His cock was out, lightly resting on his boxers. It wasn’t as if it were muted, subtle, or muted. It was simply out, unaroused and unmoved. His mind was absorbed by the book he was reading. The night would pass unnoticed. One can never be in a state of calmness after reading a book. And once he had closed the book and let it carelessly rest on his wooden desk he sat their reflecting on what he had just read. And although he sat there in an equable manner, deceivingly so, his mind was racing with thoughts. He was, regardless of its success, internalising what he had just gone though.
He finally got up and rifled for his pack of cigarettes. Where is my lighter, he thought. Quickly with measured movement searched his pockets and found them both. He lit one. The silence in the room was stupidly obvious to anyone watching him, but for him it was filled with the internal thoughts of his mind. There will be no sleeping tonight.
It is not about you. In compelling solitude it is hard to think otherwise. Having his friends around, or people he slightly cared for forces him to neglect the incontestable truth that it IS about me—him. How being sociable is a contrast, he thought.
Time has passed. Driving on the motorway with the radio off allowed for time to think more, again. The buzzing sound of the wind and the constant sound of the motor dropped to the background of his existence, floating. Friends as another self is an excuse to not deal with other selfs.
you should write one sooner or later. even if the thought of taking off your sweater & dancing makes you feel ill because you ate too much breakfast at the diner. so stir your tea— think of the time you held hands with 30 boys all in a row three times a week, your ballroom etiquette…
“The fundamental cause of the trouble is that in the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt. Even those of the intelligent who believe that they have a nostrum are too individualistic to combine with other intelligent men from whom they differ on minor points. This was not always the case.”—Bertrand Russell, “The Triumph of Stupidity” (1933)