“You are the new pain. I am excited.”
“The pain of love recharges me.”
“The force of destruction eventually becomes so powerful it destroys everything. It is just a matter of time. Reconstruction follows. Always? How can you comprehend the infinity in time? The infinity of space? We are missing something fundamental. Space and time might be an illusion. But what is not an illusion? Not for you to ever comprehend. You are a monkey. Dance. Play. Sometimes. I guess? What is the appropriate amount? What is the appropriate amount for contemplation and play? What is the right answer? Right answer? Not for you to ever comprehend.”
“I am just The Devil, dancing with another Devil.”
Peter is hangover. Sitting in a cafe. Trying to read. His second attempt at Nietzsche. Trying to get over his last break up. By a break up he means a fling that lasts 3 weeks. He loves heartache. He seeks for it.
Natasha is russian. Her father recently died. She just does not care anymore. Life is a theatre for her, a game, nothing to be taken seriously. We are all going to die. The universe is indifferent.
She sits in front of him, uninvited, and just stares at him.
"Hey there..!" - smiling for the first time that day, or maybe that week, says Peter.
She is sitting. Not moving at all. Staring at the floor. Then suddenly, looks up, looks at his blue eyes, and asks confidently, and at the same time without any hope:
"Do you believe in God?"
"Well, what do you mean by God?" - asks Peter, getting excited. He loves these topics. He loves these crazy women.
"Oh, so you are one of those assholes..." - says Natasha, intrigued, breaking a little smile.
"And you are one of those crazy ones..." - Peter, now completely being in the present.
She loves these topics. She loves these crazy men.
"If by crazy you mean those who see, sure, I am" - Natasha
"Oh, so you see?" - Peter
"How many realize that it is just a theatre? That we are bunch of actors, clueless, unable to ever find any answers whatsoever... All we do is lie to ourselves. We are too weak to admit that we do not, nor will we ever, know. Marionettes of passions. That's what we are. Yes. I see. And I am not afraid to say it. Maybe you need to gain some confidence. You smell like alcohol." - Natasha, passionately
"So profound. I hope your father is an alcoholic. I hope you have daddy issues." - Peter
"Wow, you really know how to talk to women." - Natasha. She sleeps with men only on the fifth date.
"You are interesting. I like that." - Peter
"Do you know how to cook?" - Natasha
"Yes. I make perfect scrambled eggs. What about you? I hope you do. That's what women should be able to do." - Peter
"Oh, yes, of course, I cook very well, and I clean very well as well. Now will you marry me?" - Natasha
"You need to take me to a dinner first" - smiles Peter, and, continues:
"What are those passions you were talking about before?"
....
They got married. But it did not last. They were able to see their demons, but unable to fight them.
“Philosophers, and deeply pious people - those are the ones that are most deluded. Jesus. Buddha. Full of shit. They experienced the strongest act. Still, it is just an act. People on psychedelics? It is not God that they saw. Nor was it the Devil. Those were just great immersive movies.”
“No one is deceived more by the Devil than Christians, Muslims, Jews, and Buddhists.”
“Everything is in you. And it gets conjured.”
John is sitting at yet another bar. This time it is in Cairo. He is tired. He is 36 years old. He gave up on love quite a long time ago.
Olivia is wearing a red lipstick. She is the only woman in that bar. Or at least she is the only one John notices. She is alone. Smoking a cigarette after a cigarette.
John is about to leave. He had way too much. But he must make a connection with her. He just must. He walks up to her, looks at her (they both are clearly disappointed in the idea of love, you can see that in their eyes), and hands her a note that says:
"Why are you trying to kill yourself so badly? Nice lipstick. +420 625 121 784"
He goes to another bar and has 2 more beers. He is excited. Can't stop replaying their eye contact in his mind when he gave her the note. This time, he found the one. Finally, all past suffering makes sense. Or so he thinks...
....
They got married and lived together until Olivia died of breast cancer at the age of 63. She cheated on him with three other guys.
“There is something so powerful having a girl with a pretty face suck your dick.”