[this page left intentionally blank] (eyelines) wrote,
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elle.ctric / self-portrait[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

danske @ flickr.comvery 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.

scenet bedrar @ flickr.com[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.

by coso @ flickr.com[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.

by sarah herman&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.

HOPSCOTCH julio cortázar
quite pretentious but also lovely, humorous and filled with sharp dialogue.
haven't finished this one yet and it's a shame since i actually do enjoy it very much.

JAZZ toni morrison
poignant, unusual. absorbing storytelling.

BLINK malcom gladwell
having read only about twenty pages so far, i'll say it seems very interesting.

SEN TAR VI BERLIN moa lina croall
read this one back to back on the train as a million people have recommended it to me.
made me space out : don't believe the hype?

THE VOYNICH MANUSCRIPT author unknownh e r e

[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 ()
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