Imaginary friends

Talking to some women is like talking to God. Most of the time it feels like I am talking to myself. Spot on. No matter how you twist it. Unfortunately. Good thing there´s cold beer, happy  food, dope, supersexy kinky stuff and funky art. Imagine an existance without a single one of them. I am not a machine. Basicaly because I refuse to be one. Game on.
The day looks promising. No doubt something is happening today. The fucking canvas isn´t cooperating though. But that¨s okay. Been there done that.I guess it¨s high time to hit the town.Who am I to refuse?
It´s hard to break old habbits. And most of all, extremely boring.

Lust for life. I have said it before and I sincerely hope I will be repeating myself for a bloody long time.There is always something to do when all seems lost. And there´s so much more to do when everything looks promising. Energy. I always felt a bit (read a lot) like an outcast in this world where everybody is dying or killing themselves. Blessed or cursed? And does it even matter how and what we call it?

No, I feel like that piece of food in the fridge that should be thrown away in the garbage because it´s expired. Yesterday a friend of mine killed himself. Funny how this makes you feel that you are not alone.
I am still thinking about the weird encounter I had this morning on my way to the liquor shop.  This woman that I have never met, was calling me by my first name and talking about stuff I can´t possibly picture ever happened. I am like fog between all these black holes in my memory. It´s becoming a problem. Then again, maybe the reason I don´t think life´s fucking boring is because it starts every day again from scratch. Every day a new adventure.
How fucking great.