people try to put us down

it's hard to describe being in london, living in london. the few words that are somewhat able to grasp the core of it, and describe the extent of feelings felt every day, are all cliché and i don't want london to be a cliché, and i don't want my life to be a cliché. what i can do to avoid these cliché traps is to simply describe what it is that makes life here so different, so much more and first and foremost so much better. i can describe actions, sights and events, even a few indiscretion and mistakes, and hopefully someone will understand the indescribable feeling of finally being exactly where you want to be. i love taking the tube and knowing every single station on the jubilee line, i love walking around in camden lock a sunny day, i love walking down brick lane a rainy day, i love buying k cider at the shop down on the corner, i love the feeling of never being fully rested, the constant tiredness has a deeper meaning now, i love listening to 'get me away from here i'm dying' on southwark underground station, i love meeting mik whitnall on a night out in camden, high out of his mind and giving us a 'hi' that we hardly bother to return, i love considering to pole dance to get a beer for free, i love to eat nearly nothing, come to work and have a huge portion of pub grub, i love going out night after night without ever worrying about tomorrow, i love to rush around camden looking for a black shirt, i love riding the N31 home, i love feeling the need to always look somewhat stylish just in case you run into someone extraordinary beautiful, i love looking at the time at work, counting down the hours and minutes and seconds befor clocking out, i love to discussing the who and stones with strangers, i love that swedish words get more and more uk inspired every day, i love complaining about the tourist pace on the tube stations, i love when customers think i'm one of the rare english girls but then commenting on my blonde hair when they realize i'm swedish, i love feeling that i'm right where i should be, i love the late nights and early mornings of mist and rain in the air, i love that everyday you know you're missing something awesome because it's just not possible to make it to everything, i even have a sort of hate - love relationship to the ice cold showers.

of words, poetry and the big bad truth

i've been thinking about it for a long time, our tendency to not grab our problems by the horn, meet them out front, man to man, well, man to problem. instead we keep pushing them forward, hoping that someday somehow somewhere we will meet someone that will make all our problems magically disappear. we will find someone so beautiful, so fantastic, so perfect, that they will just vanish, wave goodbye and get on 31 to camden town, never to be seen again, lost among the market stalls and junkies. we want to believe that love does anything but tear us apart, we want it to be the cure for everything that's wrong and dark and difficult. in short, we think that someday our someone, our someone from the first glance, will show up in shining armour and take us far, far away where it's all sunshine and cupcakes and butterflies. there is a band and their lyrics describe that hopeful feeling very well, better than anyone i've met and certainly better than me. they sing songs of people prepared to die for each other, of "the others" unimportance, that the mockery is a price worth paying, because we're moving and they are still, they sing of holes in kevlarsouls that will never stop bleeding, of teenage dreams, of stolen glances and the most beautiful things in life. it's really pretty words but, in the words of conor oberst, life's no storybook. no matter how much we hold on to that longing, the longing to the bliss waiting at the end of the line, as sure as stratford at the end of the jubilee line, our someone somewhere somehow someday. though it's pretty, and optimism in all its forms really should be celebrated even if you are as realistic as i am, it's just that. it's pretty. it's poetic, yes. the thing is that it's a big fat lie. which is fine, it's art, it doesn't have to be true, in fact it's better if its not. the truth that will swallow our little fantasy world where love is the answer to everything like the big bad wolf swallows little red riding hood is that the problems are not going to be solved. i shouldn't be talking, i know, i'm still hoping for someone somewhere to be THE one. do i dream of falling in love? sometimes, yes. do i like to think it will dissolve all my self loathing, my disgust for my own being? yes, i like to think that. but i am not that naive, there are things that no one will ever help me get over, things i will keep carrying around, dropping pieces here and there in some bizarre treasure hunt. but really, fuck it.

allt dom bygger upp ska vi meja ner

in stripes and black, with lungs of smoke and london air, with gray skies and tired sounds of the building site on the opposite side of the street, with a day at work and a night of mayhem in front of me, with all what london has to offer, the free beer, the boys with the accents, the music and the undying hopes for the future there is still a big thorn in my heart, i just remembered one of the nights that will be with me forever. when the air was heavy with expectance, when the beer flooding my system and the people around me filled me with a rush of a lifetime, when a band entered the stage and was everything anyone could have ever asked for, and more. when grabbing him was alright, when bruises, black and blue legs the morning after, was a price i was more than willing to pay, when even a guitar in the head was worth it. i miss that, i want that again, another night with love antell and the band, another night with my friends and enemies and all the anonymous faces that somehow melted into a big loved and loving mess. united. against nothing really, together for music and love and revolution.

i remember being close

i've got practically no time nowadays, i wake up, try to eat something and have a glass of water, take the coldest fucking shower in the world, rush to the tube, go to work, pour beer after beer after beer and the occasional vodka tonic, mop the floor, rush back to the tube, hurry home in the cold wind and fall asleep. i've been given every single late shift this week meaning i won't have time left for anything but sleep when i get home. got blisters on my feet and old makeup on my skin. been dying for alcohol these last few days, working in a pub with a burning love for beer isn't the greatest idea. especially not since the majority of our customers are older men yearning to buy me a beer. i just want to chuck whatever they want to buy me and act like nothing happened. but no. i'm a good girl. kind of. think i need a few out of control nights.

i do kind of like my new job though, the pub is nice, the people are nice, it's just hectic, getting into it and the working hours and all. sometimes it does however feel kind of nice, being a working girl in london, really fitting in, kind of. i'm really shit at writing right now, can't single out my feelings and impressions, can't get them down on paper, well, sort of. feels a bit surreal, since writing it down has always been my out. i'll update when something exciting happens.

the weekend when sleep was not an issue

it's kind of hard to retell the events of an entire weekend in just a few words. i could mention everything that happened and still not capture the important things, how things looked through my eyes, how i felt and what i thought. friday our flatshareliving friend showed up at fellows road with a bottle of wine, i provided straws and k cider and we got a bit drunk courtesy of our local 24 h shop. we went to soho were we asked the cutest gay couple in history for directions, they were good sports but had no idea where to send us, with a "darling" they sent us on our way none the wiser. eventually we got to the borderline were we mixed pretty much everything drinkable, chucking it down eagerly, almost desperately, in order not to lose the buzz. danced to the sound of peter doherty's voice, stayed on the floor when bigmouth started playing immediately afterwards, witnessed three fights, had some more drinks, met somebody - two guys from hammersmith to be a bit more specific. one of them a beatles worshipping musician / suit salesman had the energy of a young jessica, and that's to say a lot. to make a long story short we went back to hammersmith with our new friends, got lollies from a colombian girl on the bus, shared a cigarrette between the four of us, and slept. just slept. just in case my mum reads this i need to clarify that i have been a very good girl so far. of course, the expression "good girl" is open for discussion, but i haven't done anything to naughty.

now yesterday i got a call from the mad hatter telling me that i got the job. had to be celebrated so went to liverpool street to get to foulden road and the famous flatshare. gave some money to a homeless, said he'd buy food but i bet my money (literally) on crack, had an encounter with a creepy guy in a store, he talked in the typical creepy guy - voice and wanted to show us the cold wines. sat in the living room with our k cider (i know, it's getting quite repetitive but 89 p for 8.4 percent is, to quote a missed friend, sweet) someone's ciggies and a spotify playlist made especially for this kind of situation. went to shoreditch where someone decided it would be fun to buy miniature cigars, went to catch, free entry but no cloakroom, had a beer, danced, avoided dirty glances and got yelled at by a girl who wouldn't accept that we had stamps. went home early, well, was home at about three after a bus ride via camden including heroic achivements, a gorgeus guy in a denim jacket and a girl too drunk to stand.

last nite

had k cider in the apartment, went to barfly, had some red stripe, saw adam green dj:ing, saw drew mcconnell, saw carl barât, had some more red stripe, the world started to spin faster, met a handsome french guy with nice clothes. he hated cigarettes but smoked anyway, said he was trying to learn i think. went to an afterparty in finsbury park, by car, a car you could smoke in, if you wanted to. someone took the opportunity. got pasta in a beautiful apartment and helped a friend who wasn't feeling too well. slept for a bit and got a ride back to the tube.

everyone's fucking my princess

started the day with a nice little walk from st pauls down to charing cross, past the media creme de la creme on fleet street and the students making their way through the lunch rush. went to london bridge and decided against overpriced bagels. took the tube to waterloo. walked around the imax trying to figure out who on earth would have the means to rent it. walked down stamford street, had an interview that seemed more like a speed date, smiled and walked back. sat alone on the underground train opposite a lovely young man with grey jeans and red doc martens. tried not to look, but did when i thought he wasn't looking my way. might have blushed a bit when our eyes met and rushed off at swiss cottage. bought k cider for 1.19 each. smoked on the balcony and cooked tikka masala. laughed at her wringing and complaining about the dinner being too hot. drinking red wine now and will probably go for a smoke in a bit. dance the night away at barfly with adam green's djing somewhere in the back of the head. i think i'm in love with my life.

the day when i wasn't jewish enough

the streets of camden are covered in a skin of dirt and the occasional shower. millions of feet weigh them down with their heavy thoughts, their misery and their forbidden desires. the pace is quick, slow is fast and fast is faster. i love it. no more muttering under my breath when a group of people decide to take their unoriginal discussion to the middle of the street, no more getting an angry glance when trying to push your way up an escalator, no more everyone knows everyone.

the streets of barnet are not a completely different story. the same rain falls there, the aame buses leave the same pollution, but other people walk the streets with other thoughts and other problems. and the area around golder's green is a funny one, you can run into what by all means look like the mob, and you can be turned down for a job simply because you aren't jewish. the discouraged girls walk with hanging heads and the swedish ones are the ones who doesn't think it's necessary to small talk with strangers.

will try to recover and keep what little pride i've got left by going down to fleet street and then cross the river thames. the skies are gray but no sight of rain yet.