Tranquility.

Soon, soon, will we, will I traverse to the GreenHouse to indulge in a piano concerto. It will be silent all around, no sudden moves allowed. Everybody will be sitting enchanted by the music which the pianist's hands will be performing. Alone or accompanied it will have not mattered in face of the divine experiences served by the finest musicians. And there, there will it be where the cars' hustle will be heard in the distance. And most importantly, it will most probably be the moment when the first sprouts of spring could be smelled... To this I cannot wait and am more than happy to recall and think of.

Cosmopolis.

There is a cult and there undoubtedly is something; oh, what I do with my mind, what I do with my imagination; yet another day passed; enjoying the life, aren't we? I am, at least. I am regularly  erasing, well, not even recording, most of facts, memories, well, at least those which I do not need for rehearsing and replaying later on in my head for pleasure and endorphin-inducement purposes. It is like an extra extrapolation of project minimalism gone big time. Real up- and over the scale. ROI over the top. A trivial example: one day a friend tells me something; suppose she wants to muse over it again but although it is the very next day I ain't recall a thing; not even a thang. What for, sounds my mental rhetoric [question]. It is a mingle of everything I found attractive to some critical degree, the internal you keep asking me about. Now, on another sub.. no, it's a topic since it does not deserve such a sophisticated a notion as subject; then, what the hell she is thinking she is? Her frame being so obnoxiously ugly. As simple as that. Ugly. Nothing more to say in this... topic.

Lemme get to the point of this post. Cosmopolis it says. Not without a reason. Cosmopolis was about information mostly. So will this message be. There is something overwhelmingly attractive in being in possession of information. There is something devilishly condescending in having the access to some of the secret kind of information aka a dainty morsel thereof. Here is an example [I'm kinda into examples tonight, ain't I]: A is smitten with well, D, I presume was his name [now you have the sexes to better suss out in the story]; D and a friend of his, M, came for a late night visit n stuff pthe stuff being the key in the story] with an accompanying bottle of a not soft drink. They partied in the room next to mine and having the s.c. great time when D's cell rang. So he goes out of the room to the corridor, the door right next to the room where I have just made myself cosy enough to get some beauty sleep. And so I hear the unaware guy saying the following content rushing right out of his inattentive mouth: Ey, bro, listen up, I have all set on that girl in Bres[lau], she's so slim cos propb she's the fitness type n, n, I'll be living with her over there n we'll be making love, n stuff... Hesus fuckin Christ. What was it that I have just heard? Me heard. The girl A all infatuated was now positioned in my head as knee deep in shit. Awfully smelling shit. The guy was not hitting on her but  concocting on how to kill the proverbial two birds [bitches or pussies rather] with one stone. Now here comes my dilemma: shall I tell her or shall I not? Me shall not. I have ultimately put the bid on not acquainting her with the hot news. My plan involved voyeurism, that is, watching but not get involved. Isn't it the greatest part? Not only is it awesome a position to occupy but it also is compatible with the rest of my life philosophy. I did not plan on involving her and so I haven't on mixing myself into shit I care not about [meaning the love affair and life of hers]. She just did not deserve it. Yes, lesson learnt, there are information and there are people. Both vary in kind. Therefore, one in the possession and the knowledge of either has the decisive power of whom and what to initiate with. This couldn't be any better of a day end.

A Shitty Situation.

... happens when two guys come visit your flatmate and one of which happens to be initially infatuated with the said roommie but quickly realizes there are even moar captivating and mesmerizing house members... [don't ask who]. How does it feel? Careless. The priceless feeling of careless ignorance which you experience when there are some incomers willing to party, make [devastatingly temporary and provisional] friends but you cease their attempts.

How is it going? asked he chat invitingly.
What? replied me irreverently.
Well, anything that you're doing, studying. 
I'm not doing it now.

[the guy leaving the apartment for a fag; screen dims out]

End of a ferocious exchange. I could literally go barricade myself in the bathroom, lie down in the bathtub and wait for the rest of the evening to bring awaited effects. The guy in case perceptibly put off his stroke. This is not to mention his exceedingly elaborated [if physical substance can be] muscle mass, an apparition of a gang leader and a cocky veil which he oh so overwhelmingly tried at establishing. Really, a new kind of inner part is developing. Devil may care.

That there, that's not me. I go where I please. I walk through walls. I float down the Liffey. I'm not here. This isn't happening, I'm not here, I'm not here. In a little while I'll be gone. The moment's already passed. Yeah, it's gone... Strobe lights and blown speakers, fireworks and hurricane.

There is a Cult Inside of Me.

According to Bauman, there are three basic types of citizens [which can be distinguished] in a society: there is the tourist, then the beggar and, finally, the pilgrim. Each of them depict a certain paradigmatic characteristics and embody the most salient features thanks to which every physical entity may be ascribed to. By way of analogy, I myself devised a, you could say, yet another classification, or, alternatively, an expansion thereof. I claim that there are at least two more groups, namely, the surfers/hipsters/trendsetters and the CHBs [cold hard bitches]/you call the girls of today. Both classes, so as to call them, share a bunch of traits regardless of the sex difference. They are what makes the modern and young society. They are handsome, pretty, good-looking, slim, most often well-off, streetwise and most importantly, ironic and egocentric, not to say they are egoistic. Their driving force is pophedonism in most of the cases while a more sophisticated elan vital signatures the more unique ones. The point in question is one's own satisfaction at the expense of other people, known or unknown, strangers met on the street [coincidental glances], in the clubs [dancing, touching, kissing, sometimes notched up a bit] or any place else. The base is made of, you could undoubtedly say, the most perceptible consumerism remnants like a penchant for shopping but with a hint of genuine individualism. Their life mission is, contrary to previous generations, not to procreate. The two novel groups to a large extent inscribe into Houellebecq's vision. They wish to and seek to have sex, take care, oftenways overextensively, of their externalle. Focused on following and fulfilling their individual aims, they have very little time and eagerness to court for the others. Selfish bitches is what they are. Ridicule is what they excel at. Let's go out to the theater to indulge the self and we will call it a day.

So, you are saying, you want to be with me. Less than two months, you are saying. Hah, that genuinely amuses me, to be frank, since the perlocutionary force of the statement  is no less than the locutionary and in most cases the former greatly outweighs the latter. Nevertheless, I still get your point. I read between the lines. Obtain what I need to from your utterance. The stay, it serves you well. there is this kind of a very exquisite energy which infuses us whenever we feel truly fulfilled. I have no knowledge as for which chakra would be responsible for such turn of events, however, I do surmise, it has to be something of that sort; an inner power releasing, pouring through every pore of your organism. I shall allow myself to make an educated guess and say that it may be for the 5th one perhaps - the throatish Vishudda.