Κυριακή 28 Οκτωβρίου 2012
Σάββατο 20 Οκτωβρίου 2012
i dreamt you died and i woke up bleeding from all the places you have ever touched me
You waited,
Knowing yourself helpless in the tweezers
Of the life that judged you, and I saw
The flayed nerve, the unhealable face-wound
Which was all you had for courage.
I saw that what gripped you, as you sipped,
Were terrors that had killed you once already.
Now, I see, I saw, sitting, the lonely
Girl who was going to die.
That blue suit,
A mad, execution uniform,
Survived your sentence. But then I sat, stilled,
Unable to fathom what stilled you
As I looked at you, as I am stilled
Permanently now, permanently
Bending so briefly at your open coffin.
Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters,
The Blue Flannel Suit
Knowing yourself helpless in the tweezers
Of the life that judged you, and I saw
The flayed nerve, the unhealable face-wound
Which was all you had for courage.
I saw that what gripped you, as you sipped,
Were terrors that had killed you once already.
Now, I see, I saw, sitting, the lonely
Girl who was going to die.
That blue suit,
A mad, execution uniform,
Survived your sentence. But then I sat, stilled,
Unable to fathom what stilled you
As I looked at you, as I am stilled
Permanently now, permanently
Bending so briefly at your open coffin.
Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters,
The Blue Flannel Suit
Παρασκευή 12 Οκτωβρίου 2012
Τετάρτη 10 Οκτωβρίου 2012
Δευτέρα 8 Οκτωβρίου 2012
olive oil (olea europaea), beeswax (cera alba), cocoa butter (theobroma cocoa), lavender oil (lavendula angustifolia tocopherol), sunflower oil (helianthus annuus)and rosemary extract (rosmarinus officinalis)
this is the best smell in the whole wide world.
it is the serenests of sensory experiences for the brain. one more lingering whiff than you would normally take in and you get immediately high on it. not literally. but, well, might as well be literal. if whatever we experience in our head isn't real then what is?
for me, this is freedom, it is life and friendship, ancient art and hot days and breezy nights. it is every hour you ever wished could last longer, every touch that has ever irritated the pores on your skin, every feeling urging you to close your eyes and reject all distractions, and let it consume you.
it is anticipation and restlesness, the kind that doesn't let you sleep for four days in a row, the kind that comes tied along with lust.
and everything, oh god, everything is in our hands and we can only be really alive the times we chose to.
now i am not, i am just recollecting my pieces and i am overdue.
but i didn't think i could feel like this in a second five hundred miles away with nothing left from that life but memories and photos i can't find space for in my room.
all senses are so powerful after all, and we are just wasting them sitting idly in airconditioned rooms with white screens in front of us.
filth is better. stink is better. sweat and sticky blood is better.
hair out of order, arms thrown about, and all in a whirlwind because anyway that's were we end up, might as well dive in it. right in. right in.
i don't think i will ever be trully content with what i do. thinking about something is much more enjoyable than doing it. that's the problem. i have no resources to actually leap from imagination to practise. imagination is the land of the free, slaves only to their own nature. the home of only those willing to part completely from this world and be the masters of their own universe, because those two, when silmutaneously existing, collide. and they dissipate. and you are left with nothing.
so, yes, you do have a choice, and a very sensible one. be schizophrenic of some sort or be 'normal'.
seriously. chose. either way you lose everything you've known.
this is the best smell in the whole wide world.
it is the serenests of sensory experiences for the brain. one more lingering whiff than you would normally take in and you get immediately high on it. not literally. but, well, might as well be literal. if whatever we experience in our head isn't real then what is?
for me, this is freedom, it is life and friendship, ancient art and hot days and breezy nights. it is every hour you ever wished could last longer, every touch that has ever irritated the pores on your skin, every feeling urging you to close your eyes and reject all distractions, and let it consume you.
it is anticipation and restlesness, the kind that doesn't let you sleep for four days in a row, the kind that comes tied along with lust.
and everything, oh god, everything is in our hands and we can only be really alive the times we chose to.
now i am not, i am just recollecting my pieces and i am overdue.
but i didn't think i could feel like this in a second five hundred miles away with nothing left from that life but memories and photos i can't find space for in my room.
all senses are so powerful after all, and we are just wasting them sitting idly in airconditioned rooms with white screens in front of us.
filth is better. stink is better. sweat and sticky blood is better.
hair out of order, arms thrown about, and all in a whirlwind because anyway that's were we end up, might as well dive in it. right in. right in.
i don't think i will ever be trully content with what i do. thinking about something is much more enjoyable than doing it. that's the problem. i have no resources to actually leap from imagination to practise. imagination is the land of the free, slaves only to their own nature. the home of only those willing to part completely from this world and be the masters of their own universe, because those two, when silmutaneously existing, collide. and they dissipate. and you are left with nothing.
so, yes, you do have a choice, and a very sensible one. be schizophrenic of some sort or be 'normal'.
seriously. chose. either way you lose everything you've known.
Σάββατο 6 Οκτωβρίου 2012
Τρίτη 2 Οκτωβρίου 2012
taking for granted the truth of the moronic social standards of the 21st century you are either going to be smart or popular. i choose smart. because i don't really have the option of none, so naturally, i choose anything that involves me in my pajamas taking in absurd amounts of caffeine. goodnight.
six cold feet
sleeping at the crack of dawn, i woke up 5 minutes before the time i should have been 30 minutes away, i needed my mum, i turned around and i think i started crying. i got up when i no longer knew what the word time meant and started feeling sorry for myself. i called my mum, she attacked all my integrity and i felt like an empty glass, i started crying again, this time for real, i couldn't get out of my head i had dreamed about a man i have never seen, i knew him, i do know him, i just had manufactured his face in my dream and i would marry him, but in the end not, i cannot remember why. i got up, i said i won't mind the cold today, i started walking, the puke in the carpet still smells awful and i am in a bet with myself to see when someone will clean it.
i called and said, i need, need to come back, i cannot make it here, you will see, you will i am not good for this, am not as smart as they need me to be, and i will fail ,you know, you know, i don't like to fail, i rather anything else, i don't
yeah, darling, pitty yourself a little more.
who's now calling, is my dad, he is drunk and he is crying, he tries to light a smoke, and says take care of yourself, we never give up, you can come back in the summer, just one week in and giving up is not who we are, he couldn't light the cigarette, he just gestured around with it and i couldn't see him, his hands were on his face, and i had caused all that.
i had left and taken all the soul anyone has ever had for me and broke it and sold it and now i am left with none, and i beg and i act like a slave when people are not around, and i broke them as well, they have nothing, no coins no pictures no spirit and no hope for they know, she knows, she said, yeah but you're always sad, and i started laughing because i never realised she knew that and she did, and i wasn't nearly as bulletproof as i thought i was. she always had bullets and i gave the barell permission. the brain is a peculiar jellow, it is not ugly, it is uninteresting and i expected it to be like a rainbow but it isn't, and the grey matter isn't after all at all what matters. i lit on fire something in the kitchen, thankfully did not think much of it, and my neighbours were giving each other haircuts in front of the freezer. and i felt like an idiot, like an empty sad little child, when you see me laughing, am laughing just to keep from crying.
i called and said, i need, need to come back, i cannot make it here, you will see, you will i am not good for this, am not as smart as they need me to be, and i will fail ,you know, you know, i don't like to fail, i rather anything else, i don't
yeah, darling, pitty yourself a little more.
who's now calling, is my dad, he is drunk and he is crying, he tries to light a smoke, and says take care of yourself, we never give up, you can come back in the summer, just one week in and giving up is not who we are, he couldn't light the cigarette, he just gestured around with it and i couldn't see him, his hands were on his face, and i had caused all that.
i had left and taken all the soul anyone has ever had for me and broke it and sold it and now i am left with none, and i beg and i act like a slave when people are not around, and i broke them as well, they have nothing, no coins no pictures no spirit and no hope for they know, she knows, she said, yeah but you're always sad, and i started laughing because i never realised she knew that and she did, and i wasn't nearly as bulletproof as i thought i was. she always had bullets and i gave the barell permission. the brain is a peculiar jellow, it is not ugly, it is uninteresting and i expected it to be like a rainbow but it isn't, and the grey matter isn't after all at all what matters. i lit on fire something in the kitchen, thankfully did not think much of it, and my neighbours were giving each other haircuts in front of the freezer. and i felt like an idiot, like an empty sad little child, when you see me laughing, am laughing just to keep from crying.
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