I Wish I Was Russian

For God’s sake, why? you are asking yourself. Because every Russian I ever met knew how to suffer. A delightful capability for suffering, for being despondent. They raise the art of melancholy to the highest possible level. They have a knack for sorrow. They are so skillfully world weary that it boggles even my mind. Not to mention their truly enviable capacity for vodka.

Watcha Want?

Listening to the “Meister”, as he is called by his fans in Germany. Million Miles. Elegant misery… is that all we can aspire to? Revel in depression… as a friend once said to another (we were still young and foolish, not yet old and foolish) “You don’t understand; it’s about feeling like shit, and that’s really cool.” The other fellow was sort of, well, how shall I say it, uh, set back. He felt himself put down. He really didn’t understand, simply because he had had an easy life. He just didn’t understand how you can revel in the shit because you have no choice. Take what you can get, and that has to be enough. Better like it. And you know, that’s where melancholy comes in, because melancholy allows you to revel in the bad moments. It allows you to enjoy them; in German: “auskosten”. Google it, you lazy ignorant fuckers. That is the very important function of melancholy. So, watcha want? Listening to Moonlight Mile from the Rolling Stones and enjoying the melancholy. Oh, and jfyfi, I would look up how to say “auskosten” in English on the fucking ever-present-helpful-makes-me-helpless-and-I-can’t-remember-a-damned-thing-because-I-can-always-look-it-up-in-the-fucking… net, but I can’t connect at the moment of writing this, thank God, because the bloody walls here are too damned thick. Nice to know that the physical world is still good for something. I’ll just have to post this blog later.
Watcha want? You want everything to go your way, just like me. Good luck; no chance. It’s up to you to revel in life just the same.