Chapter 6

The "master" plan seems to unfold on itself, which is probably a good thing given the fact that my neurotic side would take over way too many times if this unfolding stagnated. Of course the usual shite occurred in-between, making my finger tingle with desire to write it all down in an unabridged short-story only surpassed by the hand of Edgar Allan Poe (and several other writers on the verge of temporal psychosis).

The Turkish doctor left the field for a while, taking his moustache to the distant sodomist city of Miami. Of course in his absence I was already hoping for our sequel...only to discover that an impersonal greeting card was the harbinger of disappointing news indeed. The doc had left his mark on the city, taking -I assume more than one- kebab fanatic to his minty hotel bed. Upon reading those words on my screen, I was actually filled with two entirely different emotions, which led to confusion...one was anger and hurt, while the other one was relief that I had the perfect excuse not to continue in this ever-intensifying "situation" (I refuse to type relationship given the previous blog entries!). Still...I wonder if F. was right about karma...if so, I certainly paid my dues this week. The question is, am I finally able to put away that hatred towards humanity and do what B. has always shown me : to analyse - to discuss - to solve, or will the hatred never subside, thus costing me one perfectly good Turkish doctor, who just happened to make a mistake (incidentally "a mistake" is very often "something that doesn't fit my picture frame")...the in-between situation remains the same, which is to prove to myself that I can live without romantic affiliation (perhaps by simply rimming whatever comes first?).

It is simply hard writing it all down, when you just wish to hear the words "hey Isi"

Speaking of B. and doors that cannot be closed without some form of thought. It never ceases to astonish me that this is the only friendship I have actually been able to maintain without demanding the utmost and purest respect and worship for both my physical self as well as my mental reflection. Standing in chapter 5 on the last Sunday, I found out that even a witty remark about the possibility of being above him lead to mockery and instant denial. Added up with everything I have painstakingly observed over the years, I can conclude that this is in fact a personae who truly believes to be superior to mine. Subcutaneously of course, because his morals and ethics would never aloud something as outspoken as loathing. Yet between those cracks of awareness that this is the only person in my surroundings who can actually lead his own life without abiding by my rules, the hatred towards the lack of respect and his inability to suffer always seems to subside in front of this raw unconditional form of affection wrapped in a big brown paper bag. Why am I writing this down thou asks? Because another question rises: do I betray myself by allowing all of this and furthermore: should I allow this distant echo of arrogance gently slapping me in the face when gazing upon it? Again two choices appear: fight or flee.

The last option reminds me that I've always been a firm believer of the "sometimes you have to take two steps back in order to make it five steps further"-principle. Unfortunately I have just begun to realize I have the mobility factor of a pregnant seventy year old Faye Dunaway lookalike-dwarf who recently lost her leg to gangreen and cannot grasp the concept of a wheelchair.

Anyone else care for a slice of triviality?