The breadman making his rounds. Cockroaches partaking in the feast of saints and martyrs, piping hot instant noodles and semi-cold beer. Playing make-believe, pretending to be rulers of this suspended limbo where all our loyal subjects slumber, drowsy with their little preoccupations.

3.26 a.m. Its funny how unfamiliar the familiar seems when we are on the other side of the mirror. Mundane, even banal, things seem to take on a whole new depth of meaning if you look closely enough, making associations, observations, fascinating to no end. Street lights become the eyes of a cosmic giant, or perhaps shooting stars of astronomical proportions, streaking and flaring through the darkness of space yet is still, the strange guardians of a strange land. Paradoxical, as life often is, a reflection of the familiar. Distorted.

The most innocuous stairwell could very well take on a sinister intent. There is no way, no way at all of seeing where it led, only where it didn’t lead to. Trapped, claustrophobic. Racing hearts, definitely not from excitement. A ghostly apparition, semi-solid, still, expressionless. And familiar. Banquo seeing himself. Sins of the past, captured with a delayed click, light entering, exposing for the world to see, etched into memory.

Go down the rabbit hole, it whispered and beckoned, Alice and the Queen of Hearts are waiting. What? Where? Wonderland? A Boogie Wonderland?
I did not tread down that path, knowing surely it would end in heartbreak.

“And then it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.”

“So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that’s stolen from us – that’s snatched right out of our hands – even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.”

I think these two quotes from the book are the most important and profound ones in Sputnik Sweetheart.

i am a denim pervert. i want my 05 clawmark and my new standards.

oh what i will give to have us start on a clean slate again

early this morning i was walking to work when i had a bad stomachache and all i said was “my tumtum arh”

guess i miss you already more than you know

climb out on this rooftop
and stare at the city lights below us
this world belongs to us tonight

I was on the bus today,

When I saw a first-aid box.

Motorist’s Guide to First-Aid on the Road, it says

I began to wonder,

Is that any good to a mangled body?

Then I realised,

People can scratch themselves,

Or break an arm,

On the bus too!

Oh.

the first time i try i get brought down so badly it sucks