I feel rather like I just got back from a goth club: the same scent of tobacco lingering in my hair, the same sense of languid numbness. I spent the evening at, among other things, my first tobacco shop, and it was . . . the closest sensation to being at Elysium that I’ve had since being there. I chose to neither smoke nor drink, so I simply sank into the leather armchair, breathed the cigar smoke drifting through the room, listened to the jazz, and felt myself becoming invisible in the midst of conversing men. It’s oddly pleasant, becoming invisible – like slow submersion into one’s own skin. (Incidentally, since I know some of those who were there read this – I’m not complaining. I didn’t feel excluded; sometimes it’s just nice to let myself sink away.)
Dein Leben dreht sich nur im Kreis,
So voll von weggeworfener Zeit,
und Deine Traeume schiebst Du endlos vor Dir her.
Du willst noch leben irgendwann,
Doch wenn nicht heute, wann denn dann?
Denn irgendwann ist auch ein Traum zu lange her.
In other news, I’ve decided that “ambiguous” is a significantly less pretentious synonym for “pomosexual.” Also, that this is possibly the cutest thing in the history of mankind. I mean, fuzzy mewling panda babies! Tumbling over each other! Socute.