assignments are done so I figured I'd update you... or at least that's what I was planing to do but everything I wrote sounded boring. Since I have no fucking clue WHAT topic would actually interest you and because I have this annoying gift of being able to write about close to everything for the longest time to the point where it's just menacing, I figured I'd rather not.
That's kinda it though, I'm really unsure about what I should write. Do you want to know more about the things I do in uni or would you rather have something about my life? Or would you be ok with me just talking about some thoughts I had, as I am doing that a lot lately, rumination I mean. It get's pretty obvious, right? Since I'm thinking way to much about what to say right know (can you tell I miss science, where you could ruminate about so much more than just overthinking little pointless aspects of your surroundings?) xD
Either way, until I decide what to do or you tell me what you'd like to hear about (and this is a general "you" directed towards anyone who 's reading this), have a weird little story I found in one of my inspiration books!
To give a little context: My year and I went to this art museum in the middle of my semester where they had an exhibition about senses. It was one of those modern ones where a picture of mainly white colour could be called 'art'. You know, this stuff I never quite understood and in conclusion didn't like very much (because humans hate stuff they can't wrap their heads around). But apart from that, there where some pretty weird, messed up but interesting videos that caught my attention. At the end of the tour we got seated in a room, where we watched a final film about little boys and their dreams of going into space (all black and white, with hard cuts and a narrator like the music from the Alan Parson Project's take of Poe) and that's when it kind of hit me and I started to write down jumbled up bits and pieces of a story. It's really rather all over the place and hard to read, because I tried to get it out of my head while the film was still playing, which of course meant I wrote it in relative darkness.
This is me trying to piece it together again, like old Humpty Dumpty.
A man. Young, with wounds but mainly problems. There was something with his eyes, something you couldn't quite point out. Something just in the corner of his vision that doesn't seem quite right. Something bad.
An unstable mind grows up to grow old, to grow wary, to grow tired. Fragile and distorted. There's something with his eyes. It's wrong. All kinds of wrong and yet no one sees.
He got it treated all his life. For the longest time it's doctors and physicians, pills and remedies, tests and therapy and yet there is no problem to be perceived, no wound to heal and no mind to fix. But why then oh why does this little grain seem to negate everything, throw everything of course by the tiniest of degrees and cumulate the ill in his mind?
Then one day a woman appears. She beds him on an operation table and cuts the wrong out of him with the precision of a dream and the knowledge of fairy tales until the badness stops. It stops everything. His aging, his pain, his emotions, his vision and his mind. The world is free of noise and for the first time in his life the man feels sane and calm.
Time passes, in which his time stands still, until he meets her again. All real with a presence of her own, an old smile on her lips and a way to move that made her seem to vanish into thin air. This was the point in life where he realised.
He reaches for her hand and she accepts it readily, so he takes her with him, beds her on an operation table and makes her into him and him into her.
A man. Young, with wounds but mainly problems and a woman with nothing in her head but calm and sanity stare into the wrong of each others eyes. Everything shall begin anew, bound by something all kinds of wrong, something in the corner of their vision that didn't seem quite right.
Fare thee well,