm not willing to wear any other shoes during summertime, the end of my jeans' legs which are totally muddy, the people with umbrella poking my eyes out even if there are just a couple of harmless drops falling.

But not tonight. Tonight is fresh. It doesn't feel the continuation or the beginning of a weather period. Today smells like summer rain, no history no future. It's cool, it's sweet that has washed away the stench of the city.

I'm on the balcony to smoke a cigarette. The goose bumps on my arms are the marks of the chilly air but it's chilly in a very nice way. I'm not yet cold. I'm holding the tip of my cigarette into the fire, inhaling a big one. And then just sitting on the balcony with my left hand resting on my lap. I'm totally calm. Sucking the fume out of that fag then blowing it into the night watching it disappearing at the bottom of the balcony above us. I'm wondering if the cat from the flat accross the inner garden is going for a night hunt again. Or someone in the hotel next to it forgets to draw the curtains. I can see some silhouettes of people at the back of TomTom smoking a cigarette, drinking some pints, talking about stuff. I noticed a tiny spider and its huge net linking the clothesline with the satellite and somehow Matrix popped into my mind. I'm sure that tiny spider won't be there tomorrow. Maybe the wind will sweep it away or it has already run away from the thunder into our apartment taking full adventage of the open door. Maybe it'll simply disappear just as the last pale cloud of the smoke from my lung becomes frayed.

Something about nothing

Haven't written a thing a while. I know. Let's put it this way, I haven't really had anything to write about. Or if I have had that might have been all those complaints of how I haven't felt good here. I've been through some serious bullshit and believe me when I say bullshit. Because it is bullshit. No beginning-no end whining about how I've missed out on so many things and how I can't seem to find my way back into my own life. It's like the path I'm walking on takes me somewhere I might not wanna go. Because it feels like just a big fucking by-pass. I feel I'm wasting my time here. And instead of this pushing me forward to something which contains the word "further" it has just dragged me down into an apathy I apparently cannot climb out of.
I so cannot find my place in this world right now that I jump into such things I don't have the knowledge or the patience or the passion for. I bought a photoapparat but I haven't used it since. I wanted to be a photographer but just right in the moment I payed for the Flexaret I gave all my enthusiasm to the lady with my money. I realized that even though I have good eyes for all beauty or shoking I still don't find the will in my finger to turn the shutter or whatnot on the machine. It just disappeared and even though it'll look good on my shelf 5 years from now, still what was the purpose behind that action? Expecting salvation from something I already wanted to do years ago and at that time I lost my enthusiasm just as I did now?
Being here is lesson I never wanted to learn yet looks like I needed to experience. If I navigate my memory back on these 5 months to find one single happy moment here I would fail. First of all my brain wouldn't work because that apathy grabs it with iron-hands therefore lazyness seems painless, second of all because even if I ignored that iron hand I wouldn't be able to find a moment like this anyway.
Someone said that the main problem is that we came here with a decision already had been made: we won't love it. Which is not true. I came here with the very safe and effortless decision: Let's not make decisions, just go with the flow. That flow is not really a flow but more like a flood. Taking me here and there but keeping me drowning.
Anyway the reason why I'm writing now even though I have nothing to write about is that someone said I may write good in english. So here it is something I enjoyed writing even though it doesn't really make any sense. Just like my life here so far.