I wake up feeling exhausted. The kid nextdoor is always crying. I hear its mother speak with a wordless Scotish accent from the other side of the wall, clearly upset. I also overhear a phone conversation and the word "disaster". After the shower I find a fat cat on my bed. How can she get into my room when barely I can? You have to litterally kick the door to get it open and it's physically impossible to open it while carrying two things at once for instance. This cat is either superman or an alien. Anyhow, I get the cat out quickly and I imagine that my throat is soar now. But then it always is in Glasgow. I'm drinking coffee and eating a sandwich while watching some Swedish television. A Norweigan princess educates me about angels, and apparently you can survive under water for an hour if your brain's almost frozen. Norweigans are funny, why did we ever give them up? We should all be one happy country (sharing Norways happy oil-money).
I catch bus 205 into town. I think about people who are sad and realise that I am not. Being alone and being able to enjoy it is a freakin skill not many people know how to master. Sometimes I am queen of fucking everything. A grey squerell outside the window is not however. It's been run over and lay flat and stiff as a stick on the side of the road with a tortured facial expression, if squerells can have such a thing.
In town I take some photographs and run up and down not knowing what I need exactly. Was looking for a book by Alice Monro, but found another one which I bought for 11.50. I don't know why I decided to get a book today. I never buy books if I don't have to. This one I just had to have though and I don't want to tell you why. Later on I make my way through the moving forrest of people, while playing "You Make My Dreams" by Hall & Oates. I imagine I'm in a music video and actually dance through the crowd, because that's what my feet wants to do when this song is played. Town is packed with people today and everyone seem to be farting. It smells like warm sneaky farts here and there when I have to stand still waiting for the green man or watching the drummers perform on the street. Farts always makes me think of Paul Sahre showing me how to do the word in sign language. I have now showed it to almost everyone I know. I'm not very good at party tricks.
In town I also see between 5 and 10 blind people scattered all over the place and wonder if Glasgow perhaps is a city for the blind. It's not pretty, so at least they're not missing anything. I buy some more things and feel as if I have to survive on air for a while. Almost no money left in wallet. Somehow that thought exhites me. I don't see poverty or the recession as something necessarily bad. In fact it makes me more creative and I can't help but to be freakin' positive. Bad things always brings good stories, I suddenly realise. For instance, aren't there shitloads of great books written by concentration camp survivors? Or how about Van Gogh; if he had lived a normal, happy life his art wouldn't have been as famous as it is today. A little injection of disaster is good if you can find a way to deal with it, I reckon.
It's getting dark when I steal something in a ----- store unintensionally. It doesn't make me feel bad, because it's not my fault. When you get something for free by accident you should accept it as a gift. Perhaps this is what all theifs think.
My feet are now soaking wet, because this is Glasgow and a sunny day never stays sunny here. I wait for the bus for exactly 4 minutes under my unbrella. I can see from a distance that it's packed and I have to stand up in the front. I don't mind really. As long as I can go places, I'm not complaining. I realise that's what my life is about in a way; to always be on the move to somewhere and to always be somewhere else. I wonder how other people's lives are like, if they ever feel the same. The bus is so full of complete strangers, we are a big mass of brains and hearts and guts and farts. If we crashed we'd be one big puddle of blood. The thought of them thinking something similar makes me want to hug them. I love every undiscovered friend in every city I've ever been to. Especially in New York. I think about NYC and miss it almost like a person sometimes. Ralph Charell told me that New York has a soul, it's not just bricks and stones and tourist attractions. New York is something more, and maybe you can only discover what it is if you let yourself believe you can be a better person there. I suppose this is true everywhere.
Glasgow is damped and it's making my brain freeze. But then again, in those conditions you can survive. I imagine that I'm surfing on West Indian waves as the bus slide into my stop. Regina sings "I'm the hero of the story, don't need to be saved". I open the door to the flat and feel terribly guilty for not answering a lot of emails. In fact, I'm a little more stressed out than feeling guilty. I hope you all read this and know that it's nothing personal. I then heat up some spaghetti bolognese which is already cold when it reaches my mouth. I think about how dead Nate in Six Feet Under is and make a sketchbook while watching Kobra. I'm probably a little spaced out from all the glue when I sit down to write this and now it's suddenly Sunday.
The photo was taken in Stockholm with my Diana by the way.
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