Pages of my gayish life

Early autumn, like a weird spring morning, was it worth waiting for? I'm sitting around watching a strong animal lying in front of me. It seems strange that he impressed me from my youth days... I came here to discover this city, these streets - to discover myself... Every old brick tells a different story, leaving pain in me. It seems ironic that I came here to stop my journey, to discover myself, to discover myself in this freaks and clowns city. This cosmopolitan circus of sounds and odours no longer has the key to the true MYSELF Your turn.

Douglas Coupland wrote that everybody gets a certain age when they want to get away from their lives, regardless of what they look like from the outside or what they are pretending to be. People just do not want to be more at what they are. They want to stop the train of  existence and, send everyone far away, get out. It's a versatile sense that is not inevitably missed by a beggar asking for coins that you get to see every day at the bus stop or the Queen of the United Kingdom. Later, Douglas Coupland calls this a mid-twenties crisis. Do you want to escape?   Acknowledge, sometimes you are thinking of being somebody else, getting into the role, letting someone else manage your own body for a few days. To be anything but not yourself. Or yourself that is the same as everyone else, but less than real you. Another you who has a great job, a good home, a perfect family, and will remain until the board of coffin. There is nothing wrong to be you or to b...

The thunder stormed in the air . Until the second lightning strike I was sure - I was dead, I felt desperately looking for a point of impact, an intruder, a wound that stopped bleeding ... The battle took place for years - no real winner - it's unclear who threatened. No enemies.  Without the winner. Just with anyone who was in that place.   I probably stood there for hours, days, maybe even weeks. It was hard to say. No one noticed the blows, they were still repeating, and the blood, the non-flashing blood was drying until became brown on my naked body. I'm dead. Constant strokes have become part of my life. My life is imperceptible. Standing in a busy street in the very centre of the city, I am slipping and slipping off the road; each free space is filled with another person like water between the stones. Standing there, feeling the stunning city heart rate. I never felt so lonely.   Is it life? Today: I've listened to "Show must go on" from Moulin Rouge -...