[this page left intentionally blank] (eyelines) wrote,
[this page left intentionally blank]
eyelines

A GIRL MAD AS BIRDS

M melanie @ flickr.comi 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.

crimsonology @ deviantart.com[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.




SOAP&SKIN - LOVETUNE FOR VACUUM
fantastic, the entire album is completely entrancing. i love every single track and i put on this artist at least once a day - it's pretty fucking intense, dark&vidid, i'm mesmerized. the girl is apparently only 18 years old and that alone is unbelievable. isolating, remote yet grimly substantial encloses you deeply into concentrated oblivion, emptiness. Magnetic.

other artists that tenously destroy:
FILASTINE.
MUSLIMGAUZE.
JAMES HOLDEN
(particularly “lump.”)
PATRICIA MABEE.
WILDBIRDS & PEACEDRUMS.



SLAVENKA DRAKULIC - FRIDA'S BED. a small book with a heavy subject - a fictional narrative about frida kahlo's bed-ridden days before death. quickly read but ever so lingering. it makes me wonder who the author behind this is, what she's really like & more importantly what she's been through. because some of the passages in this book... it's what i mean without having said it it's what i've wanted to write whenever i didn't find the words. decay and a slow movement downward there's no birds in the sky the perception of surrendering, resignation. this book, i can't ()










NöNöTä @ flickr.com[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 self-portrait: i fell in your war 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]
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