SPEAK, MNEMOSYNE [31 Aug 2009|08:59pm] Ich kann meinen Arm nicht bewegen each time i sit down before here i feel stiffened held back, forced and peculiarly Magnified, as if under glass. the electronic constant the hum and buzz thoroughly ringing hissing attuning within the interior of my skull, my head, a light touch so wide ranging heavy : an active hardship. i’d much rather sit alone to the sound from underneath my fingertips pressing the keys upon a typewriter, see the words inked&assembled smoothened onto paper. what an out-of-character thing for me to say, as i’m generally All about computer parts, the mechanical and technology. all summer i’ve handled so poorly the monotonous unceasing flow of paralleled sun that is notorious for my part of the country this time of year : i have as mentioned before kept my windows open but also hung&stretched my black bed spread across the panes as to assuredly obstruct the The Light from filtering through. accordingly my room has turned into a hive of sorts, a commorancy for moths, mosquitoes and a variety of other insects their puny bodies shadowing my walls i used to give it no thought but am now starting to get a little freaked about this particular activity. other things i should be freaked about, is freaked about is i’m moving in little less than a week and a half and i haven’t begun packing a thing yet, neither do i choose to Really acknowledge this issue, folly is what it is. surely i’ve been peripatetic in the past but it has always been a matter of moving within measurements of well-known neighbourhoods, i’ve always been familiar with my surroundings. this time i’m moving across the country to a small city outside of gothenburg where i’ll be schooled at the university, trained to become a librarian for three(!) years and with the exemption of one girl – i know no one. i should mention The Girl's name is stella; she has extremely red hair, dresses like an animated hello kitty figure and draws psychedelic drugged-up tim burton-esque paintings plus she's also batshit crazy. we've known each other electronically for about five years and i'm mad about her. i’ve had deep concerns and objections toward the idea of living with people other than all of my Selves but it has proved virtually impossible finding such living arrangements on such short notice. so now apparently &all thanks to an elderly endearing man, i shall be having my own room but am forced to share kitchen&bathroom with “an older woman” as well as a “textile student from the north.” i won’t be able to see the place nor them until i Arrive the 16th or 17th of august so who knows what shocks and horrors that awaits me. hopefully these other tenants will be prone only to apathy, books and coffee, then everything will be fine, yes? (“i really don’t know if i should give you an answer, as i am not actually sure if i’ve ever even gotten an answer from you at anything. you mostly answer people in questions.”) it’s terribly wasteful of me to be so willingly ignorant of everything that needs to be done, packaged and prepared : this is not a window of opportunity i am not supposed to be writing a n d in addition to all of this i have a photo shoot(!) on tuesday. i didn’t know about this until very recently (it’s my sister’s doing and fault) and i’ve received little information about it. however from what i’ve gathered i’ll be the model in some fashion spread for the local newspaper and visually demonstrating whatever clothing articles that are Hip this autumn, what one is Supposed to wear if you’re the type to follow trends. the shoot will be done with another model “to the backdrop of abandoned trains” which sounds tolerable and/or agreeable but i’m still hesitant shell shocked, petrified truth be told. for i am no model and with my aberrant tendencies to choked/restrained behaviour i might not make the most worthwhile person to try and imposture as one either; the weight of my insecurities will possibly prove superior a double-cross of body communication beyond grasp but always there. moreover i am curious to see what the makeup-artists will come up with, how they’ll work the atrocity that is my hair and what their vision is; i’m told to show up wearing no makeup which means there will be none of my customary minimalistic visual renderings! Aghast and even though i’m much dismayed i’ll still go to project compliance and reason. REALLY, I DON'T LIKE HUMAN NATURE UNLESS ALL CANDIED OVER WITH ART — virginia woolf Ich hatte einen Autounfall about two weekends ago L&i were invited to an after pride party down by the beach and since i’ve never walked or even attended the pride parade but always wished to, this seemed like a fair alternative&even more so when all mainstream club events in luleå have lost their infirm appeal. everyone was sitting on blankets in small or larger groups passing alcoholic beverages around or clustering by the jetty : SG and carl upon seeing me, instantly hailed me to their corner. it’s very likely a healthy thing for me, that there’s usually months between each run-in with these two for they pamper and deluge me with such an enduring downpour of admiration that should this be a weekly routine – i’d straightaway metamorphose into a modern day narcisstica drowning myself in mirror glass shatter, i kid you not. SG proposed that she’d wait for my three years of librarian training to be over and then we would move in together, wound up storytelling about how we’d spend our days reading books while in bed and keeping many dogs as well as hairless cats, painting a very pretty picture. carl having returned temporarily from his one year in china couldn’t stop talking about bejing what a lovely city it’s supposed to be the people and culture, jobs, clubs, mao, endlessness. i had a good time although i intermittently was confronted with boredom, doleful dashes of () listened to given criticism concerning whoever handled the music and what to play and talked to a younger girl about car crashes while L cruised the beach cliques of human beings and apparently too stumbled into the woods to vomit. most memorable was a tall, lanky someone who i couldn’t categorize sexually, looking fabulously ambiguous, epicene in gender neutral clothing and even going by a unisexual name. i could have asked of course but then, why ruin Allure at its finest . . . . going backwards feeling the chain of hours once more to luleåkalaset which is another and bigger music/folk festival uptown that i’ve never participated in because it’s such a publicity stunt and overly hyped but this year, L and i had made plans months before to attend all because of joakim thåström being part of the musical repertoire, one of the headlining artists and something of a secret hero : in a sense i just had to be there. when the Day at last arrived it seemed an enormous effort just to get myself Outside and external a lack of point or motivation i kept imagining the crowds, throngs and minimal space to breathe or move, mosh-pitting idiots breaking bones other than their own; i just couldn't see the value of going until i had L by my side - making my darker ways always brighter . . . . we met up with tim and spent a quality while in a playground; in one of those miniature playground cottages where they had car tires(!) as chairs for us to sit on - tim also played with the kid-sized excavator&climbed the climbing wall. during these festival days one can hardly believe the amount of people suddenly out on the streets; luleå being in a normal state relatively lifeless, quiet and Forsaken - so for this to expand into a seething ataxia of activity, it's a little shocking at first to see it's actually possible. we had to elbow ourselves into the ticket line where we then waited for at least ten minutes before getting stamped&approved. two men before me took turns gawking with their mouths open half-way making slurring remarks to each other and i successfully ignored them until the first one stepped directly into my field of vision and shouted “why are you looking like that!?” i replied “what exactly are you referring to?” and he explained his stuttering concern “well... i mean. what is wrong with your eyebrows? why are they looking so thick like that? what ARE they? you are so pretty and then you... look like that!” completing his question marks by stretching out his hands and touching my brows. inconceivable how many people who assumes this behavior to be acceptable unobjectionable, thinking i'll be completely at peace with them touching me - donnerwetter or by jove! . . . . when getting into the festival area we had only ten minutes to spare before thåström was scheduled to play, so we made for the stage and waited for his Emerge to some club music tunes (afterwards i read an amusing review which focused more upon the stage setting than thåströms performance, the writer claimed the stage to be 'an industrial dark scaffold with hanging pieces of steel rigidly towering above our heads cloaked in mist, and to the heavy beats resembling a BDSM club than anything else'. very compelling and distorted), in my mind i was already leaving, already finding the nearest exit - mentally composed images that vanished as soon as he walked out from backstage. this super thin, dressed-in-black man with a leather cap on his head, he simply Won Us All Over rose above eveything poured his heart out on stage with his soul moving disembodied in the shadows, his shadow : he was spastic and uncontrollable, his fingers and arms frantically wavering (the jitters and high-strung quality commonly associated with old drug addicts, heroinists) as he'd walk and half-jump about, wild eyes. i remember him freezing up once, staring hypnotically into the microphone only to crack up into an enormous grin as if he was there alone without audience, having a moment to himself remembering something dear to him and i think i laughed out loud for the Heart in that very expression. he performed majestic versions of miss huddinge, du ska va president, the haters, die mauer and var e vargen, all of it was entrancing but i think most people responded wholly when he sang fan, fan, fan - i know i did. never did i think a swedish song with swedish vocals could have such lasting impact, hit me so hard as it did that night. and wonderful to see that nobody cared about the rain or even felt its light but lowering progress; all of us encased in that moment sacrosanct. conclusion: if you haven't experienced this man live you should make sure you will before the Last Exhale, you have to be there if only just o n c e . I MEAN, YES, WE ARE SINKING BUT THE MUSIC IS EXCEPTIONAL — supposedly overheard on titanic Wo ist das nächste Polizeirevier? the morning of the photo shoot i drove to the salon through sheets of severe rain barely feeling coherent and found that the second model sitting calmly in the sofa waiting and flipping through fashion magazines was in fact the very same girl my sister used in her fashion show two years ago – the very same girl that i back in those days referred to on this site as “so Totally Hot i was almost shy to even look at her”, my goodness me . . . . the female hairdresser ran her fingers through my hair and then immediately declared “i’m going to make it very structural, somewhat curly, also big and dusty”, expertly rolled it up on hot spools to create the curls&coils which she later straightened out in disordered bending flips at the front; the back of my head backcombed, twisted and sprayed messily : i didn’t know what to think of it while still in-the-making but the completed coiffure, ravishing. we were then hastily transported to FACE to get our makeup done and the stylist couldn’t get over the impeccable condition of my skin, stated it was like “touching a porcelain face!” and pressed me for skin care tips that i didn’t have since i don’t use any products or even give my complexion any noteworthy attention (which may perhaps be the secret?) but the makeup itself – not very interesting or up to par with the dramatic Do : some gold eye shadow, pecks of mascara and red gold-tinged lips was all. she claimed to love the natural state of my eyebrows thus left them as such . . . . had been wary of seeing the attires that had been hand picked for us at various clothing stores, but at least two of the jacket slash shirt items were such that i could have bought them for myself. the pants and tights i shan’t much mention, hideous purple or turquoise inventions of leopard and snake skin prints as they were. the actual photo shoot took place by an old railroad museum which made for an unbelievable setting, abandoned train cars scattered about like they had been suddenly evacuated, these lines of empty construction bereft now of all life that once swarmed through embedding them with history excavated frameworks as documents of uneasiness long tracks upon which nobody will ever travel again and a locomotive further away separated from the rest, chained and locked up, halted with the air around it still unresting respiring always of that lost capacity. the photographer and i, we didn’t quite connect and but inevitably it was mostly my fault for being so reserved fretful, self-sabotaging unaccustomed to work with and in front of others (back when i used to take my own photographs of a more artistic slash conceptual nature rather than bland self-portraits, i was always both the model and photographer - for i couldn’t bring myself to open up, to let in and properly convey ideas). he didn’t know how to relate to my wobbling about in high heels, each feeble attempt resulting in quakes, corpse-like stiffness yielding a very limited range of awkward poses and serial demonstrations of poor balance. he voiced frequent concerns about how i looked all too dead serious and cheerlessly grave, however at least jenny was a wonder to behold; variating her poses fluidly with such conviction&poise that she ended up taking stunning solo pictures on top of the locomotive while the rest of us gaped in Awe. thankfully i won't be around when the spread is published in a few months time and i pray at least one of the photographs featuring me will be presentable, not entirely despicable. MY FATHER WARNED ME ABOUT MEN AND BOOZE, BUT HE NEVER MENTIONED A WORD ABOUT WOMEN AND COCAINE — tallulah bankhead i've both watched&read into the wild, the film i made a first viewing attempt months ago and fell near asleep, paid more attention to the tiramisu at hand at the time and indicated it to be trite and threadbare, nothing special. caught it on television more recently and was stunned how i could have been so wrong and wrongly critical(!) it's an impressive film and an even more provocative stimulating book, loved the latter so much i'll probably re-read it whenever i've finished david markson's wittgenstein's mistress which i've put off due to the Changing of Scenery but that one : quirky almost to the point of agitation (it's her backwards, slightly impersonal way) however so fucking humurous. i find it both interesting and depressing to read what the critics have to say about christopher mccandles, alexander supertramp, rage about how he was just an adventurous thoughtless kid seeking his own death, of course he was going to die or he's to be admired for what he was trying ultimately to Do and Achieve. IF... IF YOU... IF YOU COULD... IF YOU COULD ONLY... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP YOUR... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP YOUR HEART... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP YOUR HEART BEAT... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP YOUR HEART BEAT FOR... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP YOUR HEART BEAT FOR ONE... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP YOUR HEART BEAT FOR ONE HEART... IF YOU COULD ONLY STOP YOUR HEART BEAT FOR ONE HEART BEAT... Sie hat sich gestochen cut to my ever-changing present, my Now as what is written above is weeks old however that is becoming something of Default these days, i believe. i'm in borås : a new city, a new home and i don't quite know what to say. my living situation currently is a burning disaster; arriving here two weeks ago there were silverfish e v e r y w h e r e : slithering blindly in my bedroom, bathroom&kitchen and nothing was cleaned in any way or at all. i've practically been forced to act THE TENANT FROM HELL with every day phone calls slash complaints to the landlord, cleaning most spaces by hand alone and obsessively telling myself to hang in there since my room mate didn't show up until yesterday(!) thank all heavens she's as displeased&horrified as i am, and even more intent on complaining/taking things further. i have nonetheless received a sweet offer from one of my classmates (who incidentally was in my class all through high school, a fucked up and small world) about moving in with her, an offer which i will probably accept despite her living far off and if i can get around the fact that my contract for this place is bound three months, for i'm uncertain i can stand this household much longer. yet i must confess the thought of organizing another Move makes me weep but then i'm alone, sad and swamped in school work belonging to the world of Academia, a world in which i am still a stranger recognizing patterns. but a very rewarding seminar today, about the importance of critical and objective thinking, values and thoughts on individuality : whether it's possible to be or if our thoughts only consist of reverberation, echoes of what someone once has told and taught us. (“When we read, another person thinks for us: we merely repeat his mental process. It is the same as the pupil, in learning to write, following with his pen the lines that have been pencilled by the teacher. Reading is merely a substitute for one’s own thoughts. A man allows his thoughts to be put into leading-strings.”) a complete mind-fuck and up for discussion also how easily manipulated human beings are, how co-dependent; (the milgram experiment) a stately and dispiriting example. agitated questioning such as 'certainly these people would have reacted differently should they have seen the person instead of hearing him!' or 'don't you think there would have been a different result if the Teacher had been a highly educated student?" most of the people participating disregarded the effects of their actions by blaming the man in charge, themselves were just Following Orders. personally i think we are in fact so easily inclined to kill ones own, so ironically primitive in certain ways but how is that a surprise to anyone? i don't think it's a question about how the people involved were ignorant and weak or how an Intellectually Superior would do better : it's what's hidden in our nature it's who we are - here is a (modern version). alexander, alexander, i'd like to think that i understand whatever it was that you sought for yourself, whatever it was that made you do what you did but i flatter myself far too often, truer words have never been spoken? all i want right now is somewhere else to live, give me elsewhere and someone to put me out of my misery as i apparently have an infection and i'm swallowing penicillin pills to endure the pain. if its chemically produced mechanisms of action doesn't cure me soon enough i'll put on my grey futuristic dress that looks like something björk would wear and walk into the fire : becoming the past while looking like the future. END TRANSMISSION (33) attaching softness to a shell

A GIRL MAD AS BIRDS [03 Jul 2009|06:09pm] i just took a searing cold nightly shower and the success is indisputable, i feel much better now than i did twenty minutes ago when i couldn’t shake the feeling of prospective death : so heavy like my body would finally ultimately fail me. my Undoing, “it’s here” etcetera. but sensory effects they do commonly wreak havoc going into overdrive as i handle them and additionally i’m also the one who never thought i’d live a day beyond my unsweet sixteen. (when i was a child i rend my tongue distraught as a child i killed my thoughts and bored with a bough in my spiracle when i was a child fears pushed me hard in my head in my neck in my chest in my waist i never loved) a little girl on the street today, she pointed excitedly directly at me from her mother’s left side and made sweet commenting on my hat, how she wanted the same. offered her one of my rare unfeigned smiles, as such kids are hard to come by. . . . i’m missing malmö though i’ll be there again in two weeks, i haven’t yet told of the job interview that i did last time i was there – an older woman and a disinterested man who’d glance over at me from across the table with a galled expression playing across his face. they were quiet, awfully quiet. except for when he swiftly declared “if you get hired you'd be working night shifts alone among other things. you've never done that before - have you. i hope you're not afraid of The Dark?” to which i responded by raising one thick&elegant eyebrow with the words “i'm nordic. we have darkness up there nearly all year round, are you aware?” have not yet heard a thing about it. [U M E S T O . B U D J E N J A] another uncertain monday morning weeks before, the attending of my little sister’s graduation. i shocked myself by rising out of bed at 7.29am : one minute before the supposed incisive ringing of an alarm clock and stood in our kitchen thirty minutes later charmingly attired, hair plus makeup done and eyebrows dramatically styled – all very seamlessly prepared and Equipped, irrespective of my extreme lack of sleep. my father in a grey suit smoking his pipe so tall and stick thin handsome and my little sister in her white but black dotted ballet skirt, the street partially covered in tiny ashen flowers as we walked - surely we made a striking equipage. i had been hesitant about going at all under lightweight duress as there’s nothing appealing or even remotely likable about anything related to junior high school and once again being exposed to the flocks of weak-minded drones enslaved by The Masses that typically hang about behind those walls, loathsome. yes but we went and it was nearly offensively exact to what i had anticipated, even with the Troublemaker Boys sitting in the farther back in the assembly hall and making noises of displeasure slash mockery during stale speeches and awkward choir singing. i had moments where i zoned out behind translucent layers of lethargy but still regulated applauding gestures and appropriate reactions at any such implication or i think i did. then about halfway through i was forced to make a rushed departure so as to arrive with punctuality to my pre-arranged coffee date with L and ID uptown. i had neglected the fact that in addition to the graduation day of junior high — is also the graduation day for all high school seniors and therefore the city is wickedly filled to the brim with students dressed in white, riding the streets standing on the boxed-in flat back surface of rented trucks (because it’s Tradition…) while scream-shouting about how motherfucking good they are because they graduated fucking high school(!) every year something always brings me to town and coincides with this spectacle, and every year i think i shall somehow manage but i never do . . . . it was a cloudless, malicious sunny day &i was so overheated and upset by the oppression of the crowds, frowned and scowled as we ran up and down the streets because ID and L had student people to “congratulate” – finally it was all over and we escaped the vertical rays of the sun by hiding out at ROYA’s. a small restaurant slash coffee shop i’ve never previously visited : i was of course enamored as we had to walk through two doors and a strange corridor in order to get to the coffee shop area and it proved to be a huge secluded outdoor section which efficiently isolated the aforementioned sounds of graduation bedlam, appreciated very. ID had to leave in no time at all, too bad but L and i remained – drank too much coffee stared into the psychedelic shiny patterns on the table and (she) smoked too many cigarettes. . there used to be in luleå, a group of highly enterprising open-mindedly driven people who’d routinely arrange the club MAKE OUT which would then be known as luleå’s only existing gay club. eventually i guess whoever was in charge of Making It All Happen moved away or lost interest or Something because there hasn't been one single club night devoted to the HBTQ community in forever. then this whirlwind of a passionate girl called SG rose to the occasion and Kickstarted the whole shebang which is so nice since really – i think every city needs to have something like this and especially the smaller ones. i learned there was some dismay among the usual patrons because of the venue change from kafelino to föreningsgatan 7/punkhuset (kafelino being a “proper” club locally positioned and föreningsgatan an old somewhat degenerated warehouse with no air conditioning located in comparison, a little Off) but personally i’ve had the best of times there it’s a place for riots plus nothing beats “the underground” &c. (this was all fairly long ago now and historically speaking this might be one of my most vile and broken b r o k e n nights Ever due to other unrelated things but let’s not talk about that) i generally adore going to these events because everyone is flamboyant, appreciative, friendly and themselves : this being no exception and i was struck by the number of older people who showed up with their significant others, at large the attending groups would consist of a younger generation – unexpected but brilliant to see MO reach out even further. (it is sickening however, how everything within this particular Arena still gets oversexualized, sex-crazed like everyone identifying with certain orientations spend every breathing moment of the day simply fucking abnormally mindlessly around it’s still just about the sex but not everything/hardly anything changes the way you want them to) i saw many endearing people, one girl shouted from short a distance my full name and i said “do i know you?” and she clamoured “we went to the same school! i thought your sister was so beautiful, actually that’s how i knew i was a lesbian! and your eyebrows are so COOL!” a boy childhood friend of L wore an entire outfit made out of glittering sequins which exposed his bare chest, he compared me to some female singer songwriter and wanted to dance. he also offered his opinion on my clad glossy black huge hoodie, claimed “i looked like a nun” but then another boy cut him short by yelling defiantly “oh shush you know nothing(!) this is high fashion and so stylish!” oh my, yes. tim skipped about amidst everything, falling over himself in drunk attempts to make out with and grope everyone at least once – i think i was the only one at the entire party who shot his intimate inquiry immediately down, so relentless. but i did catch glimpses of L inside his eager embrace in various half-lit dark corners, sofas and chairs whilst i danced a few steps, got offered drinks, engaged in pathological silence and eyed fictional blanks. ( ostavite me na miru : two self-portraits / music / and a book ) [P L A V I . B I C I K L . P O D . O B L A C I M A . R D J E] wednesday late june, this day with impressions stilled across visual spaces in my mind as one of the most smoldering and paralytically warm, “for once” i wasn’t wearing all black and still the heat was That memorable. also this day took all sorts of unexpected twist&turns : at two o’clock i met up L again and went for soft ice cream reminiscent of italy - we walked a few paces and sat down by the harbor overlooking dreamily the sweep and flow of water, felt the wind on my skin the cold in my veins she puts up with all my lamentations, objections and overall depressing matters that i unveil and articulate, so gracefully as well, i don't know what i would do if i didn't have her. i should probably tell her instead of retreating to these writing hands, these frantic fingers and my songs unsung . . . . later my sister notified me by text message that she would gather a bunch of friends on top of a hill to drink/merry-make; in response L and i purchased a bottle of wine as we decided to participate but not before getting sushi takeout and having some version of a dinner picnic in the museum park, completely improvised and spontaneous but BEAUTIFULLY well-timed all the same. fussing with our miso soups and chopsticks we did casually observe the unusual activity of people coming and going from and to the museum whilst dressed in colorful national costumes — minutes later actual live folk music began to play and sailed out through the opened windows for our auditory systems to discern. L exclaimed repeatedly “this is so great! i love this, so perfect!” and i smiled in agreement but condemned the chefs for making a sushi dish containing brie cheese(!) : this particular element being Ghastly&unsuitable . . . . on the hill my sister together with at least seven other people, each of them already intoxicated&high-spirited, nice to see the faces of those i don’t see with any kind of regularity but whose company i always fully enjoy when paths intersect : martin made me and possibly too everyone else crushingly jealous by revealing he’s going away for one year to the holy land of japan. somebody brought smashed cinnamon buns, lots of haphazard conversational strings getting cut off from one person to another, SG appeared with wine in a pretty blue tetra pak and immediately spoiled me with compliments. around midnight M bicycled past and hannah called on him to come sit down which he did – haven’t seen him in thousands of years so that was certainly a nice surprise and a neat addition to The Gang. he watched in perplexed amusement as SG fearlessly tried to pursue me with statements like “you’re like so fucking hot!” and “i want to have sex with you right now!” she Held Me Close and kissed my cheeks, this girl is pretty crude and a complete Savage actually – i responded in persistent smiles and periodic laughter. a catalysis for ensuing questions regarding Sexuality (mine) of course but people are predictable that way and doesn’t just everything beg to be explained . . . . everyone should have ended up at kafelino but only half of us did scattered and disjointed i danced to a remixed version of the beatles’ twist&shout and a song by M.I.A, such were the highlights and everything failed to compel from here on. worth mentioning is however hannah’s sublime tactics on hailing cabs; stood in the middle of the road and stopped a taxi car cold (but our hearts—) : the driver apparently a friend of a friend, he said “don’t worry, i’ll get you home in no time!” steered right off the main road and onto bicycle paths, short-cut woodland paths made probably exclusively for Walking and moments further we arrived. i don’t recommend this strategy. SOME WAIT ALONE, SOME SHARE THEIR INVISIBLE ROOM WITH OTHERS —thomas pynchon BODEN ALIVE is a small music festival in my town that reportedly is arranged every year, functions more as an excuse for people to get trashed and behave obnoxiously long before twilight than anything else – i’ve never attended and definitely wouldn’t have done so this year if it weren’t for J who had just arrived here from the south, he called and urged me to meet up with him. i had barely entered the festival area before overhearing a group of teenage boys openly making vicious remarks about “my walking”, this happens basically everywhere i go no matter where i am and i always react with icy sophistication or imperturbability like i couldn’t give lesser of a shit : you’d think i’d get used to it. you’d think with celebrated television characters like dr gregory house on Prime Time it would be considered “cool” to whisk through life with a visible limp. but reality is never so agreeable and i felt increasingly paranoid, stared upon and overdressed in my black flapper-era styled dress shirt with many layers and loose pieces, my black button-up skirt, tights and wedge heels. i stumbled immediately for the tent where alcoholic beverages were sold and downed a glass of Red in nearly one go to somehow take the edge off (it didn’t) instead sat stiffly down on an orange bench like a statue of stone or glass :: deathlike static. // an introversion of physical violence thickly burning this body could belong to anyone surfaces within surfaces and without light a pallid embracing my lungs fill with water : stared at my hands, my fingers, all this illness and J finally appeared. he stayed for about five minutes then he had to go find some friend who’d also be joining us and who evidently got lost in the sea of others (J’s social circle is shockingly vast - he’s wildly popular and so whenever he’s back on northern tracks, he’s Besieged with comrades dying to meet him. me being only One) i waited again from her/e to eternity until i couldn’t manoeuvre the infection of anxiety going straight for my heart and so simply Left The Scene in obscurity, walking home has never felt so relieving. sent an apologetic text and asked him to call me later regardless of the hour since i n e v e r . s l e e p, he wrote “yeah, i’ll call you” and i thought SURE(!) : that is, we all know how hard it is to keep promises when powerfully intoxicated. at home i loitered about, lowered back into a more comfortable emotional condition, watched the net (1995) with sandra bullock and contemplated the by now old-fashioned use of discs(!) . . . . at 3.3oam i somehow missed the call by one minute and hence listened to an accusatory voice mail along the entertaining lines “you said you never go to sleep before 4:ooam! now clearly that’s bullshit! &i’m like totally awake! and drunk.” i called him right back and he sounded hushed and surprised, said “oh. so you aren’t sleeping.” i replied “heh. no!” and went back and forth about what we should Do etcetera etcetera. considerations resulting in us meeting on a playground nearby after hanging up, him very much under the influence and me abnormally calm. we climbed the playground tower and gave way for musings about the fact that it was here we first got to know each other one whole year ago unlocking past experiences already torn i shattered everything atmospheric verging on sentimentality by rowdily pulling an entire whiskey bottle out of my purse(!) because i’m so Hardcore and all that. J announced “you are insane” and well, nobody ever said i wasn’t. we drank and went down the slide, mounted the swings with reckless motion, J found an unopened can of beer in the sand and rode on the undersized playground horse which curved and bent unnaturally. i laughed until my stomach hurt. around us morning air crisp and piercing, a natural standstill framed by austerity and suspended elastic between hours catching and encasing moments. (memories are braided formed and then reshaped in junction to places, sounds and emotions) he later wanted us to “run naked through the woods”(!) : i chuckled loudly to assert the absurdity and silliness within his suggestion, he took my hand and we walked out on to a football field where we then lay on our backs underneath the circling sun for the rest of the morning, occasionally passing the whiskey between us. my face turned upwards to the endless fully blue sky, hypnotizing and detrimental to be awake with your mind blazing gone and elated beyond reattachment. it was by all means so incredibly fucked, decadent and Divine, a godlike simplicity – just to lay on a fucking football field with cherished company while dawn lengthens into day. around 7.30am a muffled sound caused me to sit right up and opened my eyes to the sight of a lively curious dog and its woman owner who stared intently back at me with a look of disruption and apprehensive fear. she exclaimed “oh!” and i smiled unclearly, said “why hello, good morning, isn’t it!” J attempted explanation with the words “boden alive” and the woman seemed even more bewildered, asked “have you… slept here?” to which we both emphatically responded “No”. she appeared unconvinced. after this we began to feel more or less self-conscious about looking like “two strung out irresponsible youngster alcoholics” (rather than for once, actually enjoying the deplorable sun!) to the increased rate of people coming out to walk their dogs so we cantered back to my place, J complained the entire less-than-0.5 kilometre-walk about how far it was, i told him to stop being pathetic. &reaching home both of us finally crashed and burned, to the corrosive penetrating sound of some faceless neighbour vigorously chopping down and killing trees... delicate affairs. i’m greatly underslept and a little weak but tonight i’m going to hang out with C who i haven’t seen or even spoken to in about six months, nerves and contemplating whether or not i should wear my new amazing dress that i got for basically nothing at all – it’s pleated suggestively like origami fabric, a rich green(!) shade and factually Dazzling. here i talk flippantly of dresses and somewhere in iran (these women) are being beaten shot or slaughtered because someone else believes the world is theirs, every distinctive opinion and voice is theirs and nobody else’s. it's becoming harder and more difficult for me to believe in the goodness of things, the love of things – perhaps especially love. when it should really be the easiest one to hold on to and to somehow always count on. but love by human nature is compromise, alterations, i’m so stupidly idealistic and i falter. i’m just vested in doubt, is all. tomorrow i leave for a long vacation and i shall be reading the wives of bath by susan swan as it was sent to me “out of the blue” by a beautiful individual, i don’t give him enough of my attention and i’m sorry. [a man on a bicycle. he’s very obviously drunk, a lousy alcoholic and swerves a little as he makes his way beside you. he tries to initiate dubious conversation with your friend who politely lets him – you secretly roll your eyes and continue walking straight ahead. you don’t like to be interrupted and you have somewhere you want to go but then he suddenly addresses you, this man. he has stopped on the sidewalk and looks at only you with this sudden terrible clarity. he says “i know someone exactly like you” and what he tells you, you don’t know what to respond because you can’t. he looks at you he sees completely through you one look and he knows who you are, what you are. you feel infringed upon, you’re angry and terrified and defeated – so fucking defeated, you feel all of these things all at once but most of all you feel so utterly ashamed. your friend doesn’t make the connection at all, to her it’s only some drunken spectacle and you stay quiet, you don’t tell her that this is it for you and why you're so irreparably damaged : she wouldn’t understand, it's not her fault. you keep it dutifully all together the entire time because that’s what you do. fourteen hours later you’re alone and you break] (44) attaching softness to a shell

TEA CUP AND PISTOLETTE (SO OBVIOUSLY VULNERABLE) [16 May 2009|06:07pm] o n e (past) the scene is memory and is therefore non-realistic. memory takes a lot of poetic license. it omits some details: others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart. the interior is therefore rather dim and poetic. [tennessee williams, the glass menagerie] bright and beautiful without too intensifying light, today might curve or coil in a descent of spirals downwards and i won't bother to apply emotion to the event so obviously vulnerable meaning i'll desist to feel anything about it, this day. thirteen minutes ago i held myself preoccupied in front of the mirror putting on my usual makeup which would include red lipstick, black liquid eyeliner and of course, the touching up of the eyebrows. all for no other reason than profound vanity and i guess executing small useless yet operational gestures to feel less unconscious. i have nowhere i need to be or somewhere to go tonight except my bed and put all my energy into re-reading mind lingering passages of old favorite books and fucking getting to organizing my bookshelves alphabetically since i purchased elisabeth kostova's the historian yesterday and it turns out i already have it — how endearing. or is the word i'm looking for, curious. i'm in malmö which makes it either my second or third visit this year alone, my previous country driftings uncounted for. with february to nearly all of april having been such a dull, comatose period of time this transition happened so rapidly that i almost feel like i've No Idea how i got here which is obviously not true as i do have tingling sensation-recollections of the nausea inducing headache i battled at the time of my departure, the two loud comic book illustrators i shared compartments with and also — how i fell placidly in love with a german girl reading haruki murakami on the train from stockholm. &now i'm here once again, surprised at how much i'm liking it, despite the smothering heat and constant sun. my sister's two room mates are traveling across brazil for the next two months and so there's a sweetheart of a canadian guy living here in their place. very gregarious and fun to be around, impressively Domestic as he usually does all the cooking and serves dishes as elaborate vegetarian pizza and delicious lentil soups. in other words, he's saving all of our lives. but i'm still struggling with the sequential use of every day english, would you believe that? i'm not nearly as articulate or Fluent as i'd like to be, fuck . . . . this apartment is so big and flooding with light during the day, all the windows are kept open and seagulls are sounding in the distance. often the floors are entirely covered in paper bits and clothing sketches from my sister's frantic paper cutting in relation to her school assignments, there's a lot of commotion always people passing through and coming by at least one is in persistently good company. t w o one particularly attractive summer day tyler introduced me to his danish friend chanette and we purchased fruits, beer and other goods for setting up a picnic in one of malmö's bigger parks, during the walk they kept up a chipper conversation about their shared trip to africa last year whilst i soundlessly exclaimed over the greening of trees, the surrounding nature, exuberance almost blinding and retrieved still vivid mental imagery from my own visit to italy now more than a year ago. we spent several hours slacking peacefully in the sun, everything was aces until of course the fecal matters of a bird(!) came falling down from open skies and landed directly upon tyler's left shoulder and then also splashed onto chanette's hair — fucking golly, what is there to say. absurdly, a similar accident had taken place two mere days prior, only the unfortunate bull's eye happened to be my old lady purse and not a human body part. a painstaking day this one, as we were having vegetarian burgers outside a restaurant by their “pavement café” set-up with tables and chairs, and half-way through our meals we became aware of the upset shouting/gesticulations from other peripheral customers. it turned out that the benches we were sitting on had recently been painted and the paint was in fact not entirely dry which inevitably stained both CA and tyler's pants, really aggravating and i felt momentarily sorry for the poor waitress having to deal with the rush of anger + complaints, assuming her without reserve to be an Innocent. i finally managed to arrange a coffee rendez-vous with alinah - it isn't a smooth affair to put together a friendly meeting with someone who has a baby and lives 40 minutes out of town when both parties are flat broke and Busy to nearly inflexible degrees. now she was able to show up with both her kid and her boy for a quick coffee before she'd be heading for another dinner with another friend, pleasing lovely but she appears every time looking so breathtaking&dashing that i must admit it's sort of intimidating to be around her . . . . entering the coffee shop the owner froze and then hurried up close to exclaim “ah, i'm sorry but i just.. i have to say — wow.” before staring her down in a somewhat tawdry fashion like he couldn't believe someone so young, so thin, so striking just gave birth to a child. next this very child drew immediate attention and other customers came up to “ooh” slash “aah” and another someone made the brazen choice to inquire “who's the mother? you're both such beautiful young women it's impossible to tell” : Seriously (!) &on my way home two huge, yellow trucks - one of them decorated with a sticker upon which bold letters declared I ONLY SUPPORT GAY MARRIAGE IF BOTH CHICKS ARE HOT! i guess some people are content with nurturing a certain stereotype, i guess some people do Everything to stay safe within their comfort zones, to keep themselves closed off to anything that's challenging to their unprogressive, archaic views . . . . &before all of this, live shows back home turning into long nights out, L and i once happening to the company of tim and some other male else whose name i forget. tim socializes every now and then with L alone however he has always been acting “cold shoulder”-ly or significantly reserved around me so i've always concluded he just Doesn't Like Me and since i'm not into forcing my company upon people, i've carried indifferently on. then this specific evening we ended up walking side by side through drifts by snow, discussing gender identities, sexuality, feminism and personal things troublesome pasts anxiety or depression or death. i was surprised by his honesty though of course possibly it was symptomatic to the excessive amount of alcohol in his blood, he said “thank you. thank you for saying these things.” in response to my vague telling about my somber days of youth and then “it's too bad i'm too drunk to remember any of this tomorrow.” i answered “all you need to remember is someone else has been where you are. you are not alone.” all of us were supposed to go to a trance venue thing and instead we found ourselves at heroes, literally making the entire bar dance to flogging molly, pretty wild and i skipped out on a makeout session with the words “truly, it's not exactly my thing” and at a later point this boy was seen kissing another boy : Oh yes. confession; i think about killing myself daily. i don't think it's a “desire to die”, it's... mere curiosity. or a fascination for closures that are Definite. sometimes the trees are so green i can barely look at them and my nerves are so unkind i don't know how to think i'm excluded or involved, i'm not there. (you are so much like someone else your silence confirms what you always meant to say i don't think of you that often) t h r e e it's fucked up that i still haven't written about fever ray, as L and i both looked forward to this for months and it was nothing short of Amazing, just amazing. before the show we enjoyed a glass of wine with tim and parts of his family, then we were escorted into the smallest one of kulturhusets venues and i thought are the people really serious, what an insult. (that is, to miss dreijer) i had been equally looking forward to seeing the solo performance of svarte greiner - one musical part in the brilliant duo deaf center but i was let down + left in active disappointment. a tiny little glass-eyed man sitting on the stage with his electric guitar, playing it not with his fingers but with a violin bow dark loud lightless music in endless loops - fascination can only last for so long. let me underscore that svarte greiner was not bad at all, in fact he was wonderful but it was music to listen to alone, the kind where you lay down swept away by feelings of dejection, detachment and unexplained terror, whilst the music overtakes you from within long edged cuts across your mind lulling you to a deep dreamless sleep . . . . &then finally, fever fucking ray. she's notoriously famous for her heavy disguises and so entered the stage wearing a long concealing robe + a gigantic buffalo's head(!), surrounded by her crew - everyone dressed like indians from some ancient and long forgotten tribe. an incredibly elaborate and detailed show with laser lights flashing in systematic ways, differing in colour and pulsating with each beat : with her low and infectious voice my whole body shivered as my mind was kept afloat somewhere just above consciousness, an out of body experience but still you were unquestionably there. she sang almost every song from the album and i think also some new material but i truthfully cannot be sure of this. if i had a heart, when i grow up and seven remains my personal top tracks and were too those who translated themselves best in a live perspective. L and i had planned to Go Out afterwards, maybe go someplace to Dance but as the show ended we stood very still very quiet in dazed enthrallment until i said “i'm exhausted.” and she responded “me too, me too.” a couple of days later i read a partially negative review and the writer meant that it was more “theatre” than anything else. while i definitely can see where this criticism is coming from, i also think fever ray hasn't ever been supposed to be “just” music and this is naturally most obvious during a live show. because when you are there, you hear it and you see it and you f e e l it — fever ray makes every possible human sense respond, come alive. and this, is a mad incredible thing. while my reading has been suffering, i've been subjected to several films as of late: hannah med h - i usually cannot stand swedish movies and this was no exception, the hypnotic soundtrack provided by the knife aside. but the film, a weak effort. the dialogue was above all painful, strained and staggering. the wrestler i heard nothing but good things and praises about this one, a bit too sentimental and predictable but overall fine. mickey rourke performed splendidly and from what i understand this feature has inspired to a “has-been” genre where former big names acts in pictures centered around their by now failed careers - claude van damme etcetera, etcetera. du, levande another swedish film that we watched or the others did as i caught random frames while simultaneously geeking on the computer. what i did see was either hilarious or deeply sardonic - it consisted of many small segments, one take for each shot and seemingly unrelated to each other except for the exploring of the theme Human Behavior human misery roy anderson's world is a forlorn reality, twisted satire : this film is q u i t e a stretch, unconventional, pretentious if you will. doubt with meryl streep, this woman does always deliver adequately no matter the task at hand. here she plays sister aloysius, the principle of a catholic school in the early 1960's who eventually suspects the Priest to be abusing one of the children. a slowly running and suggestive movie leaving pretty much everything for the imagination, out of all the cinema we've watched - this is the one that's been most memorable, for its quaint lines and uncertain insinuations. valkyrie features tom cruise masquerading as claus von stauffenberg with an american accent - what a piece of wasteful garbage. dreadful but i guess there's some “comical” value? f o u r (present) the maya calendar & sunstorms - end of the world theories and my birthday today. special thanks to joel who was the first one to remember and congratulate(!) (if anyone feels compelled to get me for example this book as a delayed gift then please do not hesitate, ahem) we ate a big, absolutely heavenly breakfast this morning with egg benedict, juice, vegetables, fiber bread, meringuesuisse for dessert and i received a beautiful BEAUTIFUL necklace in the shape of an owl. hopefully it shall provide me with associated qualities like intelligence + wisdom. now there's the sound of rain and of tyler casually setting up a tent(!) in the living room : i've been here for almost a month although i never intended to stay this long (i'm even getting a bit self-conscious about it) and also, i have a job interview on monday. so pray for me, as if that's all i will be needing - some Holy Words... a shame i never succeeded in finding the grave of kierkegaard, as i would have liked to gaze solemnly upon his stone in hateful sunlight a perfect ruin internal : turn my back and feel ( this is not despair this is not this is this ) (26) attaching softness to a shell

his hair smells so human. [26 Feb 2009|09:06pm] soundsof me foryou it’s the 26th of february and livejournal tells me i haven’t written in a month, such taxing business and an uncomfortable fact but surely there are (there are) far worse Naked Truths to subject myself to; for example the every day evidence or grievance that is this world progressively-falling-apart. but pictured to the left — is me posing against my bedroom wall as a girl woman of extraterrestrial kind. an entirely self-involved, spontaneous idea and also perhaps insane; as this took place a week night between the graveyard hours of 2:oo-4:ooam while i was coming down with developing sickness (associated symptoms such as fever + shivering, breathing difficulties) and forced to “double over” for uncontrollable coughing fits in between the shots, in other words i felt like hell. still the finished product unveils none of these elements and appears instead pleasing and creepy, creepily pleasing which makes everything fine and what would art be without The Great Suffering anyway? besides my tentative nightly literally infected gestures towards photography & digital artistry i also finally finished the redecoration of personal spaces which has been l o n g overdue and made some critical as well as altering decisions in terms of Course and Life. it’s a curiosity and inexplicable how i’m so seldom struck with patches of urgent creativity unconditional need to express and when i am, it’s either not allowed, impossible, inappropriate or extremely inconvenient. and so this is what it feels like, to be perfectly unmedicated. I was here when she with whom I walk wasn't born yet, and the cities on a distant plain stood intact, before they rose in the air with the dust of sepulchral brick, and the people who lived there didn't know. m a x . r i c h t e r . little more than 33 days ago, the interview. i did actually go, i actually made it there despite standing immobile on the subway platform for ten or fifteen minutes collapsed in sheer psychological constraint. even the fucking million storey building appeared intimidating with big panes of long window glass, overwhelming sharp architectural structures and the interior so upper business class with neutral clean palettes such as grey and white or black, cubic working spaces and a high technological yet distinctly impersonal atmosphere. i was instructed to wait by some piece of furniture, probably felt like puking but displayed instead a manufactured look of bystanding-impassive until the interviewer showed up and as i’ve told a number of people, it was interesting. he was interesting as he without much effort embodied every unspoken prejudice one might have about “people in stockholm”, what “they” might be like; an unmistakable business brat in a fancy suit, very pompous and he commented upon such things as how i was obviously very artistic, insinuating that i’d be better off with a profession pursuing THE ARTS and claimed my Artistic Nature to be something of a peculiar development since after all(!) i’m from a Military-based Small Town way up north and so i should logically have an exaggerated interest in guns and blood spill and violence, etcetera etcetera. christ and also jesus, yes, i’m not even kidding although i certainly wish i was. it was so provoking, deeply hilarious and Wrong on so many separated levels that i became pretty fucking defensive and severe with him, i think. my eye contact was solid, set-in-stone and shifted not once during the one point five hours i was there, i countered each question articulately and immediately, sometimes i even surprise myself &so on. i could sense he wasn’t very satisfied or impressed or whatever with some of my answers, i wasn’t at all what he was looking for and naturally i didn’t get the job but i’m alive and not dead so what are my complaints . . . . my remaining days in stockholm i anticipated going through emotional turmoil feeling lost or anxiety-ridden, irrationally unwelcome and other comparables, but nothing of the sort occurred. it was all around just so Nice and likeable, in fact. i hung out with S, A and C-a who are all first-rate company and J took us to a queer/feminist bookshop where i stood radiating peering into each shelf examining the titles and shouted ineffectual remarks to no one like “i want to buy every single thing in here!” J suggested i’d purchase the oscar wilde action figure and i’m quite gloomy in retrospect that i did not. i stayed with S-i at his apartment and he spoiled me without restriction; took me to dinner twice, provided me with red wine and discussed&introduced me to spectacular music. example: robert wyatt, which i have been listening to and reading up on excessively, the man spellbinds truly and is a genuine source of inspiration. the rock bottom album currently ranks somewhere on my top ten list and is ever so suitable for Loud Play when one is alone lonely numb forsaken broken down or whatever kind of breakage the human mind and body is capable of submitting, separately or mutually. alifib might very well be one of the most jarring gorgeous absolute love songs ever to be written, sea song and shipbuilding, shipbuilding oh-my-god. and to think the BBC crew back in 1974 almost did not let him perform a live version of “i’m a believer” on the grounds that it apparently wasn’t Appropriate with a man-in-wheelchair on stage, disgusting. at least one can always count on humanity as a whole, to be thoroughly depressing always, be it 1974 or 2009. but robert wyatt, i was completely unaware he’s been collaborating with people like björk and provided max richter with the spoken word passages heard on songs from before, what’s there not to admire? i’d like to meet him some day before he passes (or i do), if only merely to say – “thank you.” several weeks ago and ever so many hours subtracted, L and i went to a big club event at fiskekyrkan and i’m struggling to remember the details. i think it was the first time in a really long while that i wasn’t critically concerned with and directly affected by the density of the crowds, although i should have been both high-strung and disquieted as there were an unusually heavy attendance and no space at all to dance unless you’re the kind of person who’s completely at peace with being pushed pressed and squeezed intimately together with whoever happened to be around you. it should have made a significant impact on my mood and cause me to react strongly physical nausea but somehow it didn’t and i don’t know why. well, i did experience notions of “pins and needles” while suddenly regressing in memory of my last visit to the place – that whole doctor thing – but other than a scene of excruciating humiliation, nothing happened so why do i linger in the past like this. i sat on a chair and spoke to M who i only come across randomly and it’s a persistent pleasure whenever i do, then met D by the staircase who in a very intoxicated state exclaimed “girl! your livejournal is a masterpiece!” and also touched my face which would have made me blush if i hadn’t been so curiously In Tune with myself . . . . another weekend my sister came home for winter break and brought her boyfriend along, i invited L and we threw a gigantic dinner followed by endless games of trivial pursuit + poker while hannah proved excellent multi-tasking skills as she served The Table superb drinks and licorice shots simultaneously. the initial plan was to get transport to luleå for a house party but this was cancelled and we all became perplexed concerning What To Do. we ended up at the only(?) club in my town, called i c e . which was a first time for everyone, for me especially as i’ve lived here since august and i’ve not bothered looking into what this town really has got to offer at all : mainly because a large-scaled number of the inhabitants repeatedly seem socially unconscious no collective voice unexciting and Tame, i’d probably just feel Out of Place. but giving things a chance is always better than not giving anything so we went. and were unpleasantly surprised. the music was ghastly but fun in that awestruck i-can’t-fucking-believe-they’re-playing-5ive! sort of way. it was like stepping into a time warp and re-entering the 90’s, also they played spice girls remixes. i’m still giving it some perfunctory thought, whether or not the dj was actually for real and simply passionate about the era or if s/he had some sort of off the wall alluring sense of humor. furthermore, it appeared as if the majority of the i c e . attendees were all part of a bridal shower – either that or the girls just coincidentally favored dressing up in ball gowns breathing the very air of High School Prom and the boys were all about tuxedos. CA didn’t enjoy himself in any apparent way and looked like he’d been through unrelenting sessions of electric shock therapy, wanted to go home early but we forced him to stay as we sat down on tall bar stools by a table and proceeded our shared yet detached Observance of The Scene. hannah was approached by a man with british accent who shouted “you guys look like models!” and i became the target of a boy someone, exceptionally wasted who insisted upon calling me caroline. i said “my name is not caroline, wrong person – sorry.” to indicate misfortune and he said “are you like, sure?”, slurring so much it was difficult to decipher and then “but so. what is your name? can i buy you a drink?” i replied “my name’s deserie and thanks for the offer but really — No.” here’s when hannah leaned across the table and yelled “OF COURSE YOU WILL BUY HER A DRINK. COME ON, NOW OFF YOU GO!” which is exactly what he did. stumbled back ten minutes later, drink in hand which he put down in front of me and looked pleased with himself. i uttered something like “oh my. thanks, how kind.” he took my hand and said “okay, i can’t remember what your name is but hope you like it. very nice to meet you.” then ran off to Elsewhere, pretty strange. CA advised me not to drink it because of the risk for “drugs” and i suggested we’d all share it since if that’d be the case, there’d be a mutual collapse into temporary unawareness. either of us got sick and having emptied the glass we skipped out on a cab ride and walked home through a light snow fall. at least the club name was full of thrill-inducing however empty promise. just learned: antony & the johnsons, live at CIRCUS sthlm. thursday, march 19. 7.3opm. i had no fucking IDEA and it’s holy fucking sold out, of course. i’m in absolute paralysis and disbelief in response to this derailing piece of information that i didn’t know about until too late. might have to engage in very specific destructive and personal enactments the crying light the crying light indeed and devastating oh my god : i shan’t forgive myself Ever for missing out. but i do have purchased tickets to fever ray and her nearly exclusive concert in luleå and the anticipation is growing by the minute. for the unfamiliar i’m speaking here of karin dreijer of the knife. i’ve never been enthusiastic enough to pronounce myself as a fan although their music is without doubt very good for their genre and but i’m more into them. as they seem so honestly odd and eccentric it’s hard not to be compelled. now, the solo project; very knives atmospheric but a sound of its own still, perfect writing to and if i had a heart stands out, lasts - i’m certain she will acutely deliver on stage even though she clearly isn’t antony hegarty. i’d like to have known nancy cunard personally, not only was she aesthetically immaculate but she was involved, politically. subversive, anarchistic and courageous, true to her causes. as a comment on her scandalous behavior, one of her conservative relatives is said to have muttered “what is it this time? drinks, drugs or niggers?” let’s hope she’ll be one of the five people i’ll meet in heaven, or something. according to my search engine there’s an electronic resource on her biography by lois gordon at the university, which means i’ll have to get myself a card and Go There . . . . other books : since my mind strays, i’ve mostly been focusing on nonfiction in the field of gender theories and as i am slightly bias to social constructivism, judith butler has been of primary interest. i’ve just begun reading myths of gender by anne fausto-sterling and i can already tell it will delight or enlighten me, if not (hopefully) both. i’m also working towards requiring (sexing the body), some works on transgender studies, (extraordinary bodies) and (crip theory) by robert mcgruer. the latter i have to read, i n e e d to read as it strikes me by excerpts alone, to be positively amazing. i have railed against and condemned the (aquascutum fashion advertisement) for quite some time now and forced far too many people to listen to my lamentations, my mother even stared at me blankly and said “can i please be excused. i need to lie down.” upon my entering the kitchen to Discuss. but so it does anger and piss me off that there’s only heterosexual couples kissing. and instead of putting for example a boy + boy in the crowd to participate, they styled a girl or two in fashionable short/boyish hair, how absolutely cutting edge. or incredibly Safe, holy yawn and frustration. it’s possible i care too much, it’s the little things – oh, but i have to. one of my acquaintances called me up the other night to inform me he was almost done writing his second(?) novel. and asked for permission to base a minor character in some coming-up-work, on me. he said “among other things s/he will have your eyebrows, your hypochondriac tendencies. plus i’ll make the character a hermaphrodite.” and how could i refuse you. (21) attaching softness to a shell

HAVE YOU READ THE TRAVELOGUE LATELY? [10 Dec 2008|07:00pm] [he went to work hours ago while it was still dark and you’ve been in bed until now. you don’t know why you’ve stayed with him this long, almost a year now or why you’re still at his place, he doesn’t love you (of course you do not love him either) and you’re fine with that; you’re fine with everything. there’s no clock anywhere in the room and you look towards the windows, uselessly, as you cannot tell the time of day for the drawn curtains. you get up from between the sheets and the wooden floor is cold and harsh against your bare feet as you make your way to the next room. you think about fresh coffee, that boy on the train last night who sang all too loudly, you think about what you want to do today and of how much you’d like to find a clean pair of socks for your cold feet and you should really take better care of your orchids. suddenly you are inside the kitchen, something has happened but just as you couldn’t define the hour you don’t know what’s wrong. all you know is that before everything was fine and now it’s not; you’re afraid of everything around you and most of all you’re scared of your own skin, yourself. you’re looking down in the sink at one of the bread knives - they need washing - and suddenly you’re wondering if you’re going to kill yourself today.] my third cup of coffee, winter and snow and falling temperatures have come so fast i seemingly just blinked, the season shifted towards change : half-way through december, oh my. -15oc / 5oF outside these half-opened windows now, keeping this space cool and bearable. i lean sometimes forward against the window pane to watch the snow descend in their swirling patterns, the incredible range of geometric shapes and absolute symmetry; perfect weather and on the street today an old lady and her big protective dog, walking calmly ahead of her. i love old ladies and their dogs. I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make. Please give me that heavy book. I need to put something heavy like that on top of my head. I have to place my feet under the pillows always, so as to be able to stay on earth. Otherwise I feel myself going away, going away at a tremendous speed, on account of my lightness. I know that I am dead. As soon as I utter a phrase my sincerity dies, becomes a lie whose coldness chills me. Don’t say anything, because I see that you understand me, and I am afraid of your understanding. I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I am so utterly lonely, but I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and the ruler of my universe. I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world, and then I stand revealed and I have to share my kingdom with you. — anaïs nin. house of incest very early yesterday morning i spent two hours at the salon getting my hair cut, dyed and styled all for free after having been specifically asked to “hair model” for one of my sister’s acquaintances. he said “i want to make you look like mia farrow circa rosemary’s baby” and i said “do whatever you like!”. i adore the reddish brown shade he decided to go for and it looks quite brilliant although i’m almost tiring of this super short androgynous look. tonight i’m supposed to participate in two runway shows as a part of the deal, i’m instructed to “wear only black” and appear without applied cosmetics for The People to do my makeup backstage – telling me this he hesitated briefly, then said “but please keep your eyebrows. they’re… magnificent.” i smiled by reflex and felt like saying complacently “anyone touches my eyebrows and there’ll be hell to pay.” but i didn’t. as i dislike very much, to state the obvious. for someone with my wardrobe the No Color dress code pleases utterly, i have the most stunning big buttoned little jacket that i haven’t had a chance to wear and surely this will be a remarkable first occasion, however and yes, How — the fuck will i cope with the stage and the walking-before-an-audience, the fear and lightheadedness? the disorderly quakes, trembles and whatever s t a m p e d e my body&self overtures in psychological response-to. let’s hope the makeup artists offers creative and fearless competence to conclude my seriously hot outfit and i’ll walk like a one woman army with nothing but a blank space inside my mind. . . . november’s been such a deranged month, i’ve travelled across the country from the very north to the very south more than five times and i’ve had at most three days at home before i’ve had to depart again, “all at sea.” and home becomes a fleeting relative. [the . speaking . hands] malmö twice and a billion hours seated with mostly mute disinterested self-involved strangers inside some moving train with bits and pieces of landscape flashing by, cognizant and registered through the corner of one’s eye. on both of these occasions i had to change connections in stockholm and both times J emerged on the platform with coffee&a hug. letting me go he asked in vigilant tones “are you cold? you’re shaking.” i replied decisively “no. it’s my anxiety.” he insisted upon sitting down on a bench, a girl next to us spilled her coffee, concrete and liquid. there was a () . . . . malmö the first time, was nothing like i had expected it to be. it wasn’t my city, my heart could not be found there. surprising that there’s so much apparent political activity going on, lots of left-wing radicals, animal rights activists though the climate&people here, they're abrasive maybe discordant very... stern. crossing the streets on my first night there my sister and i were nearly hit by a car who came driving towards us at a terrible high speed, he hit the breaks just in time and shouted through the half-way rolled down window “you’re dressed so darkly, impossible to notice you!” and my sister yelled back “ever heard of something called crossing and pedestrians, motherfucker!” then we headed briskly to her incredibly spacious and light apartment which is shared with two other people; climbed right into her unstable loft bed and fell immediately asleep . . . . we had plans to make it to copenhagen, however instead we socialized locally with my sister’s comrades, i met her new current boyfriend CA – lovable & endearingly geeky favoring things like “comic books, rpg and coins.” nothing like her past endeavors and thank god? ;; me having taken so poorly to those. . . . saturday night i got on a bus for thirty minutes in order to meet up with alinah, a girl known through sporadic online contact and exchanges of compliments regarding personal art; this one takes beautiful photographs, enjoys everything french and icelandic music, we were bound to get along. she appeared looking GORGEOUS in a blue coat with long black flowing hair reaching to her waist adorned with a bow, thick eyebrows and red lips, i was calm and shy; she purchased cigarettes inside a store and fumbled nervously with her credit cards while i regarded each screaming headline on the newsstand. we walked back to her apartment through cold winds and made comments about the ridiculous weather, it's always about the weather - isn't it and her home baffled me : old&grand vintage furniture everywhere, gold-framed worn mirrors livid reflections a remington typewriter(!) and shelves stacked with books which i customarily surveyed with utmost concentration and curiosity. i got to see her too-sweet-for-words four months old son and also her boy, largely reserved to begin with and barely said a word to me until we began to speak literature and found we both fancied bohumil's too loud a solitude and i sang my usual praises over haruki murakami, virginia woolf, especially virginia, her writing which aches of endless deathless inspiration . . . . alinah's boy served as the bartender and made us improvised vanilla vodka drinks in huge cappuccino glasses, we seated ourselves on their fabulous balcony protected from The Outside by glass panes and listened/danced in jest + jive to ludicrous typically painful artists like britney goddamn spears, shakira and even fergie... she confessed “i think you're the only girl i've had over to my house that i haven't tried to kiss yet. is that bad?” i responded serenely “actually i think that's... Very good.” she indicated a smile, offered me chocolate flavoured cigarettes, more to drink and the things revealed about her intermediate past in consequential order :: i didn't know what to say couldn't say anything unbalanced perfect scars incised and cut on exposed skin violence assault — how bleak this place is, this world. the unforgiving harmful s h i t that happens to the utterly undeserving, the circumstances they have to bear all by themselves. i was quietly taken aback, it affected me more than i admitted to myself that night and stupidly i carried on smoking&drinking, to feel nothing, to let it “slide.” whatever tiny flashes of Bright Genius i might have at scattered moments, this was not one of them and on the bus home i openly began to feel acutely and obnoxiously Sick. 4o minutes of absolute internal hell whilst i sheepishly pulled my trick of fixating on faraway points as to make my surroundings stop accelerating in broken twitching circles, with my feet firmly on the ground again i had no idea where the fuck i was or where i was supposed to go. called my sister, said “help me. i need to vomit.” and my sister said “where are you!” i described the incredibly red shining neon lights i was currently staring at and by some inexplicable act of god or simply a good sense of direction my sister showed up eleven minutes later, took me to some nearby friend's house where i sat almost paralyzingly still in their sofa for a few moments before i Excused Myself, stumbled for the bathroom and threw up four exact times(!) all while my sister observed me, perplexed & wide-eyed. i wept about the ongoing terrors of this universe it's all so useless sad and fucked i cannot deal with this anymore do you think i am insane i'm probably insane am i ? &soon after i obscurely called “i think i'm fine now!”, got ourselves home and woke up the next morning feeling ironically “like a million dollars”, for real : i could laugh & i could cry. so that was that. an unintentionally crazy mad outrageous evening followed thankfully by a couple of soothing days, leisure and unrestrained with visits to the city library and long walks in the evening with coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other (the latter would account only for my sister, as i don't really smoke despite the episode just mentioned) across water touched streets with fallen discoloured leaves brushing up against our shoes. [and . consider . the . birds] returned back home exhausted & somewhat beside myself only to check my inbox and realize i'd actually been called down for a “selection test” in relation to a job application i sent in previously, so in other words i had to arrange for a new train ticket to malmö again and immediately(!) completely wrecked. quite confusing, didn't know exactly what to expect as it wasn't a proper job interview but instead a series of tests regarding your personality/psychological qualities (...) and stress management; depending on your scores you would eventually or not at all be summoned for an interview. i felt very out of character, self-conscious as there were twelve other people present and i was by far the youngest one with the least experience; as expected i fucked the whole thing pretty much up and according to the consultant my results were either average or slightly below so my chances of getting the position were diminished by the hour, sad but not really . . . . there was talk about catching josé gonzales in copenhagen the same evening, as usual we lost the race against time and ended up at a bizarre electro/techno club filled with danish creatively dressed hipsters after getting lost on the streets and receiving directions from a stylish boy whom at the time of my sister's approach was actually urinating. there was also a dragging get-together in some random apartment belonging to some random person where everyone sat lucidly around on the living room floor staring blankly and smoking weed, i said “thank you, but No.” to many repeated offers to get Hooked Up on ecstacy or cocaine and probably felt impassive or like dying; at least the club played decent music. &somewhere inbetween all of this, before or after i made it to stockholm for the pleasure of seeing flogging molly live. L, ID and i took the earliest flight possible at 6.ooam (this required us to be up and running at 4.ooam) which meant three days to spare. we landed 25(!) minutes too early and i was weak-destroyed moving both stiffly and rushingly, i never want to be inside a holy fucking aircraft again, this i always establish and just look what continues to happen, sigh. we found the most adorable sweet little coffee house, the name had something to do with cats; one half of the building was for coffee-drinking/socializing and the other a kind of bakery, filled with pleasantries and goods. then i hauled the girls to HM to gaze at the new exhilarating comme des garçons-collection, tried on a certain black (“cut-up and patched”) jacket many times before finally deciding it wasn't for me and left it for some other fashionable devotee to find . . . . we also wholly failed in our quest to track down bubble tea and the fervent running-about made me forget the processing of hours, therefore i was ten minutes late for my rendez-vous with aslak; whom i met for the first time hurriedly at leonard cohen - everyone who Knows Me are aware of the fact that i disapprove of people being late, i myself am n e v e r late and so i was deeply abashed and ungracefully out of breath when at last showing up. he didn't seem to mind or maybe he did but he didn't allow it to show, we walked around kungsholmen discussing television shows, swedish poets, that one somalian 13-year old girl who was stoned to death - it was eerily similar to my meeting with N back in may though that whole thing ended abruptly, badly(?) and for no real reason at all : i still don't know what happened and i probably never will. anyway we sat down on a bench overlooking a pond full of peering little ducks, aslak offered me white wine (three o'clock in the afternoon! decadence!) and contemplated how every dog passing us by seemed to get immediately fond of me. one bulldog puppy in particular that rushed rabidly onto my lap covering my black pants in mud while the owner exclaimed “oh no! i'm so sorry!” and i cooed obliviously “he's AMAZING lovely! kiss kiss! good boy!” fine company and a fine evening . . . . flogging molly was crushingly good but the experience itself was subdued for the foul wild Wild crowds of beefy muscular punks jumping up and down sideways and all over on too much beer, initiated a few rolling-of-the-eyes. &transiently made me Fear For My Life but whatever— they played both float and whistles the wind so i could have been smashed up into a broken girl mess of dismembered bones & i wouldn't have cared. the point is they made for a great show and dave king especially shone. ( BOOKS OF CURRENT INTEREST ) [a . so . much . later . time] i'm still in malmö (fact is i went home and then back. Again. my train ran over a suicide candidate, would you believe and we were 3.5 hours late; i refused to get on a second train in stockholm for another additional fourteen hours until my final destination and so i crashed J's place that evening, so fucked up. a metallic scraping omnious banging sound, someone pulling the emergency breaks: silence. &i wonder how that person felt at that falling moment, if there were hesitation or regret, a flicker of survival instinct, anything. i don't understand that s/he died or that our train literally killed this person) for entirely personal reasons that is Forcing me to stay until sunday, family matters. family matters indeed it does. everything that is said in this entry has been written across a foolishly long span of time from different computers in different rooms on different locations, it's good to be writing to some degree again. björk play dead (o3:55) & headphone science architecture lifestyle traditions and culture (o4:26) the cashier at 7-11 forgot to put milk in my large coffee, upsetting on all accounts how such trivial bullshit gets on my nerves ruins my morning but these songs are stabilizing my mood; effective very . . . . everyone here fawns over my eyebrows and i still cannot walk by younger children without them gaping intently, pointing or shouting “is that a boy or a girl!” and the mother always looks uncomfortable or embarrassed, attempts an apologetic pained expression. my hands are too cold to be recognized as a part of my anatomy, impressive that i can still type. maximillian cohen: 12:50, press Return. Failed treatments to date: Beta blockers, calcium channel blockers, adrenalin injections, high dose ibuprofen, steroids, Trager Mentastics, violent exercise, cafergot suppositories, caffeine, acupuncture, marijuana, Percodan, Midrine, Tenormin, Sansert, homeopathics. No results. No results. i've been away from Home long enough to maybe miss it, and meanwhile the only one i miss with certainty, is thea. “you'll never untangle the circumstances that brought you to this moment” the man was right, is right, i don't know how i ended up here i don't know if i can take all of this i might be losing it or i might have lost it already, is this where i () (43) attaching softness to a shell

przepraszam. do widzenia. [05 Oct 2008|10:09pm] MOSQUITOS AND THE NOISE my windows opened naturally, beautiful autumn days past behind and moving forward patterns and structures days of fallen leaves, naked suspended reaching nowhere branches and increasing cold; these might enchant me more than winter and i had no fucking idea david foster wallace killed himself, hung himself, another archetypal voice and clear genius lost to the other/dark/er side – so disconsolate. i am practically Dead from cyclical lashes of near total sleeplessness which causes my head&body to waver and feel elated, black out with discretion and without sound, but aside from all the common saturated points such as anxiety and fear and desolation i feel towards Fine. of course everything would be b e t t er if i was indeed made purely out of flawlessly sculpted ice wrung by the hands of androids and i'd never feel anything at all but emotionlessness, detachment and () however impossible : one can always divide reality, descend into the disorienting fever of d r e a m i n g. this morning on my way to work low temperatures and the coldest one yet, caused my fingers to lose sensitivity and made the task of steering my bike somewhat complicated. all my trains are late and i should have quit this job late august but i haven't, as they have assigned me to work some extra irregular hours till the close of october, only “god” knows why and why do i care . . . .? ever since june L have expressed interest and desire to participate in the FRA-demonstration held in stockholm, two weeks ago she woke me up with an urging text message (“fuck this! let's go, seriously!”) and then we did. plane tickets were bought and purchased, living arrangements were settled - 24 hours later we found ourselves in our capital city; somewhat dazed, giddily unbelieving and certainly Game. we were very generously given a place to stay by L's aunt and her man - these two thrilled me by being completely nuts and absolutely darling; both of them being very hippielike unmistakable biker enthusiasts - their apartment stashed with hardcore things like skulls, pornographic paintings, pirates, bike magazines and emblems, a stuffed tiger's head(!) with its jaw and exposed gleaming white teeth wide open and a pet rat sneaking across the floors. i stood in the hall for a moment contemplating especially a painting depicting a hollow skull in pirate wares with the compelling text GINGER ALE & LOOSE WOMEN, said maybe “this is my favorite” and smiled in earnest. but the couple, marvelous - so laid back and fun and sweet on each other i privately flooded with gratitude, as i do love to come across individuals that transpires hope, difference and an open mind, i love it even more when it's unexpected. MY RAIN REALLY POURS AT LEAST MORE THAN YOURS so the demonstration. baffled me negatively, both the poor slash downright weird lineup of public speakers and the apathy of others; it's highly dispiriting that in such a big and populated city, only merely 300 people bothered to show up and take part in the march, state their opposition, opinions and offer support, fuck. i was pretty irritated, pretty downcast, thank god for the glittering opportunity to meet up with J who i hadn't seen in quite some time after his sudden departure To The South and the sudden decision to stay there permanently : splendid&majorly uplifting to see him again. he treated me to possibly the best café latte in all of sweden and also took me to the queer quarters of stockholm, met a colourful range of colourful people that i enjoyed quietly, as i mostly sat half-smiling in my chair, observing. we left for a second hand shop, wherein J tried on a sleek black dress that was so impressively fit and Hot on him that he bought it to wear&show off during next year’s pride festival, walking towards the subway afterwards he muttered full of accusation “you think this is so weird. i can tell by the look of your face!” and i said “oh please.” and refrained from rolling my eyes by looking elsewhere . . . . meeting up again with L and her ladyfriend P we ended up moving about randomly on söder which might predictably be my favourite Area of stockholm, chilled and had coffee down inside blue lotus – a cosy hindu/buddhist-inspired café full of incense, general calm and ease. this day would have been high on all scores if it weren’t for the fact that i felt so violently / unexplainably sick and nauseated, felt like and wished to vomit but couldn’t. i had the standard hard time adjusting to the unremitting crowds, rhythm and physical movement, worsened by my then current state conversations flew past and through as i blinked and breathed shallowly, i registered not really a single word for such a long while that it began to consciously alarm but i did as usual dismiss and in the end i was okay, finding my way safely once again. our first evening offered an introduction to poker, i won my very first game with uncanny superiority, then of course later i got too arrogant and daring; lost everything repeatedly. i want to remember every detail and i do but with limited capacity and still i hold so much back, word things differently because i can’t bear my own honesty and sealed openness. the two following days are obscure at the edges, i think L and i spent most of the time together, walking the streets and stopping inside various stores – L bought a delicious pair of black mary janes, and we also tried on different pairs of fucking gorgeous unreasonably high-scaled platform boots, one which i would have bought if i didn’t doubt my ability to rock their extremity the way it needs to be done to really Work . . . . i was so sold on and charmed by a spacious antique book shop that i left L to hang about outside smoking her cigarettes whilst i coveted the many many shelves of old and new literature, literally gasped upon some findings; such as every single one of anaïs nin's journals and her other non-erotic fictional works - all obnoxiously overpriced, on the other hand yours or mine i located james ellroy's the big nowhere which i have been on the lookout for, finally found but not yet read. WILL YOU LEAVE WITH ME? a man in a street corner, playing swiftly upon glass barely touching exterior we passed him heading somewhere else and him existing there alone producing that sound at that transitional moment : my very being in shards and he was just a man. two times we visited beyond retro and the second time i exclaimed over a black cap suitable only for old gentlemen, impossible for me not to deeply enjoy how it made me look even more questionably female and perplexingly “gender fluid”, oh my . . . . that day L, J, P, L's cousin MA and i had dinner at some gigantic fastfood joint (all this after been flailing around the NK building of all places, with their billion dollar clothing articles looking to SCORE in terms of booze) it stressed me awfully, could barely see straight or maintain my sanity in the throngs of human bodies and had to retreat inside a washroom, shaking uncontrollably, such tiresome details and dramatics. upon inspecting my barely touched plate of pasta J concluded “you waited longer for that food, than what it took you to eat it!” and i probably laughed but on the inside. we were all supposed to Go Out later in the evening, hit some indie club and rule all dancefloors but then we occupied the aunt's kitchen drinking wine dscussing things like sex! and psychopathy! till past midnight and didn't make it back to the heart of the city until perhaps 1:4opm. it proved pretty fucking difficult if not hopeless to find a decent club still open and going strong, even in stockholm(!) after what felt like ages upon ages of endless walking we entered THE CITY PUB, a total dive but indeed apparently the only place pushing later hours of availability - we had the entire “upstairs” for ourselves, bought beer&more alcohol and played a bullshit game of “i have never — ” : shocked everyone by the simple and purely accidental act of raising my glass, MA said “what the fuck!” and J said “she's just... freaking us out!” i grinned mischievously . . . . a worthwhile visit definitely, fun to let go once in a while, something i should do more often. our departure home was bleak, both literally and metaphorically - riding the bus towards the airport sensations of my heart collapsing in quakes, black burning light before the eyes and the flight. the flight destroyed me completely. ever since getting home i’ve been contemplative, reclusive, disturbed. been leaving the house only for such things as appealing live gigs, went to jazzomat which was a first-timer although i have always been meaning to go just because i like how small it is, unrecognized and quiet – the performer was the very same dude as sang at my sister’s going-away party. i didn’t really listen and i didn’t really care until he flowed seamlessly into a broken version of leonard cohen’s hallelujah, here i instinctively closed my eyes, uttered the exact words “oh my god” and gave him my full attention, all my senses. &to think i am nine goddamn days away from The Real Deal. i am certain this event will leave me permanently scarred leave me bleeding always and incapacitated because “i’ll never experience anything like it again”, because time will never succeed in recapturing restoring specific emotions in specific contexts because history can never repeat itself, only change. i don’t care if the man suddenly becomes mute and/or cannot hold a tune, he needs to do little more than just being there and i’ll () october has been so far a truly magnificent month and therefore obviously will only get more perfect, i’ll be seeing detektivbyrån either on the 29th or the 30th and i cannot wait until i’ll finally hear their musical world translate directly before me . . . . J returned to this part of the country for one and a half weeks to offer some of his expertise to the municipality of boden, i picked him up at his arrival; shows how fond i am of him already, the fact alone that i’d do such a thing – because driving’s an automatic terror although i pretend at times to be fine and unaffected. i keep dreaming of car crashes, i keep dreaming of death&endings in general, magnified graphics and contours that stifles and chokes the stream of my subconscious, springs me awake : makes me feel underwater and drowning. none of us died or got injured or hurt to my knowledge but we did make it peacefully to a coffee date with L and ID where we decided to attend another live show at punkhuset the following evening. i wasn’t overly into the idea since our last visit was so&so but this time – way better on all accounts, despite that i was the Designated Driver & therefore couldn’t drink and we missed one out of three bands due to my working late. nevertheless the bands we did catch were lovely, the first act everyone seemed a little displeased with apparently because the guitars were Too Loud – i highly acclaimed it as long as the singer kept quiet and just let the instruments do their singing - then it was exactly the kind of instrumental slowly abrasive echoing sound that can never to my ears, be perceived as too resonant. hadar kasch was the last band for the night, clearly the crowd favourite and offered a superb live performance, one of those groups that’s infecting, wonderfully charming In The Moment but lacking whatever vital energy needed on recordings. still we all found them excellent, J said “they’re really great!” and L couldn’t help but dance. other artists holding my current interest steadfast; rudi arapahoe, especially the track conversation piece featured on the album echoes from one to another – which is fantastic in itself and i have (joel) to thank for it being among my mp3 files as i type, i myself had no luck when trying to seek it out. (the silent ballet compilation: volume IX) – outstanding, i overplay and i fancy excessively. contains the mentioned arapahoe song as well as the divine bersarin quartett’s mehr als alles andere. during a bus ride J introduced me to regina, a finnish(!) trio i know nothing about except that they’re producing quirky sugary sweet electropop which stuck with me immediately upon confrontation . . . . yesterday it snowed and tonight cannot seem to hold back on its rainfall, not that i’d ever want it to end, but. i’m having a cup of something that is supposed to be rice tea or so the label says however — it isn’t. i’m disconcerted but i don’t think it’s in direct or any relation to this imperfect beverage. i might be learning things about myself, there’s so many elements to everything in life that is bewildering and sad, hard to follow the curves – i am leaving much unsaid here on this final note and yes, i’m careless and bold enough to be counting shamelessly on a Next Time. (25) attaching softness to a shell

SEDMIKRASKY [NAGIVATING THE IMAGINATION] [21 Jun 2008|07:53pm] so everyone’s fucking up greatly articulating stressing affection and suspect care that i’m “not eating” and they’re all displeased, accusatory with me for not providing tolerable reasons or believable answers, brushing off their inquiries with volatile noncommittal replies like “it makes me feel… ill.” or the all around puzzling “i can’t. it’s okay, but i can’t.” disfigurement, blood without depression and depression without blood closely impossibly near to disintegrate my () i'm somber and worried but not actively about parts of my health, i might need something like electric shocks or all i might need, tenderness. why does the word porcelain come to mind. on my graduation day i had on a honey coloured dress, discharging the unwritten rule that girls should always Wear White on this occasion, such nonsense, so droll— and had to present myself inside the city park irrationally early in the morning with scants of my class mates who drank champagne and ate strawberries, i couldn’t and didn’t relate to the festive mood; many tried to initiate conversation, asking about my choice of clothing and other things that failed to penetrate the slow processing of my mind, i was too hypnotized bothered by the smothering humid weather and growing crowds of soon-to-be-graduates, stared instead elsewhere with disinterest and subverted suffering, anxiety. the entire day went wastefully by without attachment of any of the charm that everyone else seemed to feel and enjoy, i grew immensely tired with the uproar and untiring celebration, in the assembly hall i was called up on stage and had to get up in front of hundreds of unfamiliar faces to receive an “award” for Best School Project of The Year together with K. i rose from my seat out of pure autonomy and politeness, didn’t actually reflect about it until i was standing tall observed by audience and realized i had to remain there until every single one of the thirty or so people had collected their scholarships as well which would turn out to be more than surely twenty five godmotherfucking long minutes of unwanted stage presence secondary reaction my body refused to stop its encompassing trembling, i wavered in tension / muted panic, the girls lined up next to me whispered futilely helplessly “are you… okay?” feeling my subconsciously nervous shifting of positions and then i found i could in fact, not move at all. consequently K had to accept our award by herself as i proved unable to motion three steps forward when our names were called, i guess i should be happy i didn’t after all make a dramatic literal EXIT in terms of passing out or anything kindred . . . . . the evening feels so far off in both my mind and in terms of time, had barely recovered from the atrocity that was the awards when i met up with L & ID and crashed a party at a friend of a friend’s house + backyard: this turned out to be a blast, we were batting around giggling from too-much-to-drink - i cooed over the many cats stealing across the lawn limberly and without sound, praised one of my ex-classmates for making such a terrific dj (he played among other artists the velvet underground, of course he was to be commended) and came across C who i haven’t seen since january i believe this is not yet goodbye it's just () we have fallen peculiarly out of touching. L revealed by lighting a cigarette that she had taken up smoking, i peacefully gasped. people were chilling out in the grass, drinking mixed brands of alcohol, discussing and merry-making, i spoke my thoughts “well, it’s not completely obnoxious, everyone’s so friendly and nice, i like it here!” and (oddly) presented jaunty suggestions as how to Decorate with empty bottles in your garden. some hours later i made the disastrous decision to bid my farewells as i had free tickets to The Graduation Party held at grace and but so i left alone, riding in a car with strangers uptown and through as the death of day lay final in exigent quietude, collected my sister : arrived. i was appalled by the distortion, the dense&congested number of graduates attending, it took us half an hour simply to enter a bathroom stall in the ladies’ washroom and by then we were both approaching deaf due to the vocal volumes echoing mercilessly back and forth inside these insufficient dimensions - pretty much the very same scenario repeating itself all over again from our last visit to this club. reaching my stall as followed by long excessive queuing i felt like declaring in stone cold + severe hostility “any of you fucking pricks move and i’ll execute every motherfucking last one of you” but i didn’t, oh resistance . . . . at the bar i met K which comforted me a little, she has since left for three months in france and thus this was our last conversation, she was absolutely drunk, yelled into my ear “god, i think you’re amazing!” and didn’t even finish the sentence before she pressed her lips against mine and disappeared taking some other gentleman by the arm, curiosity : a curious girl indeed. everything dry and dull and dreary, people kept pissing me off with their lack of manners, a twenty-something guy sitting on a bench near me turned his head slightly around only to vomit “just like that” and it was such offense to me that i felt momentarily blinded. i leaned against a table setting my face to a manufactured FUCKING DO NOT TOUCH ME all ice, all ice, was left alone excepting an obviously bold young male who inquired something about 'my evening', i said insensibly “i want to Die.” he asked with pause “… do you want a drink?” i forbade him courteously to waste his money on me, he got me one anyway. he made comments on my clothing and jewellery, overall style, asked if “i was a feminist” — men as a rule and for some reason always need to Make Sure “i am not completely lesbian” before making any Advances — it’s only vaguely entertaining, the supposed novelty kind of wears off . . . . . i neglected him perhaps a little too brutally when helena came up to me, a girl in my class never truly known (i’ve never had the pleasure) but i always found her adorable radiating kindness she looked dashing in a dark green long flowing dress that she had apparently designed herself, golden pearls in her hair, said “i am so sad i never got to know you! i haven’t told you before but i think you seem so wonderful, really!” i smiled with candor, wrote a secret message for her to read and replied that surely we would meet again. my boss yesterday. leaned herself casually over the monitors into where i was sitting and announced “you look fantastic!” i was wearing my new thrift-shopped ivory shaded jacket (as depicted here in this very entry) with little darling bows on the arms and pockets, dark pants and immaculate makeup. which is remarkable because i had to appear at work 6.3oam, had less than twenty precious minutes to conduct all my vain procedures and s t i l l accomplished arriving with startling punctuality looking utterly presentable. much more significantly : i’m falling more viciously behind each day, yes i’ve began working and it’s very stressful; the pendulum swings balance between order and chaos but at least there’s free coffee&fruit in unlimited amount every day and i have time to read anaïs nin during my breaks. her third journal was heartbreaking, spy in the house of love a deeply moving tale if one overlooks the once-in-a-while silly if not stupid expressions about sex, human intercourse that are almost laughable. i’m getting into extremely loud and incredibly close by jonathan safran foer as well, didn’t think it to be so earnest and yet full of humour, as i have let out a chuckle or two at work while turning the pages ... oscar is however a questionable character, read recently a review that mentioned something about him knowing all kinds of things seemingly obscure&unrelated for and to other ten year olds, but then had ask for what a mini bar was, which is i guess all true, and also just Details. other books of interest include (how proust can change your life), (the price of water in finistere) and i would love to someday read the words and experience the journals of (this) woman. many more afternoons hanging out with hannah, she’s going through something of a Rough Time as she has been accepted to a school of fashion&design in denmark, copenhagen. she’s indecisive, unsure understandably and i would miss her insanely if she were to go although that’s beside the point . . . . this weekend has been the “midsummer holidays”, L and i decided to enjoy each other’s company over coffee; it rained lightly, i brought my dark brown vintage umbrella and we were stunned to find everything was closed, how scandalous. we were also the only ones to walk and meander the streets fucking ghost town desolation to desolation silence, wind and nobody there. finally we located a 24hrs fast food restaurant, scored free coffees with milk and apple pie, skimmed newspapers, pulled insider jokes : i’m always glad and it’s always special to see her. after parting i walked briskly to hannah’s apartment and we were supposed to have dinner&drinks at martin’s house, we went and it was a riot to watch him fitfully trying his best to manoeuvre the outdoor grill with a cigarette between his lips. half-way through dinner Fear gripped me, i couldn’t shut out inside outside in the chitter-chatter all-consuming sensations of blood loss, weightlessness withering bones in slowest motion i offered my sister little information (“i must go.”) and disappeared, drove home, disconcertion : it was still light for it to be past 9pm, on a bridge i drove past an older woman wearing a fuchsia jacket, leaning against the railing staring directly into the lowering sun and gleaming sea, she looked absolutely at peace. in comparison to () i have received a letter in the mail from eva, containing a small splendid polaroid picture that is now fastened to my wall, i love it plenty. some days ago i also had a completely mystifying encounter with () inside a coffee shop, i remain uncertain as to What Happened. but if i ever run into him again i’ll be sure to tell him just how much i like his voice. you don't know, how it affects me, the way something or One sounds. this tonight, a heavy rainfall creased with ominous thunder, terrifying beautiful lightning, i am thinking of a certain girl . . . . i’ve just taken upon me a morning shift at work on monday which i’ll surely regret once that day comes and i’m in desperate need of new shoes as my black wedge heels are unapologetically worn out and down. i’m being reminded by intermittent symptoms that i’ve forgotten to take my white little pills these days past, können sie mir etwas gegen die schmerzen geben. when will i ever learn, to take my fucking medication. (24) attaching softness to a shell

den sidst åndedræt i den fugle [15 Feb 2008|07:00pm] [ u n t i t l e d ] outside a hospital window, an aircraft and its diagonal sinking downwards. if one were to know time and its passages beforehand, perhaps someone – simply by chance, a coincidence, would have seen and so thought it to signify a “coming down” of sorts, an approaching end, at the very least a closure to make place for another opening – in similarity to the rotation of seasons and say, autumn’s gradual descent into winter (...) exceptional, this nearly asymptomatic + phlegmatic gradient into madness, the separation of unlevelled dream&reality. i try not to vomit by conditional response, my body has awakened and made it out of bed but my mind. my mind is still sealed in a tender mist of sleep the way you never touched & the unconscious, do i ever awake anymore. valentine’s day has passed, i’ve had an encertain number of hot cocoa cups to drink and “there is a certain feeling under my skin (10:06)” the urge to move once more and always, to transfer somewhere new never travelled before, my affections for a place never last past twelve months it seems. the best thing about my apartment is, quite absurdly, that i am completely inaccessible : i have no home phone and the device that should be passing as my cell is “off the hook indefinitely” i love that no one can bother me . . . . i’m actually job searching and as usual i’m satanically fussy although it’s Definitely not the time to embrace such specific characteristic traits, more excitedly : this week i’ve been getting excellent things in the mail, a single letter from miller with attractive book suggestions and also a package of belated christmas gifts, three(!) haruki murakami books – after dark, a wild sheep chase and south of the border, west of the sun, william gibson’s latest novel, a t-shirt with the subtle outlines of a butterfly on the front and music. articulated the words holy and fuck very specifically upon uncovering the contents, my enthusiasm was giddily childlike, genuine, quyanaghhalek. in addition to this i have been cutting and gluing, writing letters along with little affectionate parcels of music and handmade crafts to the international many it takes me ages i am not done by far, there’s still people who are waiting, who have been waiting, but i w i l l get to every single one of you, time is the least of my talents. [ b a c k w a r d s ] a small birthday party of some girl i didn’t know beyond her first name yet my sister persuaded me to come with her, she loaned me one of her black avant-garde dress shirt designs, meticulously sewn and smashing together with my big, beaded black necklace, and 1920’s styled hair; it was a tranquil gathering and i was pleased to see martin there as well, as i always enjoy his company. the girl’s place was a tiny apartment at the top of a two storey building, she asked “what do you all truthfully think of my drapery?” and referred to a blanket hanging suspended from one book shelf to another, decorated with star shaped little lamps – my sister replied “i fucking hate it.” i said “it’s nice but not my style.” martin laughed and called me a diplomat : he might be right. the others had a couple of drinks and then we walked the twenty minutes required to get into town, tried to hit up the english pub but the unbelievably long line of people trailing through the doors and outside stopped all our hearts en masse martin complained about the absurdity of the situation – who queues to get into this place(!) – and my sister crossed paths with one of her ex-boyfriends who she ended up following elsewhere while i remained in the company of martin, S with her many lovely complimenting piercings and AN, the birthday girl. i frowned at the suggestion of going to heroes, a crammed heavy metal(!) bar playing insufferably loud prototypal music for the prototypal crowd but we got in for free so how could i refuse. we also had the supreme luck of getting one of the better corner tables which actually made it possible to carry a conversation over the volume, S ordered a pink super-delicious drink and discussed past significant others with martin, i mostly eyed a beautiful boy seated one table diagonally across from ours & tried to follow the strings of steadily developing new topics to Handle, failed repeatedly, felt my mouth outline bland meaningless smiles areas of apathy periodic demise and stayed seated to look after bags slash belongings as my companions made their way out for fire and cigarettes. nearly immediately afterwards i found myself being called over by eager hand motions to the beautiful boy’s table of three, i thought “why not? Why not” and slipped down beside them. the beautiful boy smiled timidly and said nothing. instead i was questioned by his male friend on How To Keep A Girl Interested – i blinked blankly or i think i blinked, stated “you are asking the wrong person.” he said “but what are your thoughts.” i made something up on the spot, he seemed somewhat doubtful of my figurative conclusions. then he wanted to know about my sexual orientation, my preference; i shot him down by exclaiming “you’re being intense, quite. did you know that?” his friends shifted uncomfortably. he did thankfully change the subject & we spoke of hayao miyazaki films until martin came over and informed me that they were leaving, i looked directly on the attractive boy and repeated martin’s words, waved goodbye and followed him serenely outside. we shared a cab since we were both going in the same direction, i sat next to the driver who was this young, black and somewhat nervous guy, how precious. he glanced at me and suddenly confessed “i’m.. i’m sorry but my head is all empty. i’m not sure where we are going?” i gave him directions and he managed to get us both safe and sound to our separate door steps; as i paid him and waited to receive my change i stared up into the heavens and he said “i only have coins, is that okay with you?” and i replied “absolutely, sure. but only because this song on your radio is fucking amazing.” but yes, that was all weeks ago, i can’t “really” put into words how pure the outside world is today, i walked thea with the sun rising above our heads, too early for any other activity than the invisible progress of anciently growing trees an unshakable longing i’m moderately to clearly depressed, i’ve cancelled my surgical appointment which was due the 28th of february, i had no other reason than () and the nurse indicated my stupidity and perhaps ungratefulness as there is no way of telling how long i will have to wait for another date : at least richard brautigan’s poetry eases my anxiety . . . . i’ve spent the last two days curled up in blankets reading the second journal of anaïs nin & south of the border, west of the sun. anaïs inspires, lives makes me want to live again and murakami, of course i do still adore him, most likely the single author who can get away with writing about the same things over&over again and do it delightfully : the same characters, the same subdued outlook on life and metaphorical, surreal twists - a familiarity and fictional world that opens our eyes like they were never closed at all . . . . science of sleep has apparently infected me in subconcious ways, motivated me to create (this miniature piece) & i have all kinds of other dramatically precise images in my head however i can’t reproduce 90% of these. but speaking of movies, nói albínói is a stunning feature though what else to expect from the icelandic, do they not always deliver. i then made it to the theatres to catch the diving bell and the butterfly on a bright saturday afternoon just before it was taken off schedule and i am still so mesmerized, i haven’t seen such fucking masterful cinematography since wong kar wai’s 2046 – clever, claustrophobic so fucking intimate i was blown away, my eyes nearly goddamned teared(!) couldn’t move as the credits rolled, i can’t believe such a destiny can actually happen to a human being, “jesus”. how would it be, to have an animated lively mind recognizing processing everything and no body to compensate with to never feel anything physically again it’s so far away and so terribly, terribly close. Tíminn líður hratt Ég ber ábyrgðina þa því (21) attaching softness to a shell

LOVE IS A CLOSE MATTER. [16 Dec 2007|07:53pm] [distant . voices . still . lives] presently i’m a girl who “calls in sick”, i’m weak-bodied again, my hands are ice again, my lungs my breathing does not seem to be functioning properly; i feel so sick i feel so perfect and it’s so nice to wake up in the morning, all alone and not have to tell anybody you love them when you don’t love them anymore. i proclaim my love for winter in declaring gestures and winter time does save me in abstract conditional ways, the fainter but more glowing light, the gelid transformation of land bound to this very season, untouchable dispiriting superior : to all, to everything. there’s also talk of a fifth season here in the north, the Winter Spring and i think that is a sweet idea, a fetching invention. . . . . i’m very sad that karlheinz stockhausen died, the man seemed capable of making music forever, living forever and even he didn’t, at least doris lessing was given the nobel prize in literature; i happened to catch an interview on television with her and the woman seems truly charming, she’s witty, humorous and extremely sharp for such an old lady, the things she said (“please do not forget i am an old communist”. “everyone believed that ‘all we need is love’ and all that rubbish.”), it made me laugh. she spoke a lot of birds, how she had a big garden and every morning she went out to feed them with every single one 'standing in line' waiting for her, it gave her immense pleasure and it was beautiful, it is beautiful : the little things in life. “I want you to come to me without a past. Those lines you've learned, forget them. Forget that you've been here before in other bedrooms in other places. Come to me new. Never say you love me until that day when you have proved it.” [the . rest . of . our . lives] i’ve kept up a perfect reluctance for weeks and weeks, C took me out one evening at some point but frankly it was too long ago and so lacklustre that i’ve entirely forgotten what that was all about. it takes me ages to get used to people again, i’m too screened too vastly internal only now have i managed to make it to three films – two korean, one american. i looked perhaps most forward to (4:3o) and therefore it might have been the biggest disappointment, it was softly filmed, so calm and hesitatingly meticulous that it dragged the first half – accelerated unevenly towards the end. but i did enjoy it and i would love to watch it a second time, so conclusively, it was Good but quietly touching stillness. (time) was however endlessly fascinating, jarring and disturbing, makes you shift uncomfortably and it’s devastating how relatable it is in several sequences, particularly the surgical scenes during which i couldn't look away, altogether too grotesque, too enslaving, rough and definite. intersections of () the golden compass: surprisingly good for being so surprisingly bad. it was garbage but not utter such, true i was inexplicably exhausted and nearly fell asleep in my chair twice, but what baffled me the most irritated me the most were the poorly executed animations – the futuristic wicked machinery that should have looked altogether phenomenal – seemed instead just pasted in and conspicuously computer generated, as did most of the animals. the only decent-looking creatures were (thank GOD) the ice bears, those were shiver-inducing, overruling dynamic; to have one by my presence, my side always would be ever so extravagant. nicole kidman looked tall and pale&dignified indifferent as usual, eva green is intimidating, strong and sexy, i had no idea she starred in the picture and so that was a pleasant treat, her bone structure makes me swoon. despite all the notable flaws i felt inspired by the story itself and i really should get to reading the series once and for all, might make for a splendid holiday read, i can't fathom it's christmas already. i'm wishing for books, a black corset belt, long black silk gloves and () [night time . intermission] this evening was mostly spent writing an analysis on an article about psychology, i’m unapologetically aloof and am suffering greatly from all kinds of neurotic, hypochondriac constraints and conditions : i'm my own murderer death never loved and then the love that never dies i want your shadow to dance upon me with me across me . . . . by coincidence i have come across a very sweet, 'hip' mother-of-two who due to a damaging condition in her shoulders and an impending surgery, has to sell her dogs. i went there simply to say hello and visit, and she had the most d a r l i n g little dog(!) a puppy of 14 weeks and so explosively vibrant, happy, whimsically curious over-the-top lovefull and full of joie de vivre that my world crumbled down&down. and it’s a girl. i picked her up in my arms and she immediately smothered me with kisses, licks, frantic pecks and small teeth. as i was about to leave she rushed to the door, sat down and waited, and i was all faint-faint-faint with exuding infatuation, christ and holy(!) i discussed very long with her owner the possibility of taking her, the woman Adored me, assured me that she was assured, that i seemed like a wonderful, wonderful girl and she would be very happy if i’d have her. it took me nearly seven days to decide going obsessively back and forth between alternatives and then i went for it, the girl is mine and she will be here in less than a week. i’m certain she will be so madly precious, and i probably would be feeling more excited, anticipating if it wasn’t for sickan, who i think has finally gotten too sick, too old. it is inevitable now that i’ll have to let her go and i am in such denial about this i feel insane i am insane, she’s my life, i can’t imagine my life without her; i can't write about this anymore. my most recent nightmare an exact replica of (this picture), my thoughts are solemn concerning reality, how much we can trust what we see what do we really see and what do we really know, for certain. the passion between nick cave and polly jean harvey in the song and video for henry lee have me hypnotized since many days now, jeanette winterson posed the question “why is the measure of love loss?” everybody is silent, touching the distance with their turning hands, withering the possibility to almost say everything. (45) attaching softness to a shell

INVERSION OF FICTION & REALITY. [01 Jun 2007|10:03pm] i’m low-spirited, feeling indefinite, the desire for photography is starting to burn again; i miss it quite infallibly, genuinely, i long for&yet, i think i’ve forgotten how i don’t know if it will be the same, feel the same, translate and t e l l my developed moments close-mouthed communication, i’m afraid. there’s a fearful amount of possibility in my current pondering, that This is how i’d be acting if i was sedated at all hours – this is maybe generally how the world would appear to be manufactured if seen through strait-laced drug approval, self-contained girdled by the whitewashed walls of some mental facility emptier than the docile looks intent upon them a lesser form of living it’s like i’m there & i’m not even that kind of broken, yet. yet. my resort as of late has been the library, yesterday i managed to displace my coffee-to-go upon one of the many shelves while browsing through books of passing appeal, pretty fucking sour for me and i guess pretty fucking Good for any other bookish fellow with a caffeine addiction that happened to be at the right shelf and the right time in the wake of my presence. . . . i braced this discovery with either feeling like death or, i shrugged. the correlation of the two is opaque; proceeded with going outside, lay on a wooden bench regarding a sky of infinite blue for the rest of the afternoon, a colour that either clashes or compliments the flourishing flare-up of clorophyll depending on the shade, unhurriedly the air filled up with a sly approaching aggressive number of seagulls(!) chasing each other lively around all while shrieking in their characteristically unforgettable way & sometimes making plunges towards human heads and bodies. i remained on my back, luckily unharmed. i didn’t get the job, which comes as no big surprise, however there’s still chagrine, displeasure, as i would have translucently loved it, i couldn’t have asked for a more fitting job “in my current state” and now this completely screws up the outlines of this summer, meaning i’ve had no luck with other applications and summer will thus be utter restlessness, drifting, dreaming, who knows. . . . on the upside i might actually have somewhere to go at the end of august, a small apartment only a couple of blocks away from my current residence, somewhat shabby from the outside & i would prefer to move to a neighbourhood where i haven’t already lived but this one of the rare times where i can’t afford to be exclusively Picky. regarding the architectural exterior, it’s the interior design that matters, and it will be Mine. of course nothing is decided yet and i shouldn’t Go Ahead like this, as the present female tenant appears to be disreputable&sordid, unpresentable irresponsible - making it unnecessarily difficult for me to even get a viewing. . . . misfortune after misfortune have spiralled me diagonally downwards, my father and sister especially have suffered major setbacks and some things i am not sure how it will affect the family, but at least we’re all still alive unlike my aunt’s best friend who recently died in a car crash in italy, my aunt&her husband smashed some teeth, broke some bones. such things and others, a distress inside of me devours devours devours it will not ever stop and there’s no way out there’s no escape this is what i am, this is what i am. & then. then there’s the profane spiral eternally present, pressing, the modern day slavery of sex trades, the deaths of polar bears; reversing the noun to the present tense bleeding verb. sometimes certain things seem so far away and so much closer, sometimes it’s so hard to bear, anything potentially Dangerous is alone, what attracts. for the two past hours i have been staring into the animated rectangle upon this monitor that is shiki-jitsu – international title; ritual – a japanese film long, slowly outdrawn without much of a developing plot or any kind of Action or breaking point that isn’t emotional, psychologically severing nerves but, it’s cinematically perfect, p e r f e c t. i love this film for the exquisite camera work, the unsettled atmosphere, it’s a work with distorted bleak touches from amélie, a wonderland with no wonders, and the portrayal of an mentally ill corrupted woman is delivered with such magnificence by ayako fujitani, that from what i can tell from the reviews, many people wonder how much of her acting was simply acting, and how much came naturally - i wonder now, too, as well &i desperately want to read the novella that this very girl wrote, upon which the film is based upon. . . . today i also had a package waiting for me on the kitchen table as i got home, a belated birthday gift from my incredibly kind and generous musician friend in washington; the package containing the photography book immune by floria sigismondi, catching the big fish by david lynch(!) and two beautiful photographs of two beautiful different skies, thank you ever, most sincerely, sam. & floria, her photographical work and talent within video&film is nearly too painfully immense, implausibly spectacular, it’s too astonishing for me to even comprehend, the woman could very well be one of my versions of “holy.” if i’ll ever come within distance of mastering what she does, there might be some hope for me, too. should i stop this, i think i should. during a bath i graphed with my fingernails the scars surgically or unexplainably inflicted, i am still so silent unspeaking my voice does not sound, is an ability unfamiliar. . . . i should . . . . Go. (33) attaching softness to a shell

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