Igor died a bit over an hour ago. At least it was in his sleep…

Burried him under the walnut tree outside the balcony.

The last thing keeping me here is now gone.

Banging my head against a wall would probably hurt, and turn out to be a very unsatisfactory solution. Bashing the people responsible on the head with the monopod would be much more satisfactory, but is illegal and would most likely damage the monopod.

What to do, what to do?

“Full of emptiness.”

Now, there’s an oxymoron… Is this what being the Silent One feels like, or am I whole? Both possibilities would scare the hell out of me, could I bring myself to care. If.

On the positive side, I still have flying dreams. Even if they’re of the learning-to-fly kind.

Although… One of them was an angry, violent one. I wonder…

When asked about the origin of the spinning flame, a wise man replied: a local guide is worth his weight in stones, and a map that grows on a tree belongs in a pot. Thus we were told, and thus we prostrated before the queen bee and and drowned her in coffee.

When requested to speak about the long nose hairs, a wise man said: freelance to your hearts’ desire, for the anchor will not be labeled twice. Thus we were told, and thus we sent the unruly insects to fetch us bombs and bubblegum.

The Director is listening:
Last.fm.

When accosted by a wishful thought, a wise man held up his plant and said: play me that old piano piece, dear. So we were told, and so we rolled up our sleeves, and our axes sang to the music until all the crows’ nests were strung with Christmas lights.

The Director is listening:
Last.fm.

When asked to breathe deeply, a wise man waved his arm and said: the candle will crush you, if you’re not careful. Thus we were told, and thus the yellow entered the world, only to be mistaken for a dragon tree, for it is the sacred oil the glow must die for.

The Director is listening:
Last.fm.

There were no wings in the grey morning sky. Only countless water drops, like the heavenly pixie’s foot-massage machine.

My feet felt cold and lonely, even though they were perfectly paired. Some thingjs just trickle down. Or up, depending on the perspective.

It is important to keep the week in mind. And the waiting for it to expire. How many days in a week? Nine? I wonder… Eight now.

Mornings aren’t a good time to worry about the current affairs. It is important to resist the temptation and plug out.

Unlike the feet, my perfectly paired eyes didn’t feel lonely. The eyes are like that. They don’t care, they just want to close, or maybe start some projects they’ve been putting off since the childhood.

And every time they touch, they get this feeling… No, of course not the eyes. The feet, and the foot-massage machine. They can’t touch now, there are too many things and too much time between them.

Which feeling? The feeling of cool ceramic tiles, either smooth or rough. The smooth for dry weather, the rough for rainy. So which tiles should I put on the floor today?

The Director is listening:
Last.fm.

When asked about the purpose of an empty room, a wise man said: it is mechanical. Thus he spoke, and thus we started waving our arms around, but the cold was impregnable, and the beer just didn’t take to it.

The Director is listening:
Last.fm.