talking to Bruno

I feel the rebellion arousing inside me. The generous, dreamlike reality that Bruno Schulz wrote about. The wide echoes of scents and tastes which come into being somewhere on the other side, on a different plain, where you organize your life on a grand scale, instead of hardly tolerating it. Sometimes it comes so close, flows up to right under my skin; it's when the trees in May form a tunnel over the streetcar track and the green light falls into a nearly empty car, and I can squint and almost stop being. It lasts only for a split second, but it's long enough to let it get into my veins, leave its trace, to refresh the memories of the first childhood sensations and bring the yearnings to the surface layer. The yearnings that cause the pain when I line up to fulfil my daily duties.
There are bridges and their builders: musicians, writers. Poets. Photographers. Draftsmen.
And there is Remigiusz Grzela, whose blog proves that the Schulz's parallel reality is ingrained in what is tangible and takes place in everyday events. So it is possible for the things to be lined exquisitely.
Should I feel guilty that my path invariably leads into lower places, places that never will be mine, so far from home and warmth?
Having read the biography of Susan Sontag, R.G. writes about her son's memories:
"She lived for the future 'till the very end. In order to fight, she had to get to know the illness, understand its motives. In her diary, she wrote: >>I'm responsible for my cancer. I lived like a coward. I smothered my desires, I smothered my rage.<<"
Mom, God or All Saints. I don’t want to fuck up my ration.
Or maybe it's all about not having anything to lose. After all it is why I feel so good within the beginnings of the ends. No, I'm not asking for my death. Just wondering.

Mark Knopfler - Sailing to Philadelphia

Last night I had a dream that someone saved me and took me back home.

stick a banana into your ear

Ok. So it's night, I'm at home, eating a lot of salty fish, stars and turtles. Before that, I ate even more little salty breads. And before that, a croissant and a sandwich. Also, this afternoon I ate quite a terrible lot of strawberry cake, not to mention the rhubarb one. And that's the most frightening part, because before noon there was only a yoghurt and a vegetarian crepe. Now what I'm really worried about is that the box with the biscuits can't be closed tightly enough, which means tomorrow my savory sticks and pretzels remained probably won't be crispy any more.
The compulsion to eat when I'm feeling insecure, lonely and tense will definitely prevent me from saving any money this spring.

P.s. Now the pretzels are gone. No pretzels, no cry.