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.