If we live only to delay the end and to distract ourselves from the end, it will make more sense to pretend that there is no end, like we already do and yet, some cannot wait for the end, they even speed up to meet the end.
The only reason why I’m in a hurry is only because I’m not sure how much time is left. One hour is like thirty minutes and five minutes like two. Living in this city doesn’t make things any easier.
Last week I dreamt that I could run up mountains, but now I find myself climbing with dry hands and broken fingernails. This is why I wake up, tired. I’ve been climbing all night!
This also explains my leg cramp last night which felt like a rat squeezing itself through a tight hole. Who knew that flexing your knees and pointing your toes downwards is not good for the blood flow in your legs? It’s an ordinary sleeping position.
My poor calf muscle…how ironic that these painful moments most frequently occur when you’re resting, when you believe that you’re at peace. Now suddenly I’m thinking about John Hughes’s death. Dreadful things can happen when you take a relaxing afternoon walk.
Other than that my landlady had decided to call someone to repair her shower at midnight. This is how out of order she is. And she knows I go to bed between 9-9:30pm. Inconsideration I do not tolerate and yet I am a coward for not saying anything.
I know I am an old girl who currently hates her life. And if my body hates me, I hate it back, but I still care for it.
Also I can’t believe that it’s time again to ask my landlady to top up my metre. I have 50pence worth of electricity left in my room and I know she will say it’s enough for another day.
I’ve met up with my new landlord a couple of times to sort out tenancy agreement, deposit receipt. Now that everything’s done, he’s revealing a little more weirdness and I no longer have this feeling that he’s a quiet guy. I was hoping this landlord-tenant-relationship would remain discreet. One doesn’t have to be friends with everyone. I’m getting tired of this game.
In one of John Martin’s painting there is a man struggling to climb a mountain – jagged cliffs everywhere. I forgot his name, but he is searching for the waters of oblivion.
You must have done something awfully bad, if you seek to forget. But he has made this his mission in life; he’s ready to go through hell just so he can forget. I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry about this. However, it’s his strong will that I admire, as it reminds me of Sisyphus.
No matter if good or bad, as long as you have something important to accomplish, nothing matters.
If art and photography are about capturing the moment, is writing then about finding sustenance in words?
There is a lot of art out there and living with art means to make it your own. The originality lies within you and how you plan to post-modernise it. See what Johnny did with Trent’s song. If you want to make something your own you simply apply it to your own life. Why worry about what’s been done and said. I want to know how you can do and say it. Nothing is ever the same.
Without my novel I feel naked and useless, I don’t know what to do with myself. I just realised that every day I wake up it’s to go to work, as if there was nothing more to live for. However, the break I’m taking from the book is necessary.
But I’m dying to read the comments on my thesis and I wish dear Maria would hurry and send them to me. This will be the last piece of feedback that I will receive from F. and I NEED it! Urgently!
Someone please massage my calf.
Sonntag, 27. November 2011
Sonntag, 20. November 2011
Schuhe putzen!
Europa is probably the second best von Trier movie that I’ve seen. The opening was a little haunting because I was reminded of last night’s dream in which I saw two hung people dangling from a tree. And strangely, I was on a train myself when I saw them.
As long as precognition comes true via film rather than real life, it’s ok, right?
Young Kessler is the exact image of how I have imagined Stuart McCormick. He just needs a little bit more determination and he would be perfect. Who would have guessed that the movie’s already twenty year’s old? Watching how the character attempts to show kindness, I had to giggle all the way through. The juxtaposition of colour and black & white was fascinating and striking. It was a sudden moment of revelation and truth. And yet, love covers up your eyes as usual.
While already bordering on madness, you realise that your kindness is not, in any way, changing anything. People will always screw you over. It doesn’t even matter if they love you. A lie, a betrayal…remain a lie and a betrayal.
It all ends in agony.
Today the fog covered up the city to give us a Dickean atmosphere. It was spooky, but arousing… When running this morning, my face and hair caught a lot of water – so cold, but still refreshing.
I slept in today and didn’t wake up until half past seven. Some say I should try to go back to sleep anyway, but I can’t. There’s too much to do…
And tomorrow I have to back to work again with a smiley face.
I have been looking at my shoes lately. My slippers are falling apart. My chucks have holes and so do my Fila trainers which I’ve had since Year 7. Despite having a professional job, I look like a school kid on the outside. It’s not attractive. When buying a kitchen knife, do you ever get IDed? As if they cannot see the exhaustion in my eyes, the lines running down from my nasal wings.
I can’t do my hair properly either, and besides, they need cutting.
However, I neither have the time nor the money to pamper myself these days and if I do, I’d rather dedicate the time to something productive like work on the video blog and finish the final paragraph of the novel before the revision process.
Stuart McCormick. I always imagine him as a six foot tall guy with glasses. He is the only heart surgeon to prove to me that a heart can be fixed. There is just no one else that I believe…
As long as precognition comes true via film rather than real life, it’s ok, right?
Young Kessler is the exact image of how I have imagined Stuart McCormick. He just needs a little bit more determination and he would be perfect. Who would have guessed that the movie’s already twenty year’s old? Watching how the character attempts to show kindness, I had to giggle all the way through. The juxtaposition of colour and black & white was fascinating and striking. It was a sudden moment of revelation and truth. And yet, love covers up your eyes as usual.
While already bordering on madness, you realise that your kindness is not, in any way, changing anything. People will always screw you over. It doesn’t even matter if they love you. A lie, a betrayal…remain a lie and a betrayal.
It all ends in agony.
Today the fog covered up the city to give us a Dickean atmosphere. It was spooky, but arousing… When running this morning, my face and hair caught a lot of water – so cold, but still refreshing.
I slept in today and didn’t wake up until half past seven. Some say I should try to go back to sleep anyway, but I can’t. There’s too much to do…
And tomorrow I have to back to work again with a smiley face.
I have been looking at my shoes lately. My slippers are falling apart. My chucks have holes and so do my Fila trainers which I’ve had since Year 7. Despite having a professional job, I look like a school kid on the outside. It’s not attractive. When buying a kitchen knife, do you ever get IDed? As if they cannot see the exhaustion in my eyes, the lines running down from my nasal wings.
I can’t do my hair properly either, and besides, they need cutting.
However, I neither have the time nor the money to pamper myself these days and if I do, I’d rather dedicate the time to something productive like work on the video blog and finish the final paragraph of the novel before the revision process.
Stuart McCormick. I always imagine him as a six foot tall guy with glasses. He is the only heart surgeon to prove to me that a heart can be fixed. There is just no one else that I believe…
Dienstag, 15. November 2011
Twenty-seven
It’s close and there’s nothing that I can do about it. And before I begin to attach any blame to you, you’d better turn around and leave.
Did I ever mention that my last panic attack, before today’s one, was late August? I thought I did really well and my shoulder deserved to be patted, but as you know, certain things always return…like people who want more out of you. But a feeling like this is usually self-inflicted, usually because your environment unsuitable for your personal standards. Adjustment, they say, is important in life. I agreed to a certain point and now I no longer do. You are gifted if you have the ability to adjust. It’s part of the survival game (of which I am sick now!).
My evening run was horrific – started off really cold, but you either run yourself warm or take a cold shower and remain cold. Keep poking your immune system and suffer hard, it’s only for a moment. I felt warm eventually, but it was the first time a sense of paranoia impelled me to speed up. You think that only children suspect their shadows of following them? To be honest, I never looked at my shadow that closely before, the way it jumps, expands and overtakes me as I am running. I never look behind me when I run, but I could swear someone was behind me!
Having completed the novel I’m still not satisfied. I think I’m not entirely convinced of it yet, as I fear to look more closely at the darker elements behind the plot and character. It’s like gazing down at my end, not hers.
I’d give everything to be her, although on the emotional front, she is me already and she hates me for it. She is very contagious, especially her nimbus, which is now above my head, robbing my concentration, my calm and composure. Get rid of it!!! F***!
Funny that at the age of Seventeen I lived for the Sex Pistols song which saved me from the insignificance of peer pressure. And Alice Cooper’s Eighteen I completely forgot about. Jimmy Eat World’s Twenty-three gave me a sense of redemption. I hated that age, because my metabolism took a big turn. In the song Wish, Trent sings about being on the way to hell at the age of Twenty-six. And now looking at all the dead Twenty-sevens, I am actually quite anxious. I’m not quite sure where I am headed at the moment. I’m spending my time discharging the heat. I just want to keep my equilibrium? Be good. It’s not time yet. I want to become Twenty-eight – for there’s so freaking song about it.
Talking about anxiety, my sleep hyperhydrosis wakes me up every night. I knew that doubling my green tea consumption wasn’t the ideal option, but it was worth a try. Now I find myself washing my pillow case every other day. They say you should wash it weekly as apparently it’s dirtier than a toilet seat. Does anyone want to know how hygienic Lovecraft’s famous pillow is? That pillow holds your sickest and most nauseating nightmares. In comparison to his, mine is very harmless. In my nightmares you won’t walk on solid ground, but you’ll tumble and lose direction.
If you have an idea of how to diminish a hellish heat within, then please advice. Or maybe we could share our heat and get rid of it this way?
I am not being flirty, I meant it. Let’s become molten together.
Did I ever mention that my last panic attack, before today’s one, was late August? I thought I did really well and my shoulder deserved to be patted, but as you know, certain things always return…like people who want more out of you. But a feeling like this is usually self-inflicted, usually because your environment unsuitable for your personal standards. Adjustment, they say, is important in life. I agreed to a certain point and now I no longer do. You are gifted if you have the ability to adjust. It’s part of the survival game (of which I am sick now!).
My evening run was horrific – started off really cold, but you either run yourself warm or take a cold shower and remain cold. Keep poking your immune system and suffer hard, it’s only for a moment. I felt warm eventually, but it was the first time a sense of paranoia impelled me to speed up. You think that only children suspect their shadows of following them? To be honest, I never looked at my shadow that closely before, the way it jumps, expands and overtakes me as I am running. I never look behind me when I run, but I could swear someone was behind me!
Having completed the novel I’m still not satisfied. I think I’m not entirely convinced of it yet, as I fear to look more closely at the darker elements behind the plot and character. It’s like gazing down at my end, not hers.
I’d give everything to be her, although on the emotional front, she is me already and she hates me for it. She is very contagious, especially her nimbus, which is now above my head, robbing my concentration, my calm and composure. Get rid of it!!! F***!
Funny that at the age of Seventeen I lived for the Sex Pistols song which saved me from the insignificance of peer pressure. And Alice Cooper’s Eighteen I completely forgot about. Jimmy Eat World’s Twenty-three gave me a sense of redemption. I hated that age, because my metabolism took a big turn. In the song Wish, Trent sings about being on the way to hell at the age of Twenty-six. And now looking at all the dead Twenty-sevens, I am actually quite anxious. I’m not quite sure where I am headed at the moment. I’m spending my time discharging the heat. I just want to keep my equilibrium? Be good. It’s not time yet. I want to become Twenty-eight – for there’s so freaking song about it.
Talking about anxiety, my sleep hyperhydrosis wakes me up every night. I knew that doubling my green tea consumption wasn’t the ideal option, but it was worth a try. Now I find myself washing my pillow case every other day. They say you should wash it weekly as apparently it’s dirtier than a toilet seat. Does anyone want to know how hygienic Lovecraft’s famous pillow is? That pillow holds your sickest and most nauseating nightmares. In comparison to his, mine is very harmless. In my nightmares you won’t walk on solid ground, but you’ll tumble and lose direction.
If you have an idea of how to diminish a hellish heat within, then please advice. Or maybe we could share our heat and get rid of it this way?
I am not being flirty, I meant it. Let’s become molten together.
Sonntag, 13. November 2011
When mice hatch from sausages
So I’ve completed Ellen’s narrative, now I have to switch to the third person free indirect style, from the perspective of an innocent paedophile (you need Nabokov to explain this). Difficult but it needs to work. It’s only now that I kind of recall certain events on which my concepts are based on. But you rewrite everything in a way that it appears to be new like an original idea, but actually you have witnessed something in the past and you realise that your imagination is somewhat connected to the jelly in you. And over the years you attempt to harden up the jelly. It takes time.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I haven’t received my thesis results like everyone else. And Maria, the secretary is ignoring my emails. However, before I get them, I’d like to have the novel finished…in case of demoralization when reading Goldsmiths’ uber-critical comments.
Having worked for almost two months, I must say I have adapted myself quite well despite certain levels of hectic within the working environment. People are starting to let me “in” due to my integration and because I’m an early bird. I feel a lot more comfortable now.
I have noticed certain factors which are generally related to human relationships, no matter if friends, collaborators, partners or whatever, when it comes to money, you realise that a certain extent of discretion is required.
This is why you NEVER ask a friend to lend you money and you never lend money to them.
Business, eh?
How despicable this word is, I have learnt a lot in the last two months – from being scammed to being sincerely hired. I thought I had my own rules for the survival game, but when it comes to earning money, there are more rules to be added to the game. (Note that rules are ok when they are set by you.) The good thing is that you’re not required to be insincere, you just shut your mouth and I have no problems with that. As you know, I shut my mouth about a lot of things. And if I do say something, it always comes out the wrong way. (You remember my blog on Lars.)
Sometimes I know what people want to hear, but I just won’t say it. If I feel like deceiving them I pretend we share the same opinion and they’ll be like: “You and I are the same!”
Yes. We are sooo similar.
Is that the novelty of blending in, Dexter? Quite useful sometimes, isn’t it? Unlike you, I don’t want to be like them.
They call a “loner” but this word derives from “lonely”, so don’t fucking call me that.
I admit I have been very selfish lately; been treating my friends terribly. They invite me, I decline them. They text me, I ignore them. I need to keep in mind that when declining them, I shouldn’t give reasons. Whenever I give reasons I seem to be dragging them down with me.
The room in my life has become so small, I can’t even fit myself in, let alone a friend? I need more room.
I understand they all want to talk, but the thing with me is – I don’t. That’s the problem. You know what it’s like being around people with whom you cannot be who you are. They don’t realise that they have a problem with who you are. They might accept you for who you are, but they don’t like it and they will ask you to make an exception for at least a day. For instance, a friend invites you to her wedding, despite knowing you hate ceremonies like that. And they ask you to pull a happy face for at least a day. And it’s difficult, horribly difficult. In order to stop you from calling me selfish: I went to the wedding, but not more needs to be said. I will not attend any other ones, not even my own.
The power of green tea has saved my life, at least in the last two months. However, the angry sentiments have returned. And I knew they would. I clench my fists for no particular reason. No matter what I do to become a better person to myself, I seem to grow immune to all these…good drugs; my conscience does, if I still remember how it functions. Everything loses effect – so quickly. With me in particular. It’s as if this horrible thing can’t wait to salute me.
I was flat hunting again and surprisingly found something really fast.
There’s no way I’m going to extend my current contract. Landlady was having a massive argument with her son the other week – and this seems to happen frequently. Apart from that, she has her granddaughter over every damn weekend. She was squealing like a pig the other week; I have no idea what she was crying about, but a kid’s cry is so haunting. Besides, I envy them too much to be around them.
However, when my landlady and her son were arguing downstairs, I went to the bathroom and saw the girl in my landlady’s room. She was sad. In fact, I don’t hate her that much. I just prefer her quiet.
But there are several other reasons why I just do not wish to extend my contract. She turns small talk into small talk “conversation”. If the sun’s shining, she’d go on about the sun shine yesterday or last week, last month. Sun will probably shine tomorrow too or next weekend.
A conversation that can be short and simple becomes 30min. I can’t take it any longer. Even if it’s just once or twice a week.
I’d rather you enquire about my sex life. Or how about you tell me what you and your son always argue about?
Also, every month I have to ask her to top up my metre for electricity. Every time it shows“40pence left”, I get nervous about the food in my fridge. And she would say it’s enough for another day and a half.
So she’s only going to top up once the metre has gone CLICK? Yes. That happened over a week ago. And he was not in. I was sitting in the dark, typing until my laptop battery went off. This made me feel more horrible about my life than I already did.
I wish I had the money to live on fucking own. Give me some space. How much I love my friends, I have to admit I am glad to be on my own. Sometimes instead of going for a coffee with someone, I’d rather walk through the cemetery and steal beautiful names in order to create a new life for them…in a story. Not even writers would understand this.
From next month, I will be living with a quiet landlord with a strange personality, but he is reliable, quiet and clean – there is nothing more I look for in a flat mate. He says he is hardly ever home. And when he is I’ll only get to see him in the kitchen. I like the sound of it.
You’re anxious that I chose to live with a man, who, on the behavioural level is similar to me? Well, it was either him or extend contract with my current landlady who has started praying hysterically every morning like a madwoman. If God was the truth, why would people constantly call it The Ugly Truth?
I don’t know what’s going on, but I haven’t received my thesis results like everyone else. And Maria, the secretary is ignoring my emails. However, before I get them, I’d like to have the novel finished…in case of demoralization when reading Goldsmiths’ uber-critical comments.
Having worked for almost two months, I must say I have adapted myself quite well despite certain levels of hectic within the working environment. People are starting to let me “in” due to my integration and because I’m an early bird. I feel a lot more comfortable now.
I have noticed certain factors which are generally related to human relationships, no matter if friends, collaborators, partners or whatever, when it comes to money, you realise that a certain extent of discretion is required.
This is why you NEVER ask a friend to lend you money and you never lend money to them.
Business, eh?
How despicable this word is, I have learnt a lot in the last two months – from being scammed to being sincerely hired. I thought I had my own rules for the survival game, but when it comes to earning money, there are more rules to be added to the game. (Note that rules are ok when they are set by you.) The good thing is that you’re not required to be insincere, you just shut your mouth and I have no problems with that. As you know, I shut my mouth about a lot of things. And if I do say something, it always comes out the wrong way. (You remember my blog on Lars.)
Sometimes I know what people want to hear, but I just won’t say it. If I feel like deceiving them I pretend we share the same opinion and they’ll be like: “You and I are the same!”
Yes. We are sooo similar.
Is that the novelty of blending in, Dexter? Quite useful sometimes, isn’t it? Unlike you, I don’t want to be like them.
They call a “loner” but this word derives from “lonely”, so don’t fucking call me that.
I admit I have been very selfish lately; been treating my friends terribly. They invite me, I decline them. They text me, I ignore them. I need to keep in mind that when declining them, I shouldn’t give reasons. Whenever I give reasons I seem to be dragging them down with me.
The room in my life has become so small, I can’t even fit myself in, let alone a friend? I need more room.
I understand they all want to talk, but the thing with me is – I don’t. That’s the problem. You know what it’s like being around people with whom you cannot be who you are. They don’t realise that they have a problem with who you are. They might accept you for who you are, but they don’t like it and they will ask you to make an exception for at least a day. For instance, a friend invites you to her wedding, despite knowing you hate ceremonies like that. And they ask you to pull a happy face for at least a day. And it’s difficult, horribly difficult. In order to stop you from calling me selfish: I went to the wedding, but not more needs to be said. I will not attend any other ones, not even my own.
The power of green tea has saved my life, at least in the last two months. However, the angry sentiments have returned. And I knew they would. I clench my fists for no particular reason. No matter what I do to become a better person to myself, I seem to grow immune to all these…good drugs; my conscience does, if I still remember how it functions. Everything loses effect – so quickly. With me in particular. It’s as if this horrible thing can’t wait to salute me.
I was flat hunting again and surprisingly found something really fast.
There’s no way I’m going to extend my current contract. Landlady was having a massive argument with her son the other week – and this seems to happen frequently. Apart from that, she has her granddaughter over every damn weekend. She was squealing like a pig the other week; I have no idea what she was crying about, but a kid’s cry is so haunting. Besides, I envy them too much to be around them.
However, when my landlady and her son were arguing downstairs, I went to the bathroom and saw the girl in my landlady’s room. She was sad. In fact, I don’t hate her that much. I just prefer her quiet.
But there are several other reasons why I just do not wish to extend my contract. She turns small talk into small talk “conversation”. If the sun’s shining, she’d go on about the sun shine yesterday or last week, last month. Sun will probably shine tomorrow too or next weekend.
A conversation that can be short and simple becomes 30min. I can’t take it any longer. Even if it’s just once or twice a week.
I’d rather you enquire about my sex life. Or how about you tell me what you and your son always argue about?
Also, every month I have to ask her to top up my metre for electricity. Every time it shows“40pence left”, I get nervous about the food in my fridge. And she would say it’s enough for another day and a half.
So she’s only going to top up once the metre has gone CLICK? Yes. That happened over a week ago. And he was not in. I was sitting in the dark, typing until my laptop battery went off. This made me feel more horrible about my life than I already did.
I wish I had the money to live on fucking own. Give me some space. How much I love my friends, I have to admit I am glad to be on my own. Sometimes instead of going for a coffee with someone, I’d rather walk through the cemetery and steal beautiful names in order to create a new life for them…in a story. Not even writers would understand this.
From next month, I will be living with a quiet landlord with a strange personality, but he is reliable, quiet and clean – there is nothing more I look for in a flat mate. He says he is hardly ever home. And when he is I’ll only get to see him in the kitchen. I like the sound of it.
You’re anxious that I chose to live with a man, who, on the behavioural level is similar to me? Well, it was either him or extend contract with my current landlady who has started praying hysterically every morning like a madwoman. If God was the truth, why would people constantly call it The Ugly Truth?
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