Play a love game

Do you want fame or do you want love – will you win the game?

Late at night I take out my secret sides and indulge in them. One is that side that likes mainstream music. Here is something for ya: Rhianna, Britney Spears, Timbaland and Lady Gaga. It's so horrible really, when all my being screams NO NO NO!! But still, this is a side that has to be indulged in: popular beats, shake that ass and sassy ways. And then preferably late at night when no one notices. Then I can put up my metal mask in the morning again. Either that, cause metal is oh so tough baby, or some indie-cred flumm or more obscure electronic stuff. Kocci, get some awesome dubstep for me!! I want to indulge in that too. The other side is that romantic side that only a few select people may see from time to time. The one who melts to movies like Wild Child, High School Musical and The Perfect Man. See, now I feel really terrible. But it's true. I hate the movies, cause they suck, but that little side of me who would love a candle-lit dinner and stroll by the lake under a full moon says otherwise. And what better moment to indulge this side than late late at night when no one is there to laugh at it. Then I can throw up my alternative/horror-movie face in the morning: Sin City, Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, Candy, 28 weeks later. Because that is a face I am more comfortable showing, and that are the kinda movies I actually really like.

Life is art and art is life – someone wanna run away and create an artist colony? Just paint, take photos, make music and write all day long. Publish, vernissages, collaborations, club events...

All along the watchtower

How can you convince someone to live when you're not even sure of living yourself? Although I've moved further away from the abyss, temporarily anyway, I still feel like a hypocrite when explaining why X should live on. To be honest, I haven't really explained anything to X, only in my head, but X wouldn't listen if I tried. Block me out. And I don't know what to do.

I want to have a discussion about Kafka. I want to feel intellectual. I bought stone washed light blue jeans today. Perfect for summer. And it was sunny outside. And I closed my eyes again, no sensory tentacles out prodding for anything because who the fuck would care. Yes, that's right, the sensory thingies would get trampled before even reaching the shadow of a destination.

And I was high yesterday. So high I couldn't talk and still something felt out of place but I don't know why. And I don't care who reads this because everything is bound to get fucked up in the end. It's human nature. We are walking apocalypses, ending our own little worlds with some words or an action. It's sad really, that we take ourselves so seriously.

I hate to hate all the things that make me who I am.

I hate being insecure. I hate needing people. I hate that I am so not a relationship person. I hate my awkwardness. I hate the hole in my heart craving approval and love. I hate that I can't talk to anyone about the scars. I hate telling myself stuff because it makes it hard to connect with reality. I hate that people care when they shouldn't. I hate that I can't trust anyone. I hate when I eat when I told myself not to. I hate when I'm too scared to end what should be ended. I hate when I reach out to people and they just turn away. I hate that I expect anything to happen. I hate that I get bored so easily. I hate that I can't study. I hate that people don't care when they should. I hate that I care about them when they don't care about me. I hate being weak. I hate saying "I'm sorry". I hate that I gossip. I hate that I let friends down. I hate that I can't love myself. I hate speculating in circles about the future. I hate not knowing what people think. I hate that I can't play the game as well as they do. I hate to hate all the things that make me who I am. But maybe I just love it all, but it's easier to say "hate". L-O-V-E is just another word I never learned to pronounce.

Tell me I'm an angel.

You better run like the devil,
'Cause they're never gonna leave you alone!
You better hide up in the alley,
'Cause they're never gonna find you a home!
And as the blood runs down the walls,
You see me creepin' up these halls.
I've been a bad motherfucker
Tell your sister I'm another
Go! Go! Go!
(My Chemical Romance)

Sometimes I could see that line in my mind, a stark black wall at the horizon reminding me that sanity, unlike the earth, is flat. And there is a point at which you can fall off.

I love that book. And I love The Watchmen. And I love Magda. Cinema in the middle of the week is so our thing. Gore, blood, violence and vivid sex scenes are also so our things. And menthol cigarettes. On the bus home I started listening to My chem since their cover of Desolation Row is the ending song of The Watchmen. Great movie. Incredibly inspiring. And I'm definitely seeing it again yes. There's just this incredible feel to comic adaptations, a much more vivid imagery, everything is so much more alive. And the concepts and the deep. The apocalypse and the feelings, the characters, the cynics, the prostitutes, and the dark, dark night of a metropolis. The riddles, mysteries, the pouring rain, the masks, the sinners and the liars, the beggars and the thieves. The latex, the technology, the explosions, the dangers, the liquor, the clubs, the sex and the ending of the world. Yes, there is a reason why some of my biggest inspirations are COMICS in all its different forms. Now I just need to get my hands on the graphic novel of The Watchmen... And watch Sin City again, that's for sure. Hope they make a movie version of The Umbrella Academy too...

He said it with such zest I could imagine him sitting on the balcony of some Caribbean villa, sharing a hand-rolled cancer-carrot with Hemingway while they mused over the aroma of vaporized vampire and discussed which shoes to wear for the next running of the bulls.

Hur mår din självkänsla idag?

Man kanske skulle bli som Lily Allen. Bara säga fuck you very very much till hela världen och le medan man slänger ut några "it's not me, it's you". Istället för att ta åt sig allt och må bajs. Efter varje svårt moment konfronterar man den där sugiga självkänslan, den som hugger en i benet för att fälla en så fort man inte hämtat upp tvätten eller diskat för hundrade gången. Eller hugger en i ryggraden för att göra en förlamad om man inte räknat 50 tal eller skrivit ett Paper 1 (fucking igen) osv. Eller hugger en i skallbenet så fort man festat bort några hundralappar och skrapat upp lite sår här och där. Nu var det inte tänkt att jag skulle skriva idag. Eller att jag skulle skriva på svenska. Men det skiter jag i. Fuck you, fuck you very very much. Så grym hon är alltså. Och Cissi Wallins kolumn i dagens Metro - om att beroendetyper inte har någon plats i samhället. Om det blir för mycket är det inte accepterat, om du inte ser ut som en trasig uteliggare med stubb och luktar fisk. För då är det naturligt. Håller med den tjejen så jävla mycket på så många punkter. Och Jade, som blev cancerpatient med hela Storbritannien, hon dog idag. Man kanske skulle dra på sig cancer, verkligen försöka, och vara med i tv och bli känd. Born with nothing, die in fame. Eller som en viss person som jag oroar mig konstant över. Snart är han nog bara lite kladd på ett tågspår och jag kan inte göra något åt det. Då blir han verkligen hålet i min kevlarsjäl, som om han inte redan var det. Men det är inte det jag tänker på just nu.

L'apparence n'est jamais qu'une énigme de plus, et pas la plus épineuse.

Now everything is cool as long as I'm getting thinner

Why isn't this a blog about happy little elfs? Or make-up or clothes or fun facts or celebrities or something shallow and jolly? But no, it has to be about meta-hate. And difficult emotions. And such crap. Actually, it's not even fun writing anymore. And I don't know why I keep on writing long after my author dreams have died. Because I think they did. I'm not exceptionally talented or extremely disciplined - traits needed to make a good author. Hopefully I'll end up at a desk job at some office where I'm not too unhappy. And also I thought I'd cram in an apology here. I apologise for my love of alcohol, it can make me a shitbrain sometimes. But I am past the "you need to start be aware of what it is you do to others and yourself when you drink"-phase. That is so PDP. I am aware actually. Hurt is never intentional from my side but sometimes it's just a fucking relief to not behave so fucking proper. Proper is so 9th grade. And these days, proper is only a painful mask I wear to be accepted by others who hold proper as their standard.

After all, everything is cool as long as I'm getting thinner.

As I burn another page

Blood death and carnage. After watching L'ennemi Intime at Kino (the alternative movie theater in Lund) I walked out with rage boiling in my body, tears pushing behind my eyes, and a heart bursting and breaking in the seams from all the unhuman emotion. That has all passed now, but it lasted the whole bustrip here. Why. Why the fuck do we fucking kill each other. And I also thought of: physical wounds heal really fast, we are resilient. As I always have said; it's the soul that needs saving. Mental wounds can bleed forever. So why is it that I keep bleeding? Why can't I sow myself shut, like they did the lock-in-syndrome guy's eyes while he watched the thread tred in and out of his eyelid, slowly closing it, making it dark. Why. When people are killed, when their families are killed, why do I wound myself on purpose? To feel? To be seen? To be heard? "You don't know me, you don't even care". The main character's blind anger engulfed me and I thought: It's every man for himself out there. I don't have to save fucking anyone. See, that's exactly my problem, that I have to save so many people. I see them, and I want to make them feel better, about themselves, about life. I want to get underneath their skin, crack their freaking walls, break them down and make them live and appreciate and love. Tell them they are wonderful, amazing and beautiful. Make them smile. But why. Why do I have to do that? No one is fucking doing it for me, so why do I feel this burden to save every sad soul out there? Why do I feel I'm letting people down when I can't save them? Isn't it every man for himself? Aren't we supposed to think we are kings, enjoy life, love ourselves and give shit about others self-esteem? Because the people that feel like that, and I know some, are leading much healthier, happier, funnier lives than the others who constantly keep wounding themselves by telling themselves they are worthless, by cutting their white skin, by self-loathing, by drugs, by destructive behaviour, by reckless sex, by hate, by anger, by fear... They hate themselves, and so they keep hurting themselves and others. I actually worked up so much hate during the bustrip that I had to go out in the living room and do 20 pushups and 50 situps. And I haven't done that since I had anorexia. What is freaking happening here. And why is so many hurting and why can't anyone save them. Why can't I save them? As I said, it has all passed now. But I'm still in a panic rush. A panic rush about life, exams, what I'm doing, and actually about get thinner. Which scares me a little. But this will all probably just go out in the sand like everything else. Tomorrow I will be with friendsd, I will drink, laugh and enjoy life as usual. Then scary thoughts have no way of catching up with me and they will have retreated to a darker place in my soul that barely anyone gets to see ever. Only here. Only on a blog. And here I have no idea who is reading it. But I guess that doesn't matter. I just need to get the thoughts out there, somwhere, so they will become less frightening. It's like with nightmares: my dad always told me that if you tell your nightmare to someone, it becomes less scary. So that is what I am doing.

Malibu Moments!

This weekend have been fucking funnnn. I aint complainin. Kalmar with my favourite kk, stinis.
and for all of you readers out there: this post is in swedish because partyin sounds so much more awesome described in swedish. suckaaazz.

Friday - egentligen skulle det bara va en chill-utgång, lite öl på km sådär, men såklart slutar det med att emmo raggar shots o stinis sitter i mitten av ett gäng killar och solar sig i uppmärksamheten. ja fast det började ju med en flaska rött o sminkning med sara som kom över till stinis. det där röda vinet va gott som fan, och det klunkades glatt. sen iväg till km, och öl, och lite folk. den där shot-killen ville ha mer, men emmo var upptagen med söte Charlie som dök upp efter tolv. han kilade ut från palace, bara för hennes skull, och hon var överlycklig. Ja, sen blev det öl o cigg, och tillslut kilade folket ut från km vidare till O'Laerys för stinis ville skaka rumpa, bl.a. till great balls of fire. Men emmo va för liten, så hon och Charlie och den där söta tjejen vad-hon-nu-hette smet in på The Rock o digga hårdrock istället. Stinis desperat-smsa emmo att komma ut, vilket slutade med lite allmänt hångel utanför barerna innan man promenerade hemåt.

Saturday - lite halvt bakfull vaknar man till en ny underbar dag. vad händer idag då? juste, fest och sånt shit. men först, balklännings-mission och solande. solandet va awesome. fatta vilken glädjekick man får av lite fejk-sol. plus att det kändes riktigt Malibu. Me like. synd att man inte får sola så länge om man är newbie. hittade ingen balklänning dock och har fedepanik över det nu. grrr. tina kommer förbi. och med lite "män som lagar mat" blir det snart middag. gott. sen till tina och tjejor och förfest och fejk-champagne. gott. lite flumm, cider, fejk-champagne och hur-många-får-vi-in-i-en-bil-lekande senare anländer vi hos åsa. men det stora house-partyt visade sig vara en liten ring av random kalmar folk som snackar strunt och har melodifestivalen på i bakgrunden. öh. jaha. efter att stinis föreslagit kollektivt självmord om "snälla, snälla" skulle vinna blir hon impad av han killen-i-snygga-glasögon som det visar sig har hoppat både bungee jump och fallskärm och rest jorden runt. typ. ah, han va ball. snälla, snälla vann inte (Stina:"Åh skönt, jag kände inte för att begå självmord ikväll!") men det gjorde någon konstig operalåt och efter lite kladdkaka hade den "festen" spelat sin roll. De glada, och nu lagom förfriskade tjejorna klämmer in sig i bilen igen och drar iväg till Palace, Kalmar's brat-ställe nummer ett. (nej usch o fy, då tycker vi bättre om alternativ-km där alla snygga emos håller till). Iaf, 80pix för o komma in, egentligen var det 20års eller nåt sånt men stinis flörtade fint med vakten och sa "ja men hon är från skåne!" - då gick det. vi kom in. jag drinkade lite eftersom de andra var pinsamma som dansade på det där jävla schlager-dansgolvet. jaja. life. det andra golvet var bättre, men inga snygga killar så det var ju lite tråkigt. och musiken var ingen vidre heller. plus att man tappade bort varandra hela tiden. nä, jag smsa charlie istället. "hallååå saknar deeejjj" typ. oh yes. sen då, jo sen va det stinis ragg. omringad av sju tjejer i en soffa. Förresten hette han Jo-jo-joakim. och han påstod hela tiden att jag inte gillade honom. men helt ärligt hade jag inte nåt emot honom förutom att han snodde min stinis by the end of the night. alla ställen stänger 2 i kalmar, hur gulligt är inte det? jaja, utanför dårå, emmo röker som en skorsten. kör lite kung-fu moves med en kaxig kille och får honom nästan att sexxa upp henne rakt på polisbilen. men polisen skulle inte blivit glad då. alla tiggde cigg, emmo ville ge rökkyssar istället men det var det bara några få som tacka ja till. tyvärr. their loss. allmänt kaxade från emmos sida, varav killarna blev lite halvstötta, askul. håller med lisa att de flesta killar utanför palace vid 2 är lite bög sådär. hem-stapplande i onda fötter och däckande i en skön tina-säng.

Sunday - vaknar, ringer stinis ("eru våldtagen eller?") Stinis kommer in och berättar om jo-jo-joakim. och lite allmänt mobbande av hennes dumma kommentarer höhö. (tina: "hur såg den ut?" stinis: "va?bilen?"). Alla tjejer va hungriga så det blev pizza, och mycket läsk. Och hög på fanta: rosa elefanter, flygande båtar och mysiga gubbar. Sen klättrade emmo och stinis på en val. Det var kul. Sen hyra film. St trinians - random english bording school movie. emmo tyckte den va askul men stinis somnade i ett duntäcke. så går det om man "pratat" hela natten. lite allmänt tv-tittande i duntäcke. wild child m tina, parlamentet, beck. Sen va den dagen slut. slitna och glada somnar emmo och stinis i sina respektive sängar. och de ser inte fram emot en skoldag. men den va chill. för alla fina minnen från helgen kommer de leva på länge. pöss och ajjö, jag tycker inte om knäckebrö.

Like you won some kind of award

If you thought I would leap into your arms,
everytime I would see your face
Then maybe you, you should've tried harder

I want to puke. On Studying. So tired of studying, thinking about studying, panicking about studying, worrying that I'm not studying enough. Etc. Flipping through a university catalog, ordering tickets for festivals, planning the summer, planning life after. When will we have time to just live? Just, do nothing sort of. Until you become tired of doing nothing. And then you can do something.

They went away. To Venice. And here I am. Kalmar? Sounds tempting. But still, the apartment to myself is incredibly nice. Listen to music as loud as I want, walk around naked as I please, maybe invite people over for a movie night. Finish the math portfolio? There are duty and pleasure calls, and right now I am ignoring the duty calls.

And tired about writing about how strange people are. So I wont do it. But it's horrible when you're left to reading signs, supposed to take hints, fall short and stumble in the dark.

All of days that past us by

From the sidewalks,
Running away from the streets we knew,
Sidewalks,
Like the time we thought was made for you.
Or
All of days that past us by,
All of the sun is gone...
Away
(-Story of the year)

George Bernard Shaw once said that a life spent making mistakes is not only more honrable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. He also said that everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough. As we go through life, we will continue hurting people, and they will continue hurting us. There is no guarantee that it wont happen again and again, there is no promise you can make to make the hurt go away for ever. Hurt is such an unnecessary feeling really. It doesnt make anyone happier, so why feel it? I believe we can't control those feelings sneaking up on us. Feelings are a bitch that way. They always catch you when you expect it the least, catch you with your pants down so to speak. And we just have to deal with it. Deal with the hurt, and with all the mistakes we made. And deal with the fact that it will most probably happen again. Holding my mother as she cries from yet another dramatic break-up with the love of her life, trying my best to find wise plattitudes like "love prevails" to comfort her, this becomes more apparent than ever. We end up hurting the people we love the most. "You love each other more than anything, so why the fuck do you keep doing this?! Can't you just love each other and be happy?!" It's unfortunately and obviously not as simple as that. But working through the issues, getting past the barriers, holding on to each other, being honest, angry and everything we have to be to solve the damn fuck-ups inside our own minds, is so totally worth it in the end. Because it's the greates mistakes that make our life worth living just because they make us so incredibly strong. It's just a matter of having a little faith. Having faith that it will work out, if we just keep talking about it. If we are there for each other. Or as I said to mom "imagine your life as a a tv-series. Like I'm watching One Tree Hill right now, and right now in the episodes I am watching, they are having a really hard time. They're hurting so much and everything is just shit. But. I've seen the following season, and in the following season they've all found their way back to each other, and they're just full of love, and they are so happy! So, imagine you can see the next season of your life, and see how happy you will be there, and have a little faith now that you're hurting so much. Have a little faith that it will be over, and you will be happy again!" So keep making mistakes and keep hurting, because it will make you great, wonderful people. Then there's that other part to it that we just love to be caught with our pants down.

So sacrifice yourself

You take the breath right out of me
You left a hole where my heart should be
You gotta fight just to make it through
Cause I will be the death of you
(-breaking benjamin)

Rediscovering old music, bringing up memories of days that I'll never forget, days that where so much and contained so much feeling. More than I've experienced ever since then. Yes. I want the feeling back. The intense pleasure, the burning pain, the crippling sadness, the orgasmic joy. Even if I walked the earth thinking I felt nothing, those were the days I felt the most. And the music bring it out in me again. We need love and hate to define ourselves. Thinking of it, I feel a lot now too, but it's only afterwards I realize. Like when I cried this Monday. Like when I felt hate bubbling under the surface, random hate, urging me to hurt, someone, something, myself. It's interesting to observe feelings without letting them out. Interesting seeing where they go.

True colors

it's hard to take courage
in a world full of people
you can lose sight of it all
and the darkness inside you
can make you feel so small

If you just have someone to see your true colors, it gets easier. If there is someone who really see you for who you are no matter how many fuck ups. No matter what you say or do as reaction against this or that, because all that is a facade and a product of muddled thoughts. All people have all the colors of the spectrum of light. Some are like rainbows and some are just bright, like pure white sunlight. Some fade to gray. This world makes me crazy, that we can't love and trust eachother. True colors are beautiful. I talked to mom for two hours yesterday, and she said there is a solution. She made me believe that there are other ways. And there are.

Fire red now turning blue

blame it on the weather, but i'm a mess
and this february darkness. has me hating everyone
and i know i give you comfort, but this trouble makes me sick
and the longer i lay here, i know it's harder to get up
( - Silverstein)

It's actually March. But it's the same. Today I got the urge to smoke a whole package of cigarettes. Just to be bad. And my unrealistic sense of reality constantly messes up shit. I don't know why I never learn but apparently I never do. Keep hoping and then - nothing. Why the fuck do I even expect things from people? It's just not fucking worth it. People let you down over and over. And you know the best part, there isn't a fucking shit anyone can do about it. Just not fucking worth it. Cheerios.