Philip Glass is playing.
No, I switch to CAN and Halleluwah. Swinging!
I was just on the phone with Gurra talking about what an complete disaster meeting I had this morning. One of those "I must be high on charlie cause that was way too bad to feel this good" meeting. I mean, not only was I all over the room drawing on the whiteboard, having foot dance with the drawers, I also somehow successfully incorporated the sentence "...and I say that with 0% ego" into our conversation. YES, I am a MONSTER. Judge me.
Mother is coming in March, the 6th. I fear her visit with amusement, how little she knows her only child. Does she know about the nights spent in hotels when I am visiting my dad. She doesn't have to know. We all fear to become like our parents, surprisingly our parents fear the same. I know it hurt mother just as much as it makes her content, its like all her poor judgement and failure will be genetically inherited by me. And if that happens I will let it inhabit my mind peacefully.
lördag 6 februari 2016
fredag 5 februari 2016
Would Zach Braff's character in Garden State have sat through an elaborate hamster funeral if his hostess didn't look like Natalie Portman?
Mayor of the crazy town. People call each other that, thats why Jesse fell in love with Celine. And now he resent her for that. Resentment, thats real love. I do admit I do not posses the most accurate nor healthy aspect of a stable relationship. I am neurotic as fuck and at times a maniac. My families acceptance of my rad behaviour makes me surprisingly more grounded.
I have been doing a lot of thinking since I decided to break up with you. Never have I been so tormented and optimistic at the same time. Why didn't you let me be excessive, unavailable and slap-in-your-face annoying? Everything that you fell in love with, little by little it was being put in the corner behind the curtains. Until there was nothing left of me. Do you know it fels like, not knowing who you are? How do you suffer when you have no feelings left. Time drained all my energy while my own search for the solution consumed me.
I told N. today that George might be dead. What an awful thought! She pointed out how morbid I have become. I am maniac, paranoid, happy and infatuated. Its a powerful cocktail of emotions, like a mental eight ball. Naturally I worked out all the scenarios that might happen (paranoia to rescue).
1. George is dead, I am pregnant. His parents makes a deal with me for me to keep the baby as he is their only child. I admit this does come off a bit dramatic, but you can never take Life for granted!
2. George is dead, I am NOT pregnant. I start a thursday evening support group for people with dead rebounds. The support group becomes successful and get acquired by a shady but financially solid healthcare company.
3. George is alive.
I am keeping my fingers crossed for option 2. Just kidding! How worried I am about my darling George. He is exactly the kind of person that would do something stoopid while being high on various substances. Oh how beastly of George to make me worry like a little girl!
CAN is playing on my spotify, I am googling "What do you call you toxic friend that you do a lot of substances with", you know that one person that you dread to hang out with cause you know two of you are just like Kim Jun Ill and nuclear weapon. You always have the best time of your life but during the come down you can't remember exactly what you did. Everything is blurred but you know you had fun just not knowing why. Or you do know why, its the dust, the capsules, the sheets, the grass. It is whatever we can get our hands on, and how fast we can consume it all. It becomes a competition in how much decadence and indulgence we can squeeze in during 24h, preferable in a foreign city in a another country. How can you live life at its fullest and not being curious about death. Its the ultimate experience, its better than sex or any sex enhancing drug taken during the act of sex. Im starting to sound morbid again. I stop here.
Lets speak of something more lively. Julie gave birth to a beautiful and fat (9,1pounds) baby boy last week!
Lets be morbid again. If George is really dead. Will I be contacted by Dave? His parents? What do I say? Do I go to his funeral? AH! B_R_U_T_A_L
Sayonara.
I have been doing a lot of thinking since I decided to break up with you. Never have I been so tormented and optimistic at the same time. Why didn't you let me be excessive, unavailable and slap-in-your-face annoying? Everything that you fell in love with, little by little it was being put in the corner behind the curtains. Until there was nothing left of me. Do you know it fels like, not knowing who you are? How do you suffer when you have no feelings left. Time drained all my energy while my own search for the solution consumed me.
I told N. today that George might be dead. What an awful thought! She pointed out how morbid I have become. I am maniac, paranoid, happy and infatuated. Its a powerful cocktail of emotions, like a mental eight ball. Naturally I worked out all the scenarios that might happen (paranoia to rescue).
1. George is dead, I am pregnant. His parents makes a deal with me for me to keep the baby as he is their only child. I admit this does come off a bit dramatic, but you can never take Life for granted!
2. George is dead, I am NOT pregnant. I start a thursday evening support group for people with dead rebounds. The support group becomes successful and get acquired by a shady but financially solid healthcare company.
3. George is alive.
I am keeping my fingers crossed for option 2. Just kidding! How worried I am about my darling George. He is exactly the kind of person that would do something stoopid while being high on various substances. Oh how beastly of George to make me worry like a little girl!
CAN is playing on my spotify, I am googling "What do you call you toxic friend that you do a lot of substances with", you know that one person that you dread to hang out with cause you know two of you are just like Kim Jun Ill and nuclear weapon. You always have the best time of your life but during the come down you can't remember exactly what you did. Everything is blurred but you know you had fun just not knowing why. Or you do know why, its the dust, the capsules, the sheets, the grass. It is whatever we can get our hands on, and how fast we can consume it all. It becomes a competition in how much decadence and indulgence we can squeeze in during 24h, preferable in a foreign city in a another country. How can you live life at its fullest and not being curious about death. Its the ultimate experience, its better than sex or any sex enhancing drug taken during the act of sex. Im starting to sound morbid again. I stop here.
Lets speak of something more lively. Julie gave birth to a beautiful and fat (9,1pounds) baby boy last week!
Lets be morbid again. If George is really dead. Will I be contacted by Dave? His parents? What do I say? Do I go to his funeral? AH! B_R_U_T_A_L
Sayonara.
lördag 21 februari 2015
selected works from your old cold heart
"omg I can't watch this! Stopped at "its pulling images from Google Earth". Hey I have an idea: the machine could write out texts on your living room wall. Instead of an alert, you hear the damn thing scribble and you have to walk over and pray it's not rendering the picture of an erect penis, or lurid language. I'd also write an algorithm for the machine to ding the most artistic way to launch itself out the window. I prefer the idea of attaching little paint boots to a pet. or this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP43iCcNYBs"
"I believe it's crucial not to spank solely based on behaviour; the person spanked may come to understand what has to be done in order to receive said hand on ass, and then it becomes mundane role playing. What keeps it interesting is not knowing whether a specific behaviour, be to good or bad, will elicit a reaction"
"it's hard not seeing you. it's so hard, i've decided to join the army. i'll be traveling the world, fixing broken radiators on trucks designed to fix broken light bulbs on air bases. my name will be Harry, Harry Spotme. I'll have a moustache, and I'll name it Sally. It's not like "When Harry Met Sally". In my version, Sally is a whore, and she sits on my face, casually. i really miss talking to you, [my name]. and i miss your stupid sense of humour and your face...I mean the sex. I miss that so much I've decided to become a giraffe. maybe you can become one too and we can leave the city and find a nice tree in the wild to hand around"
"i have to confess: you are correct, except about my age. I'm only about 800 years old. I've forgotten exactly when I was born and it matters little as I'll never die. Birthdays just aren't for me. They're only for those who need to understand the passage of time. I don't bother with such simple-minded, yearly reminders. But I've got plans for you, darling. It's important I send you something so let me know when you can receive a package from New York. In the meantime, if you'd like to know more about me, you should watch Catherine Deneuve, David Bowie and Susan Sarandon in The Hunger"
"I believe it's crucial not to spank solely based on behaviour; the person spanked may come to understand what has to be done in order to receive said hand on ass, and then it becomes mundane role playing. What keeps it interesting is not knowing whether a specific behaviour, be to good or bad, will elicit a reaction"
"it's hard not seeing you. it's so hard, i've decided to join the army. i'll be traveling the world, fixing broken radiators on trucks designed to fix broken light bulbs on air bases. my name will be Harry, Harry Spotme. I'll have a moustache, and I'll name it Sally. It's not like "When Harry Met Sally". In my version, Sally is a whore, and she sits on my face, casually. i really miss talking to you, [my name]. and i miss your stupid sense of humour and your face...I mean the sex. I miss that so much I've decided to become a giraffe. maybe you can become one too and we can leave the city and find a nice tree in the wild to hand around"
"i have to confess: you are correct, except about my age. I'm only about 800 years old. I've forgotten exactly when I was born and it matters little as I'll never die. Birthdays just aren't for me. They're only for those who need to understand the passage of time. I don't bother with such simple-minded, yearly reminders. But I've got plans for you, darling. It's important I send you something so let me know when you can receive a package from New York. In the meantime, if you'd like to know more about me, you should watch Catherine Deneuve, David Bowie and Susan Sarandon in The Hunger"
torsdag 22 maj 2014
it was a hiatus. a forced one. i tried to place my feelings somewhere else, in a foreign place. it didn't work. my heart didn't want to grant my mind the peace. so I'm back here, furious but certain.
during lunch i asked Gabby why rehabs in china are full of expats. He took one look at my glass of wine and shook his head. I still havnt figured out what he meant but I am sure it has something to do with the burning sun or his burning nostrils. i told him that he is like a little brother to me and if he will avoid this bullshit. Later on same night an onion head tells me she is with Gabby. Life is too short to fold fitted sheets. Life is a straight line for him. Simple.
The Woman realised that she is just a mashup of their ex girlfriends. Only a stand-in, a phantom foundation. She didn't know about the curse, about the men, about the women. The wind was blowing in her hair and she was obviously riding the scooter high as a kite.
The truth is the more she loves him the more she needs to love. Her heart doesn't get full and locked away. She got so much love to give.
He doesn't know what is going on, he thinks about her. She knows exactly whats going, she thinks about him. The jury is still out.
fredag 10 januari 2014
söndag 17 november 2013
i have been here before but never enough
i m back. maybe not for long but this city has awaken a part of me that has been hiding because of the fear of living. fear of life could be more mortal than death itself. its been another sunday afternoon spent in complete honesty. like the main character in a mediocre french movie. mingus is playing piano while life is being more surprising than ever. i could barely walk down the townhouse where peanut butter lives, its a clean and modern walkup in the west village. while we were on his rooftop my mind was somewhere in brooklyn, wondering if the band that im not seeing is good enough for you to considering working with them. the fake matisse u gave me make me smile. thank you for the thought. you dont impress me at all, you are entering my world on a golden unicorn. if i only knew there was so much to life, rich yet light.
Prenumerera på:
Inlägg (Atom)