Илья Черкасов
Chinese Neurosis

“You know, maybe we're – we're only good at brief encounters, walking around in European cities in warm climate.” – Before Midnight

Nine inch blossoms in water cascade behind Vanda’s door. Afraid to open, keen to try. Yet both feelings mirror each other, preventing any moves. She knows there is no-one to be found, but it is never about knowing. Someone should make the first step, but leaving footprints was never an easy task. She takes comfort in non-existence, at least in social terms. “We’re all just a fading breath on the glass, so why bother to leave traces?”

Something still lurking outside, creeping at the backseat of mind. It wants to make music louder, but no-one should let it take the driving wheel. Nor this time nor ever. Even if it is okay to let go, everything may be okay, yet you should draw lines somewhere. You should mobilize, be something concrete. At least for the moment of second thoughts. Always pick the first one and never look back. Maybe just a peek. Whatever, it is done. Let’s move on.

Vanda leaves the outskirts of previously familiar ways of thinking to open any door on her physical way. At least she thinks it’s physical, but every piece of thing can be just a trick of the mind, a new coin to flip. Whatever.

Bed surely hisses with predicament towards anything that moves outside the door, weaving a new plot around Vanda’s face. Surely a person can overcome anything, it’s just a matter of determination. “But why are we so determined to see life as an obstacle?” Questions like these always drifted her away from going outside. It seemed like a duty – to give each thought its respectable time of attention. Annihilation of one’s self to let a thought be the vanguard behind one's face. Even if for a split second.

Derogatory. Punishment. Disorder. So clumsy to call such interesting deities with such foolish names. Naming – tagging someone, as a livestock! – was always a perverted way of seeing the world. The World. W-O-R-L-D. Funny stuff. Like “worm”.

Apartment windows always saw Vanda as delusional, but she never showed her confusion in front of them. Not because she wanted to look better, but for the tiny hope that if she imitated bravery long enough, she would become brave naturally. All people’s games are totally natural and unavoidable, leading to nowhere. That's the point, this is the only destination we all have. Well, at least you – I’m nothing to do with this.

While we are talking, Vanda is already snitching something from the refrigerator, because living might be boring without biological needs. Have you ever eaten steamed broccoli? Thinking of me as a madman? Be sure of it, it may lead you somewhere. I’m just bored, but with food it becomes completely another story. I start to devastatingly exist, clinching myself in life’s entity with such brute means. People changed the world (let it be “wormd” from now on, please?) with a dessert – just look at Marie Antoinette.

Talking about my favorite topic totally retracted me from Vanda, which was a total mistake: she started reading books upside-down just to avoid the humming noise from the bathroom tube. It reminded her of childhood days, when she was certain that someone was sneaking at father’s house each week just to take a shower and leave some lines of hair as evidence to follow. Of course Vanda never left the house to follow this trace, it would have broken our story. Just move on. Like, if you are physically able to do this. We should include a diverse audience from all over the world (are sure you won’t prefer “wormd”?) to sell this script. Pay attention, two-legged-friend.

When Vanda isn’t in denial of her curious existence, she becomes a bleeding wound of joy and focus, agility and strength. She walks miles around her room just wearing her fluffy socks. That’s not the skill to be ignored or underused. Sometimes it’s not a matter of “where” you are going, but “how long” you can do it. Surely, you stopped for a little time, if you’re reading this. Or listening to this. Or eating this? Stupid bird, why have you stolen this text from some human? It is not even physically published, which means that someone printed it for himself. Mad and precious piracy. Continue your eating, dear bird.

***

Touching yet very embarrassing to embrace someone’s extraordinary nature. But getting to know someone’s boring routine – that’s quite another story. You know it, I know it, Vanda knows too. It’s not about the difference between day-to-day life and heroic acts once upon a time, which are all the same to the eyes of roaming raccoons in your area. You didn’t know about them? Strange, it’s like polish beavers – everybody knows about them.

Watering home flowers, greeting neighbours, cleaning out the cat’s toilet – these are all magnificent phenomenons of the human condition. Automatic and invisible, like how Vanda is shielding from sunlight breaking through her curtain stronghold. We rarely strive, but always want to touch everything that is outside of us: living nature, dying creature, loving animal, devastating person. All the same, but their texture changes everything. Peanuts have nothing in common with peanut butter in terms of taste. I don’t propose to lick stones and people's skin, but you've already done it, haven't you?

Floating gibberish, I agree. We are all trying to fill empty spaces, while something interesting will happen in Vanda’s room. Oh, here it is! No, we missed it. Nonetheless, she’s fixing the angle of wall paintings: her dog, her family back in the 90s, her favorite Sartr’s book, which does not even exist. She drew its cover, when she was spending hours in her father’s library. He was reading silly books, trying to understand silly things: from quantum laws (isn’t it an oxymoron in itself?) to esoteric knowledge of women around him. Yet Vanda always liked that he kept only one cooking book, retrieved from a cheap garage shop. It never developed his chief skills, but he was beautiful in his existential dread of trying to impress her. Maybe another day.

Maybe it was her dad behind the door, who was simultaneously singing in the bathroom tube? Even in her deviated state, she knew that was impossible – only because it would drive her mad, which is enough valid point for claiming impossibility rather than a living father. She knew she wouldn’t open a door and that was for a reason.

Incredible fight of blue and white dolls

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