Onda,ovo je hipoksija? / Is This Hypoxia, Then?

! This post was written long ago. What you're reading is not necessarily how I feel about things in 2017. This blog was started by an 18-year-old in 2001. Please, keep that in mind before you freak out.

Today is a superproductive day in so many ways. I might even get everything done, for a change. Of course, I'm talking about work. However, not even being busy can stop me from writing. Similar waves of inspiration lead me to getting disastrous grades in unrelated subjects in high school...but I loved that, as it was a huge challenge to bring those horrible grades up to a Serbian equivalent of A (5) or B (4).

It might not sound like one, but this p..m is super-optimistic. Perhaps my expressions of optimism are nowhere near what people think what optimism is. I always go for what one of my smartest friends has said - that one cannot be happy all the time or convince themselves that they're happy. And I agree.

The opening-and-closing idea is something that fits into Wrong Star, hence the poison & electricity combo and doing things wrong way many times, leading to an unfortunate event. At the same time, the frequency of events leading to a crash is something I'm trying to describe in the Forever Nine series. Writing it, I had Forever Nine in my head...so, that's where it'll go.

This is partly inspired by something that's probably the exact opposite. Somewhere, in the piles of my p..ms, there are 12 p..ms following the same strange form of inspiration..most notably, Mala Distordiae.

Onda,ovo je hipoksija?

Držim te u konzervi,
držim te u konzervi,
zatvaram je što češće mogu.
Što češće mogu.

Imam utisak da,
što je češće otvaram,
to je manje vazduha oko mene.
Imam utisak da,
što je ređe otvaram,
više struje prolazi kroz mene.

Imam utisak da su otrovi izleteli napolje,
svaki put kad je bila otvorena mnogo često i mnogo dugo.

Onda, ovo je hipoksija?
Ne znam.
Nekako mi se čini da se oboje gušimo.
Nekako mi se čini da ima povratka.
Sutra ću misliti da povratka nema.
Prekosutra ću misliti da ima povratka.

Is This Hypoxia, Then?

I keep you in a can,
I keep you in a can,
Closing it as often as I can.
As often as I can.

I have an impression that,
The more I'm opening it,
The more poison spreads around me.
I have an impression that,
The less I'm opening it,
More electricity runs through me.

I have an impression that the poison would come out,
Each time the can would be open for too long, too often.

Is this hypoxia, then?
I don't know.
Somehow I feel like we both are suffocating.
Somehow I feel there's a way back.
Tomorrow I'll think there's no way back.
The next day I'll think there's a way back.

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