DIARY OF AN URBAN BOGMAN, by Andre K’por

Day 1. The introduction

“In a completely sane world, madness is the only freedom”
— J. G. Ballard

Allow me to be frank at the commencement. I’ve never been any good at this.

I’ve probably left a whole autobiography dotted around the world on scraps of paper. On the backs of receipts and beer mats. Coasters. Whatever you call them.

But keeping a diary? No. That’s not my thing.

However, the mounting frustrations and confusions that have accompanied my gradual descent into madness; they require some form of catharsis. All these demons must be expelled. Not for the sake of my own sanity, but rather for the well-being of the space I may occupy at any given time.

Like, do you ever sit on a bus and just feel like whipping it out?

The sole gratification being the look of disgust and confusion, as the other animals on board attempt to fit your abhorrent act within the framework of their reality. O, to watch them fail. To watch them squirm and shudder as they look around for someone to take action.

I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe it was the wildly inconsistent timetables. Maybe it was the nasty look the driver gave me as I gave him sixty-five cents less than minimum fare. Maybe it was the annoying bilingual voice informing me of every. Single. Fucking. Stop.

Maybe it’s just in my nature.

The sweaty guy rocking back and forth singing along to YMCA blaring out of his headphones, well he seems like a right gentleman now. A polite and well–mannered candidate for the position of your very own son–in–law. But I am a beast, come to destroy the pleasant vibe of suburbia. Osama Bin Saville. Satan incarnate.

Public transport really brings out the worst in me.

Andre K’Por

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