Pigeon carcass on pavement
this morning.
When Rorschach writes
something similar, there is something poetic about it, although in a
very dark way. At the very least reading it or hearing it spoken in
the movie. But there is nothing at all poetic in reality.
Haven't eaten or drunk
anything for the last 12 hours. Eating wasn't the problem. Even
though after this time I did get a little bit hungry after all. What
really annoyed me was not being allowed to drink because of the blood
sampling. Because it was for an allergy test, I'm not even sure I
really had to be sober at all this morning. The woman asked me, if it
was for the allergy test. I told her yes and asked her, if there's a
difference to other blood samplings. Of course, I thought
immediately, stupid question. She confirmed to me then that other
data would be checked.
Thought for a moment of
going back home and writing to the city about the pigeon. Also thought
of taking the pigeon and bringing it to the park like on New Year's
Eve with the blackbird. Drove straight into the city in the end.
Sometimes others don't matter, it seems. The pigeon was dead anyway
and nothing that could have helped it. First got a bit of money, then
to the bakery. Two Franzbroetchen (puffy pasty with cinnamon) and a
hot chocolate. The bakery is in a shopping mall with lots of shops.
At about 8:30 when I arrived the exit I wanted to take was still
closed. A man who wanted to take that exit before me informed me that
it was closed. So I took another way out and passed a contruction
area. People already working there. With a noise volume that I turned
off my mp3-player until I was half way down the escalators. I looked
at the time scale of the mp3-player: 1 minute and 07 seconds. I
hadn't heard a single note from “The Sound of Silence” by Disturbed although I had the volume full up. So much for the sound of
silence, I though on the escalators.
On the middle floor a
young woman was in front of me with a jacket that had in all capital
letters “DON'T TALK TO ME” on her back. I resisted the temptation
to tell her “I'm sorry”. She didn't seem
aggressive in any way and was friendly enough to stay on that middle
floor to have a smoke, unlike so many other people who go down to the
smoking free area to smoke there. Not my style to start a talk with
strangers.
Rorschach's Journal:
October 12, 1985:
Dog carcass in alley this
morning. Tire tread on burst stomach. The city is afraid of me. I
have seen it's true face. The streets are extended gutters and the
gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over all
the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and
murder will foam up about their waists and and all the whores and
politicians will look up and shout, “Save us!” and I'll
whisper... “No.“
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