Well, I guess I’m back. I don’t know where from and certainly not where to. I have read about myself (I just wanted to test the level of coolness to this particular sentence, but technically I read about someone else – it was an interview – who shortly mentioned me in a totally flattering manner, and then I remembered I once had a blog and that once I had these big plans about it, and instead it proved to be potentially better than successful: it was therapy. Until I started treating it like a job and screwed it up – just another ‘must-do’ that hanged on my neck, along with a dozen other mill stones of which I always complain about not being capable of dragging after me. And what happens at some point is too predictable: I cut myself loose and leave it all aside and behind. Then I try, and it doesn’t come hardly, to do absolutely nothing. This mostly occurs between two rough periods of time, between an almost surmounted difficulty and another anticipated one, so this indolent break of mine is my unhealthy way of trying to come up with a different plan – one that might salvage the situation. But the madness derived from doing the same mistake over again and expecting different results each time is nothing more than ridiculous, childish, pitiful, and perfectly normal for us, cognitive creatures that haven’t got the slightest clue about what drives their mediocre lives on the easiest path to disaster. I can’t say where I’m going to, because I am weak, subjective and, even if I weren’t, I still would be no prophet and probably no one can really act like one: this road has no tangible, definite end.
Now I’m looking forward to a time when I shall master the technique of capturing the prosaic part of my life, as well – should anyone ask, the highlight of the last couple of weeks was the return of True Blood on air – damn, did I miss it! The rest of my time spins fast, just like the threads I use to sew a few garments, to save what’s left of my final exams. These two most trivial sentences in the world clearly prove that I’m no way near taking that turn just yet – I’d rather share my thoughts about how sometimes I feel the urge to beat the crap out of someone spilling honey-like words to my face, when every muscle of their face betrays the sickness they’ve been developing ever since they’ve met their undeserved freedom of fucking everyone else up.
* Wearing Topshop dress, Asos sandals, New Yorker socks & vintage jewelry
I was pretty undecided upon whether I should post this photo – a funny mix of cat-porn and the relieving discovery that there is someone (or at least ‘something’) that walks more proudly than I do and wears no heels at all.
The shoes must have got the cat confused – she asked me what are those for? I was more confused about her tail, though, so she said it helps her jump. I told her that my heels also help me jump – over insecurities and triteness.