Ingwar Grimsson

Listening to witch-house in the office wc as a tradition to cheer myself up in the start of the day. There is this sadist sitting in front of my work place — feeling like he’s an anti-matter for my own entity.

The major part of my life felt insecure to use the vocabulary I use, either in eng or in rus. But what can I do with the fact I feel these loud words deeper than regular ones? Words are the continuation of one’s mind, the direct reflection, and I pretend to be unique, so can’t help myself with the pathos.

S. put a challenge in front of me — to stop being a weak infant. I’ll lead life as I should — as an unbreakable master, not a coward.

Willing to disintegrate her ‘current’.

Primal hate for every so-called ‘person’, starting from myself, for wasting gift of sentience as an absolute blind-mind moron, for destructing themselves through stupid amateurish life decisions, for being fearsome to live and letting themselves rot like a deso-maniacs in never-ending fading narcissism, having false excuses just for image.

S. states she’s in relationship now — childish distant type — and I ought to respect her chosen vulture, to accept the fact we’re apart from now on. How can I if the only human alive who doesn’t irritates me is her? How should I act if she sighs we’re both too weak to handle this life?

Guess the answer is clear. Let’s see how long I’ll be a berserk.

Took a medical day-off without opening a medical list — there are 4 of them per year. Will try not to mess up this timeout.

Coincidence, but S. just asked me out this evening. Another act of reminiscence from her, bonds of our past — like a chain (keeps us together, as Fleetwood Mac lined). So melted that still dimly fantasize of our retrouvailles, would send to devil every offence, each single resentment if it grants me again with lost paradise.

Sure, it will be another one regular taboo meeting with nothing resulting in the happy-end. 'Show must go on', as they say, God still isn't over with me, so I barely deserve my wasted dreams.

Ought to crave something else to replace.

Of course, overslept — office started 10 minutes after I opened eyes. Although I may arrive whenever I want, the task is to spend 9 hours there. Will be home late again.

Think I should really stop being ignorant to basic parameters of my life: activities, schedule, nutrition etc. Perhaps, namely due to my indifference, I feel so wrecked and desperate.

Playing with fire.

Should end this sabotage and finally start doing something, not mocking or pretending to do, but actually doing stuff that ensures my basic needs like survival and safety.

Does it make any sense in our historical times? Awkward excuse, let’s be sincere.

Pointless sacrifice, though artistic.

Всякий жаждущий жить, пробиваться сквозь патоку времени, сквозь зубовный скрежет заявлять собственную волю, действовать вопреки интуиции, временами вопреки здравому смыслу, оправдывая любые средства целью, — является по моему разумению психопатом, как минимум, в зародыше. Как не обомлеть от беспредельного арсенала способов тебя урезонить, убить, предать забвению; как принуждать себя к действию, внушать себя бытию, если сознание предоставлено непрекращающемуся выбору: быть или не быть?

Времени за три, завтра с утра в офис. До безумия жутко и боязно, что на сей раз моя склонность к поэзии возьмёт окончательный верх над разумом.

Хотел бы молчать о таком — как всякий нормальный, жаждущий жить.

Chilled completely and abandoned amorous yearn tied to Music. Old enough to filter impulses, to act consistently and adequately. After all, I still don't know her, although our souls and minds had a few nice evenings online. Got a tremendous, frightful in its width field of work yet to be started — first, I got to load myself with it. Maybe, I'll get lost in the middle of field; maybe, the field of work over oneself is boundless — I'll figure out in the process.

Having a tenacious feel that in so-called real life I wouldn't last any considerable amount of time. Too tender, too naive, too weak.

That's why I need a beloved one, just like any artist. In the name of muse, life costs living.

Endless vortex of words — bright words, sharp words — is curling within, while I stand in the heart of cataclysm, leading the ballet.

Survived this day of unexpected psychic doom, superficially reflected here, — having an afterparty at home. Realized that I’m tired of net-acquaintances and there is a need of so-called ‘digital detoxication’. Will try to go on the way of higher resistance: finally read ‘Hunger’ till the end and stop killing time in chats and channels browsing.

Should be fully armed and ready when muse visits my life. Got to remember about stoics and, perhaps, re-read letters to Lucily by Seneka. At the peak of previous spring’s madness even dedicated a verse, also to Lucily.

Filled with mortido, caught a thought that my idealism is similar to sky on my shoulders. If I want to remain unchanged, I should be ready to face challenges — especially dirty tricks from Id and Ego, like:

‘Absence of outer solace forces to search for it in dreams about death or, at least, self-isolation. The only martyr responsible for this current doomed state is me.

It doesn’t ease the choice at all. Fundamental question of philosophy.’

Sure, this dark state is temporary. Probably ought to continue taking my meds. Also to attempt to change habits.

Though won’t quit smoking while I am an office rat — my form of objection, of outcry.

Arrogant, stubborn writer — what a vulgar cliché.

Knitted of paradoxes, I wish there was a place in the world for a person like me.

Avoiding office tasks self-locked in the wc, half an hour has passed already. Been trying to realize why I started to post so frequently and can’t wait till 2 hours pass. The issue of rat pressing the satisfying button till it dies mixed up with urge to be heard and understood — both reasons’re not handsome.

Need peace desperately, seems like life is proceeding to a void, to a pointless epilogue.

Sometimes think I deserve every blasphemy existing, the other times — that unlimited pleasures and tones of life are existing for me personally.

Need to stop being a drama prince. Wish I could find proper words.

Intricate mid-term state: thinking without judging at all, attempting to exert the local life while staying deeply chained inside. Caught myself at negative motions towards things surrounding me, like they should be changed, improved or completely erased.

I’d love now to find myself in warm hugs making microwave noises for an hour long.

Office people seem enemies; I should keep in mind that normality always strikes back. All my exaggerated pathos has basic real roots — and the deal is not as tragic as seems. Yeah, I am lonely, but so are 98% of people. All and all, moaning for exceptions.

Definitely should stick off that page, but don’t want to. Will let this flow proceed, I guess.

While I’m still alive, the best and noblest thing I may produce is leaving as much light, content, beauty as possible for those in the future who’ll happen to collide with my controversial legacy.

This is what I currently find meaning in: lesser hope left for the contemporains, so making a bet for the future seekers. A slice of drama: I work in a stereotypical office, with dumb ordinary gray stress overwhelming from time to time, feeling the time is piercing me at each moment — art at least justifies this prolonged execution.

Long for Music. Still at the stage of creating proper attitude towards her, don’t want to push her away.

People need people — classic truism I cannot conquer.

Something not healthy’s happening: becoming chaotic and irresponsible once again. Was productive at crypto-job for three days, but then hands lowered. Forgot to make both night and morning posts.

Roasting, abusing my body for no sake: smoking, eating irregularly. At least, brushed my teeth before switching off. Now am going to be late to the office, as usual.

Ought to start trying hard, to recall Alice with this damn escalator you have to run harshly to remain on the same place.

Feeling imperfect, in two words. I just want things to go smoother, to taste the poetry, not routine, to know that there is place for memory in the titles of my life.

A bit tired of being lone existential dumbo.

Feeling a bit despondent — perhaps, before new office cycle. Dunno how long this experiment will persist: caught an opportunity starting from 2025 to work for the same wages in more interesting and relatable to my inner motions project.

Evidently inducing myself to go insane about Music. Then S. sent a healing reel about loneliness, encountering new board of perception in the aftermath.

Foreign neighbours are yelling at the moment, a bit embarrasing.

Cannot accept my experience and products of it if there is no impact on the others. Love to create impact, but am afraid to go hard — as a result, make no impact at all. Touching, not hitting.

Abusing this web-page, will try to slow down.

Certainly should be calmer and cool down a little the fire which is being born. Naive, irrational, perhaps in vain. Started to think she doesn't share my mindless leap of faith — it's entertaining to communicate, I might seem another peculiar net-friend in the correspondent circle, but nothing more.

In order to stop eating myself and climbing to the ceiling from induced insanity, I should think real, mundane — cooling stuff like 'she's not fate or God upfront' etc. This way I'll proceed maintaining my charisma, wit, humour, my sharp tongue — all the personal qualities I'm proud of.

I would love to end this moronic life arch. Nevertheless, it's sorta aesthetic to be lone, bounds of freedom.

About an hour ago sent package with book and ferreros to Music, will be delivered by Thursday. Dressed just like Silver Age poet in this gray winter coat, black scarf and peaky blinder.

Left a few clumsy hand-written lines on the first page, hope it will gift her with a smile.

Alphaville — She Fades Away

Reading 'Hunger' by Hamsun while eating chips — irony. Wasn't counting money this week at all and on the eve of payday remained almost without them. Postman asked 'perhaps, you'd like it to arrive by Tuesday?', but it costed twice as much.

Finally feeling alive — and feeling so exclusively when doing original stuff. Maybe I'm a silly fantaseur, but Music... amuses. Poor unaware girl.

Talkative alco-adventure of the passed night will cost me, as it goes, several days deprived of life power, days of emptiness.

I would love to create something both beautiful and justified, regardless of my psycho state keeping the mark of my behaviour high and decent.

Going to write a little note for Music on the first page of the book. Also will add three ferrero rocher's to the package. Should be on time before 6 PM, they close early on Sundays.

I definitely should stay far from alco, it is natural Satan's toy. Sometimes, the soul longs for exceptions, for mocking the fall — one shouldn't get too attached, make it a rule.

Music says she wouldn't mind sharing a glass of wine with me.

Gm. ‘Morning with the taste of 1st January’, as wife of this pal stated.

There was an hour of secrets between 3 AM and 4 AM, where I — another one time in my life — encountered someone’s trust and confession, barely on the borderline of my limits. Locally the fact, which earlier was introduced as a funny legend (but turned out to be monstrous), did not surprise or impress me — I thought more about the right words, narrative I ought to bring to this confession.

There were many, lots of similar moments. This pal, being formed long ago, in my opinion, faces the challenge of remaining a poetic person in the mature life.

Cause it was sorta paroxysm of another one’s pain. I’m here for that.

Drunk af, breaking every single rule of adequate life. Chit-chating with Music, seems like at her road to another town she discovers me at my weirdest. Trying to not overthink and not fall into those thoughts.

Since the volume of fragments is restricted, I want to highlight the most important stuff, the one which will be studied by philologists in the future when I mess around in the noosphere enough to remain in history.

Knew Music for four days, but I strongly respect her already and feel responsibility for each single silly word I send.

Dunno at the present how this story will proceed, but like to think we both re-read it in our mutual shelter when years pass. There is lots of cringe.

Tomorrow going to send to Music via mail service an old book with my story printed. Seems I'm ready to dissolve again and to invest selflessly, fiercely. Ready, just give me a little clue of mutuality.

Within an hour will leave to have a booze with old art pal. The previous similar time we were reading — drunk as donkeys — beginning chapters of my novel and analyzing them noisily while his wife was playing Dota alone on the couch. In 2021, I lived at this pal's place for two weeks, when my dormitory was going through total absence of hot water.

Now he abandoned literature and is striving to become an opera singer. Interesting metamorphoses happen with us when we become mature, don't they?

Cool mood impulse is slowly passing, though is not completely gone atm. Talking about smart cultural stuff with that new net-girl — in the eng form I'll call her further Music. Thinking of possible future, but not hoping naively — this change pleases. Knowing almost nothing personal about her — the fact we established sorta intelligent connect amuses.

While my dumbo life habits slowly lead me to a total mess, if not trash, I think I should bring myself up to consciousness and stop pretending to be an irresponsible child with God complex. Thus, I'll adjust myself to reality and'll become adequate gentleman, as I desire and as others tend to see me.

Childhood is fun, though leads to oblivion.

Fulfilled my energy drink thirst with three cans in a row; vomited between 2nd and 3rd. Keeping punishing my body for enslaving me and compelling to do meaningless human stuff; sort of a continuous auto-aggression. Moreover, it has been about a week since I last brushed my teeth.

Sure, this mode of living is severely destructive, sourcing from a childish position that if I regress and become a hobo-cosplayer, then people who long for me, care for me will push the emergency button; as well as bastards will feel roughly ashamed of what they've done to innocent me.

Seducing to think of myself as a saint, but it is strategically more gainful to turn the darkest person ever. In mind, at most.

Got to confess: despite studying eng with a private teacher from my ten years till graduating from high school, I’ve never immersed into it deep enough. Yeah, I think my level is decent for creating an image of pro, but at the same time I reckon my total failure in probable future relocation, when deal comes to real practice and not messing around trying to impress random strangers.

Nevertheless, I recognize the name of the syndrome — the one when you highly undervalue your skills and achievements. This syndrome has always been my leash.

Adding a few life moments: wrote another post in anonymous acquaintances; lesser made feedback, but it’s natural. Having strong urge for energy drinks atm.

Glad (and a little proud) of the decision to transcend to eng. Patterns and colours stay the same as in rus — but, due to my habit to dramatize stuff, it is much easier to overuse rus while pursuing the image of kinda neoclassical artist in neverending existential crisis. In other words, I feel myself as myself while sharing thoughts in eng — since I don't struggle to exaggerate, to fuss, to show-off. Eng seems stylish enough without those ludicrous methods.

Had a night male conversation with old-school Feel.Inc buddies. Therapeutical.

Seems like this one cherry beer was a push to my current soundy mood. This is how alcoholism works, I guess.

Still desperately need to dive in love tho.

Got messaged by V., my first girl, the day before yesterday (if we may count so already). No news for seven years, though she became quite mature and even more good-looking through that time.

Dialogue's been short — told her I'm in Russia for sixth year, found out her mother died in September. Expressed my condolences and the chit-chat was over.

It's funny that we told each other 'happy birthday' all the passed years and never contacted differently. Managed to fantasize how I end my master degree here and delve into her again, continuing my life story in Europe — as well as managed to surpass those nostalgic urges.

She was so depressive and apart, as far as I recall her. Nothing personal.

Okay, perhaps the most convenient time to switch to eng — feels like rus has exhausted itself. Dunno the reason why, but eng feels more sincere than rus, although the first one is not my native and I can't tell ya with the palm on my heart I know it better than rus. Maybe, if I express myself as a foreigner, it will be an enough disguise and'll lead to my recovery from historical break up with S. faster.

Got to accept: I'm a tricky sinner. In the terms of gluttony and despondency, maybe I've mastered them already. Miserable, seeking for the remains of drama, squeezing them from every trifle.

Love won't immediately become my panacea, but it will surely give me some needed light of hope.