Trosimo nasledstvo svoje dece.

Zvercica na spidu- neuhranjena civava koja pokazuje svoje sicusne ocnjake i ceka da je neko sutne u glavu.
Kecap prosipanje emocija- zadrzavanje emocija i misljenja unutar sebe, tako da sve od jednom eksplodira, sokira i zbuni poslodavce i prijatelje, od kojih je vecina mislila da je sa tobom sve u redu.
Depresivna dijeta- sarena salata od antidepresiva i pilula za smirenje (blage rekreativne droge).
Odrzavanje klika- potreba jedne generacije da generaciju iza sebe smatra maloumnom, da bi sacuvali sopstveni kolektivni ego.
Trosimo mladost bogateci se, a bogatstvo otkupljujuci mladost.
Trosimo nasledstvo svoje dece.
… I tako predlazem da uradis istu stvar sa svojim roditeljima. Prihvati ih kao deo necega sto te dovelo ovde, i nastavi sa svojim zivotom. Otpisi ih kao poslovni trosak. Tvoji roditelji bar pricaju o “velikim stvarima”. Ako JA pokusam da pricam sa svojim roditeljima o stvarima poput nuklearnih pitanja, koja mi nesto znace, to je kao da pricam slovacki. Slusaju me puni obzira odredjeno vreme, a kada ostanem bez daha, pitaju me zasto zivim u tom mestu i kakav mi je ljubavni zivot. Pruzis roditeljima i najmanju kolicinu poverenja i oni to iskoriste kao zeleznu polugu da te rascerece i pretumbaju ti zivot bez ikakve perspektive. Ponekad samo pozelim da ih zviznem. Hocu da im kazem da im zavidim na tome kako su vaspitani, i da su tako cisti, i taako bez osecaja nedostatka buducnosti.
I hocu da ih zadavim jer su nam radosno urucili svet toliko nalik na usrane gace.

Generation X - Daglas Kopland

December 22nd, 2007 | Mental notes | No comments

To Josephine

In addition to being a brilliant military mind and feared ruler, Napolean Bonaparte (1763 - 1821) was a prolific writer of letters - he reportedly wrote as many as 75,000 letters in his lifetime.

Spring 1797

To Josephine,

I love you no longer; on the contrary, I detest you. you are a wretch, truly perverse, truly stupid, a real Cinderella. You never write to me at all, you do not love your husband; you know the pleasure that your letters give him yet you cannot even manage to write him half a dozen lines, dashed off in a moment! What then do you do all day, Madame? What business is so vital that it robs you of the time to write to your faithful lover? What attachment can be stifling and pushing aside the love, the tender and constant love which you promised him? Who can this wonderful new lover be who takes up your every moment, rules your days and prevents you from devoting your attention to your husband?

Beware, Josephine; one fine night the doors will be broken down and there I shall be. In truth, I am worried, my love, to have no news from you; write me a four page letter instantly made up from those delightful words which fill my heart with emotion and joy. I hope to hold you in my arms before long, when I shall lavish upon you a million kisses, burning as the equatorial sun.

December 20th, 2007 | Mental notes | No comments