WHEN THE MENTAL DIARRHEA TAKES ITS WRITTEN FORM

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It was a highly entertaining day. A friend organized a graduation party for his flock of sheep that were ready to be slaughtered the next morning. His mother died six years ago, but we realized it only today. And only partially. Ten thousand kilometers further, a Neanderthal man was playing chess with a retired mammoth. The war ended a couple of days ago, but no one knew that the war was going on, so no big news there. The girl called Maria saw an old lady in the bathroom mirror. For a moment the poor teenager thought that something bad happened to her face, but it was just a ghost of her evil aunt that died a minute ago in the basement of some serial killer inspired by God himself.
As I ate my third hot dog, a millipede crawled out of the sausage and entered my left nostril. I still feel the creature in the frontal lobe.
I encountered some people that I haven't seen since high school when I killed them in the small cabin where, allegedly, I was conceived twenty years earlier. The girls were too pale to be alive, but that didn't stop them to dance when Justin Biber came out of the speakers. The boys were boys, you know. Always fooling around. One of them was decapitated, so the other two could play some simple,
undefined sport with their friend's head.
Do you see? There is a point in all this. Life is undeniably beautiful. Well, my life, at least.

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And that's it. As always in these posts on HIVE, the photographs are my work. In the opening picture, you can see me under some cheap, ugly mask that I bought two days before Halloween in the local supermarket. The year was 2010. The photograph was taken a week or two later, in some abandoned building not far from the sea, in the rural area around the village of Liznjan. In the closing shot, I'm holding that same mask, with the camera in the other hand.