i am astronomic, fan of alcohol

trying to wake the dead

2010-09-13T05:44:00.000-07:00

i've forgotten about the release that is a blog. it's been so long. i haven't really had time. it's been too much. a lot of crap and a couple of smiles in between. what suprises me is that i can deal with all of that, but when it's all over, when it finally looks like it's gonna be ok i hit the wall. the substantial is not the hardest part. when there's something that needs to be fixed, hearts in need of mending, people in need of comfort, blood to bleed - i can do that. when it's all settling i die a little bit. it's like there's something inside my body trying to get out, and i just won't let it, it's like i wanna lie down and just cry my fucking eyes out but i can't because now life is good and i need to get on with it, it's like i only live when everything is miserable, when it's bright outside i shut down. my mum visited this weekend, leaving after herself a separation anxiety that's eating me inside out. i think my bipolarity will eventually kill me. just saying.

the good, the bad and certainly the ugly

2010-07-13T11:13:00.000-07:00

the bad things about living with mia:
- she's a giant, meaning i can not wear her clothes, while she tends to wear mine more than her own. in conclusion: instead of having two closets i've got a half.
- she snores and takes atleast three quarters of the bed. in conclusion: i don't get my beauty sleep and she is therefore the reason to my ugliness.
- she smokes a lot but never buys her own ciggies. in conclusion: she's making me her own private tobacco provider.
- she likes to clean the room when i have the day off and just wanna have a lazy day. in conclusion: she has bad timing.
- she's happy all the time. in conclusion: she makes me feel like a big blob of self pity, anger and depression.
- she makes me go to sainsbury's in my pj's when we're both too tired and lazy to buy breakfast. in conclusion: she thinks i'm her breakfast slave.

the good things about living with mia:
- she doesn't give a rat's ass if i have an afterparty even if she's got work the day after. in conclusion: she doesn't care about her job, her sleep or anything that involves the musts.
- she lets me choose the music 95% of the time. in conclusion: she has no will of her own.
- she sometimes gives me food. in conclusion: she tries to repay me for the cigarettes but doesn't exactly suceed.
- she wears the weirdest outfits including batik prints mixed with striped men's shirts that i have slept in the last three nights or so. she also says a lot of stupid stuff and come up with the most unlikely and strangest theories about everything from the earth's rotation to well god knows what. in conclusion: she's funny, especially when she doesn't realise how funny she is.

dedicated to someone i love

2010-06-24T16:26:00.001-07:00

i got a letter today. just the envelope by itself triggered the tears, because even suppressed swedes can sometimes feel too much. i opened the letter and put it in my bag, to read it on the overground, again. the letter was from someone who know me better than i knew, better than i ever thought someone would know me. the letter was nostalgic in a sense, but in the same time it was more about the future than the past. it spoke of a time that is coming, a time of difficult decisions and with the highest of probibility a time of a lot of hurt feelings, but also a time to live and a time to dance. in a time of leopard shoes and boys that don't mean a thing and smoke and night buses, for the first time, i felt that there really is more. this is not all. there is more.

i can't answer the letter, i don't have paper and i don't have a pen, i don't even have an address, but i want you to know that i love you none the less. i love you. you know me well enough to know that i wouldn't say that if it wasn't real, if i didn't really mean it. i love the way you see people, i love the way you put words to feelings in a way everyone should envy, i love the fact that you want to be my friend. i love you with the same burning force that we both see and hear and feel in music, just like you described it. and dear friend, i have never missed you like i missed you today. know that you are important, that you are loved, that you are good. even if i'm hundreds of miles away i am still your friend and i will be until you ask me not to be. know that and follow your own advice and go after the opportunities, one day you'll be on top of the world.

the enemy

2010-06-21T06:02:00.000-07:00

i'm gonna try to write this without sounding like the whiny little bitch that i in fact am. you see, when people's tragic backgrounds finally come out, when they're exposed after what might be years in silence, the world reacts. sometimes by backing away, flee the scene and keep away from the tragedy in a vain attempt to keep the own facade intact, and sometimes by feeling, feeling with, feeling for, feeling sorry. a fucked up background can excuse pretty much anything - sadness, anger, selfishness, vanity, self destruction. but what if you're guilty of most of the above without nothing or no one to blame? do you still deserve the sympathy? if whatever it is that haunts you isn't in anyone else but inside your own sick mind, are you still allowed these emotional crimes? no one ever hurt me badly but myself. and i keep doing it. so much that i try to keep it all away from people i meet, because if i tell the truth chances are they'll run the other way, run away from the horror that is me. that's why i don't tell you these things, not to your face, ever.

in an attempt to tip the scales

2010-06-15T04:24:00.000-07:00

and the mirror is like, as you might have guessed, self examination or reflection in whatever form. this could be vanity or selfloathing, i know i'm guilty of both

brick lane

2010-06-09T07:23:00.000-07:00

a bar is closed due to refurbishment, a guy looking like peter doherty in his early twenties is unlocking his bike, there's no queue in either of the bagel shops, it's slow. at rough trade a guy with horrible teeth is having a coffee. i buy franke and lcd soundsystem albums. should have bought a bag, they're just £5. i try to find tortillas, but none of the off licences have them, the fact that the cashiers always ask of my age when i buy cigarettes, tell me i look fourteen, then they try to chat me up, brings me to the conclusion that it's as standard for cashiers (and construction workers) to have pedophilic tendencies as it is for urban outfitters staff to be utterly fuckable. it's raining but i can't be bothered cause i'm not wearing any makeup and my hair looks like shit anyway. someone is smoking weed on buxton street, i can't spot them but the smell lingers in the air all the way down to vallance road. i think i should take a shower now.

day 07 - a song that reminds you of a certain event

2010-06-09T04:21:00.000-07:00

dreaming of you - the coral. it reminds me of the afterparty to the dirty pretty things show in stockholm back in 2008. it reminds me of performing it on stage in hungary. it reminds me of a night out in gothenburg. that song has so many events tied to it, it's insane.

you talk way too much

2010-06-09T03:44:00.000-07:00

great, fantastic, fucking brilliant. be gone for a day and look what happens, you completely miss out on the fact that a fucking fantastic band is playing in camden tonight and that you could have been there. now only one question remains, is it time to suck some bouncerdick?

day 06 - a song that reminds you of somewhere

2010-06-05T05:17:00.001-07:00

so many songs related to so many different places. going through them i have one that randomly comes to the foreground not only once, but a couple of times. it's a late spring night, i am still a teenager, life is kind of shit in general but the alcohol in my blood makes this night a bit more endurable, i'm wearing a denim shirt and have a red bow in my hair, i am at röda sten, with whom is impossible to tell now, surrounded by friends atleast, we're discussing our future escape to london town, and suddenly the dj plays there she goes by the la's. i've always found the song a bit overrated, catchy yes, but far from their greatest, but that time i saw it a bit differently, perhaps because i had my drunk glasses on, or because somehow that night was filled with hope. this is quite possibly the most pathetic blog post of my life.

fucking poser

2010-06-05T05:15:00.001-07:00

day 05 - a song that reminds you of someone

2010-06-02T05:32:00.000-07:00

oh boohoo, this is just made for lovers in exile innit? well i'm not a lover. i'm a pretentious drunk, i'm an ungrateful daughter and i'm a loyal friend (atleast i like to think i am). i'm all of the above but first and foremost i'm a selfish cunt, so i'm not sorry, i'm not sorry i left and i'm not gonna feel guilty for feeling better now than before. there are songs that remind me of the good things i left behind, be sure dear old friends, but there is one song that reminds me not only of a person but also of the mentality surrounding my last years as a teenager. my mum told me taht she wanted the theme from local hero to be played on her funeral. so it reminds me of her, of a wish she could only tell people close to her. it also reminds me of a time when life felt like nothing more than a sad waiting for a longexpected night's sleep. when planning your funeral felt more important than living your life.

the distant echo of faraway voices boarding faraway trains

2010-06-02T05:23:00.001-07:00

... this is whitechapel, change here for the london underground district and hammersmith & city lines, alight here for the royal london hospital ... is life really boring enough to dedicate an entire post to commuting? well, yes. when something simplifies life like the overground between dalston junction and west croydon i'm gonna shed some light on the situation, be sure. what earlier took me 45 minutes now steals as little as 18. i get to sleep an extra half hour because of it. and the time saving isn't even the best part. ever tried the underground on a warm day? fucking hell you just wish you'd walked instead, the sweat odoeur is so heavy you could probably touch it, if you ever got that idea. the overground is actually cool, whenever i'm hangover (say three - four days a week) i always go on it and i feel better - that's how nice it is! i love it so much i wanna live on it. actually i love it so much i wanna fuck it. no, i don't wanna fuck it, i wanna make sweet and tender love to it. it's the greatest thing since bagels!

Day 04 - A song that makes you sad

2010-05-24T03:14:00.000-07:00

songs don't make me sad. i have all this sadness in my already and listening to sad songs generally just comforts me. but if i have to say one song it would have to be masser af success by danish band gasolin'. not because it makes me cry but because the feeling in it is just so honest, so true. i don't know, i guess it just speaks to me.

just fuck 'em really

2010-05-24T03:04:00.001-07:00

don't know if i should write this at all but i don't see any other way of getting it out. there is one thing that pisses me off more than anything else and that's people writing me off because i'm young. yes, i am twenty, yes i have not lived more than probably a fourth of my life, yes i am young, that does not mean that i can't possibly know things that people younger, same sage or even older than me don't know about. i'm not just my age. don't make me into a fucking number. when people say that i shouldn't say something because i am too young i just wanna punch them. what? do you have to lie dying to get to speak about life? do you have to be at the end to possibly know anything? i think the only thing you need to do in order to know something about life is living it. you don't have to have lived it, you need to be in it, and i am, whether i am twenty or sixty doesn't really matter. who told young people that we're not allowed to speak of our lives? that we shouldn't be bothered about the world because we are too young? that we should leave it to our seniors, to know, to speak, to fucking rule the world. i don't think i should have to die to talk about life. and i am not just a kid. i am as much a person as anyone else.

Day 02 - Your least favorite song & Day 03 - A song that makes you happy

2010-05-21T16:54:00.000-07:00

least favourite song. thank god it's getting easier. heavy irony. i could go for the obvious, something along the lines of basshunter, i could also go for the generic top 40 - kind of song that i love to trashtalk, but i'm not gonna. no matter how awfully talentless certain tunes might be they are still avoidable. rihanna doesn't bug me that much because i never hear her music. what does kill me is that one bad song that kills an amazing record. like what flyg du lilla fjäril did to försent för edelweiss, not acceptable, not at all acceptable. i will however choose a song that even top that. pentonville. on down in albion. debut of babyshambles. some of the songs are as close to perfection as anything can be without getting boring and then pentonville comes along. fuck off.

when it comes to a song that makes you happy i think it would be silly to say anything but kom igen lena. because it could make me dance even if i was ready to jump, it could probably bring me back. you can't help but to be happy.

Day 01 - Your favorite song

2010-05-20T05:43:00.000-07:00

i always try to skip this question. favourite song. kill me. oh, i'll just go for the obvious. the good old days - the libertines. i honestly think that's the one. it's the one i always return to. it's the one i just can't skip when my ipod is on shuffle, because it might hurts its feelings. it's not just a song, it's a piece of my teenage life, my now, it's a friend and an addiction i can't seem to get rid of, even if i wanted. so yes. these are the good old days, cause there were no good old days.

stolen words, stolen life

2010-05-20T05:34:00.000-07:00

when your inactivity starts to bother even yourself it's time to get over yourself, get some motivation, get drunnk - it always starts the drama, get the carousel spinning. no. not today. instead i will totally rip off another blogger, found this list on a blog of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. ok, not that many "of a friend" but i liked the sound of that sentence. it made me feel like this friend chain could lead me to anyone. anyway, here's what i'm talking about:

Day 01 - Your favorite song
Day 02 - Your least favorite song
Day 03 - A song that makes you happy
Day 04 - A song that makes you sad
Day 05 - A song that reminds you of someone
Day 06 - A song that reminds of you of somewhere
Day 07 - A song that reminds you of a certain event
Day 08 - A song that you know all the words to
Day 09 - A song that you can dance to
Day 10 - A song that makes you fall asleep
Day 11 - A song from your favorite band
Day 12 - A song from a band you hate
Day 13 - A song that is a guilty pleasure
Day 14 - A song that no one would expect you to love
Day 15 - A song that describes you
Day 16 - A song that you used to love but now hate
Day 17 - A song that you hear often on the radio
Day 18 - A song that you wish you heard on the radio
Day 19 - A song from your favorite album
Day 20 - A song that you listen to when you’re angry
Day 21 - A song that you listen to when you’re happy
Day 22 - A song that you listen to when you’re sad
Day 23 - A song that you want to play at your wedding
Day 24 - A song that you want to play at your funeral
Day 25 - A song that makes you laugh
Day 26 - A song that you can play on an instrument
Day 27 - A song that you wish you could play
Day 28 - A song that makes you feel guilty
Day 29 - A song from your childhood
Day 30 - Your favorite song at this time last year

now, force me to be active dear list!

a thousand dollars for your kiss, fifty cents for your soul

2010-05-19T01:02:00.000-07:00

exposure. not in a headline kind of way, more of a "here, i put my bare neck in front of you, will you please not bite it" - sort of thing. sharing what's not shallow comments and silly jokes, the parts that keep you from falling asleep, the things that kill even the slightest possibility of making your hangover sunday useful, the thoughts that make you want to bang your head against a wall, sleep and never get up again, freeze time or make it fly, the restlessness that haunts you and makes nothing feel ok, what is definitely not your most easy side to swallow for a new acquaintance. we all fear it. the exposure. we all fear it, and we all want it, for the second we stick our necks out and someone doesn't bite we know, know that this particular someone wishes us no harm. still we hide. some behind the comfort of their own petulance, others behind their bluntness - stating their honesty when in fact it's just an outer layer concealing the real truth, some even behind their happy smiles. i know a song with the lyrics "you came to be heard, i came to answer your call", to me that is the most loving words you could ever say to someone. that you are there to listen, not to speak, not to judge, not to go away, to stay and hear them out. that is love in its utter form, and we don't let it in. be loved.

i hope i don't sound too ungrateful

2010-04-28T19:23:00.000-07:00

i don't exactly know how to put this, a few pints of red stripe on pubs too many, a few sips of red wine too many, a few songs danced to on death disco too many, and a journey home too long not to get disturbingly drunkenly serious on. morrissey, though you've made an aching heart feel - so many times before, you'll have to excuse. and conor, though i still want tear drenched and desperate sex with you, you'll have to excuse. when it comes to violent loneliness there is no one, no one, on this planet who can, or rather could, describe it like joakim berg did in -94. when you don't want the stranger on the bus to get off and leave you to your solitude, when even his unfamiliar face seems somehow comforting, just the warmth of him somewhat close to you, just another person, not a word, not even a glance, just knowing it's not just darkness and nothing else. that's stanna hos mig. for possible (who am i kidding) english readers, stay with me, but you'll never understand anyway.

2010-04-27T17:31:00.000-07:00

"...don't ask me why I obsessively look to rock 'n' roll bands for some kind of model for a better society...I guess it's just that I glimpsed something beautiful in a flashbulb moment once, and perhaps mistaking it for a prophecy have been seeking its fulfillment ever since."

the worst taste in music

2010-04-27T16:54:00.000-07:00

the radio dept said it better than i ever can, and that in just a title. i worked yesterday. nothing out of the ordinary. only this time it was two hours of the most glorious work time ever, followed by six and a half hours battle and torture. i arrived at the mad hatter around noon, changed into my (thankfully all black) work outfit, took the essential cup of black coffee (i love the fact that i get to make it myself, means extraextraextra strength), took a few lunch orders and decided to play the good girl and deal with some hardcore cleaning assignments. the worst thing you can do is clean the glasswasher, mainly because of the stench, but the pink disgusting muddy dirt in it doesn't help much. i had already done that the day before. the next thing on the list of cleaning you don't wanna do is cleaning the ice machine. it's filthy and you have to move what feels like a couple of millions of ice cubes, this is what i decided to deal with. in order to not just give up immediately i put on the one decent playlist we've got and imagine my surprise when i found the task to be not so bad when i could singalong to i am the resurrection and paint it black. it was totally bearable. i almost enjoyed myself.

then hell began. my colleague arrived, and say whatever you like about her, people who enjoy top 40 are never gonna get far in my book. one song was called baby. i can see why. that's the one lyric i can remember. over and over and over again. baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby. takes some real songwriting talent to make up something that eye opening. and what a gifted artist the singer must be, i mean, not only is he lacking the ability of writing his own songs, he is also incapable of choosing a songwriter with any kind of talent.

hope that was a somewhat understandable example of my personal do's and don'ts in music, because i will now bring up the actual subject of this post. why (WHYYYYYYYYYYY? POOOOOOR QUEEEEEEE? as julian casablancas would have put it) on earth do people listen to top 40? why? is it like a family thing. sunday dinner with rude boy on full volume? (it's a really crap rihanna - song about a rude boy, asking if he can get his dick up and whether or not it has the proper size) that's how i got my musical preferences. my dad. atleast he played a part in it. no he didn't introduce me to the libertines, he even thinks pete is a no good junkie, and he still does not approve of lou reed (who happens to be one of my house gods), and yes, he still thinks lemmy from motörhead is the greatest man in the music industry, but i was practically breast fed the likes of the clash, stones and dylan. that's the great part of his vinyl collection. and honestly, say what you like about old school hard rock, it's still a thousand times better than fucking blipblip house. at least the metal guys are actual musicians, not a computer nerd who got sick of wanking to youtube vids and decided that "hey, if i make serious crap music i'll actually get laid instead of playing with myself". and they do not have their mouths full of some serious ugly "jewellery", i believe it's called grillZzZzZ. and they don't have to sing about wanting to smack asses and shooting people and fuck knows what.

i've actually forgotten my purpose with this all. think i just needed to ventilate a bit, and express my hatred. i'm gonna listen to the velvet underground now, and i'm gonna think of my dad and miss his air guitar skills in front of the computer.

about kisses

2010-04-26T03:51:00.001-07:00

a return of the deep and manly jessica. i've been thinking about kisses, they're a bit weird, aren't they? someone sticks their tongue in your mouth and you go for it. i hate kisses with loads of tongue, feels like a wet choking. some like it. especially italians. especially italian models. avoid that if you don't like the golden retriever kind of kiss. i've been thinking about why we do it. well, it's obvious why. to some it's just a nice way of wasting time, to others an expression of feelings, but usually it's just the first step towards sex. i have other reasons to it. i never think of the next step, i have never in my life actually thought about sex before i'm already in it (or well, it is in me, if we want to be technical), i've never really had feelings, and usually it's not a good timewaste (see description of italian models and their way of kissing). i'd say my number one reason to kiss someone is absolute drunkenness. alright, i've kissed on dares, i've kissed to make someone shut up, i've even kissed out of pity, but mostly i just do it when i'm drunk. if i can't afford another beer i might as well find something (someone) else to do. my last kiss was friday night/saturday morning. my best kiss? i honestly don't know. not the italian model, that's for sure.

2010-04-25T02:22:00.000-07:00

there's an episode of family guy where they go to all sorts of different dimensions (i love the pun of the disney dimension where a song about pie is interrupted by the discovery of a jew in the room) but the only dimension us normal people are allowed to visit is the dream dimension. i love dreams. didn't before, since i had horrible nightmares. nightmares that were scary for real, nowadays they're more scary/funny. sometimes i dream a bit tragic dreams as well, and sometimes quite psychadelic, i guess you could say in dream dimension i take my bipolarity to the extreme.

just a few nights ago i dreamt that mia told me she was sick of me, sick of london, sick of life, and decided to go back and find her roots (basically digging up the old horned helmet and drinking mead from a bone cup). i often dream i'm falling, or that i jump, or that i push someone over the edge. if i knew anything about dream interpretation i'd probably be worried about that. once i dreamt i had sex with peter doherty on upper deck of a boat. that was a good dream. last night i dreamt that somebody loved me. no, i didn't, but i listened to it a couple of times.

absolutely random and meaningless i am. gonna go smoke on the balcony now.

why don't you find out for yourself?

2010-04-24T16:06:00.000-07:00

egotistical nonsense, you are probably not interested at all. i've been thinking about me. my ability to push people away, never letting them in, letting them feel i'm good for nothing but a couple of pints, if even that. i relate to weepy song lyrics rather than people because i see people as possible enemies rather than friends. i'm sure you don't wonder why, if you've even come this far, but i might as well continue, if i'm gonna whine i might as well do it properly.

i'm scared of making a fool out of myself, to stretch out a hand and wait for the hurt that will surely come. i never admit to my self loathing, or my self loving. of my desire to escape, but how the fear of losing whatever grip i have holds me back. how i feel it's not enough to take part in the revolution, as history only remembers the leaders. i can't believe i'm embarrassing enough to write that. that i see a life as someone unimportant as a waste, as a hopeless search of nothing at all, that i might as well be dead as pass by unnoticed. still i try my best not to make an impression, push you away when you get close to my weaknesses, although i've said so many times that it's the cons, not the pros, that make a person who he/she is. i don't want everyone to know that at times i find my own reflection so repulsing i'd rather be blind than see it. that sometimes agony hits me so hard i just want to crawl into fetal position and cry my eyes out, but i don't because i'm cold and unfeeling. i'm trapped between my knowing, and contempt, that people have so much shorter to talking than listening, and my wish that sometime someone would want to hear me out. and then i wonder what i think i've got to say that is worth being heard. at times i hear myself rant and just wish i knew how to shut the fuck up, yet i keep going. like now.

oh, and on other notes: due to my escalating sluttiness today i start my new life in celibacy. because it worked out so well for the catholics.

about outfits

2010-04-22T15:46:00.000-07:00

since i'm so fucking manly (not too mention my intellectual depth) i am gonna write an entire post about clothes. no, there won't be pictures of the lovely outfits i'll mention. i'll just go straight to them.

outfit 1: heels. that's all you need to know. wore them this saturday, my thighs were sore for two days. fuck you random guy at bus stop who said i was fit, obviously not!

outfit 2: (not on me) grey knitwear with big man's shirt over. lovely, just lovely. especially since i had slept drunk in the shirt for two nights and even in that state felt a bit nasty in it because of the smell due to it being left in the washing machine a few hours too many.

outfit 3: (not on me) yesterday's clothes, from head to toe, from inside out. completed with excellent "just got fucked" - hair and a beanie, plus eyes that would make a drunk diana seem, well, not so drunk diana. oh, and a huge plastic bag over the shoulder. i'd like to label this look "alcoholic hobo 101" and it was worn in the most posh part of chelsea. well worn dear friend, well worn.

outfit 4: (not on me) trainers. what the fuck is wrong with every potentially hot guy who decides that trainers is the fashion statement of the year? it's not. it's ugly, it makes you ugly, i don't like it when you make yourselves ugly. be pretty.

outfit 5: denim with denim. i didn't feel fashion at all, it's a big lie, i felt like i had the imagination of a plastic plant. minus the fact that i had clothes on.

outfit 6: nudity, because it seems to be my number one choice these days.

outfit 7: beer in hair. because it adds volume even to extremely flatt, swedish and blonde hair like mine. trying to ignore that it's long enough to make people think it's the sole survivor of woodstock 69, well, the sole survivor that still looks exactly the same.

outfit 8: (not on me) harry potter glasses and a scar. because harry potter is cool.

outfit 9: (hopefully on me) nonchalance, making people look hotter since forever.

outfit 10: doc martens. nightmare for your sweet feet odor, nightmare when it comes to not being taken as a racist (everyone is still staring deep inside that wellknown box), nightmare when it comes to being accepted in chelsea, but fuck me, i don't care, they still look good.

outfit 11: rape spray and face paint (pink and green). everywhere, anywhere, and as much as possible. gives you that "i've been at an afterparty with seriously disturbed drug dealers" - look in seconds. do it right though, or you'll look like a raver, and that is still not acceptable. glitter inside the sweater is also quite nice, and is quite the same concept.

outfit 12: rape sprayed and face painted formerly red doc martens. because why go red when you can go redgreenpinkrapesprayfacepaint?

i am a fashionista people.

aldrig aldrig ensam

2010-03-30T11:02:00.000-07:00

i know i am late. extremely late. several months late. that the hype is long gone. but first of all, i didn't see this show (i'm waywayway too indie for public tv goddamnit) and second - i never had the intention of posting this on my blog, especially not since this is a british blog and posting a swedish song on it seems quite contradictory, but today, while i was on the hammersmith & city line back to dear old whitechapel and my ipod randomly selected this tune i realized that i had no choice but to post it. why? because it's fucking genius, that's why.

the albion sails on course

2010-03-29T17:29:00.000-07:00

it chars my heart to always hear you calling
calling for the good old days
cause there were no good old days
these are the good old days

the libertines '10

the art of nonfeeling

2010-03-29T04:46:00.000-07:00

i've always been quite good at it, turning away from what hurts, closing my eyes and shutting my mind, blocking it, shutting down completely. usually because it feels like the easy way out. because it feels like letting something in or out will start a chain reaction and there's nothing scarier than being overwhelmed by what's rough, what haunts you, whatever that might be. so i've shut down all my life, swallowed my fears, shutting the demons up. because i've grown into a master of nonfeeling the current situation is impossible to cope with. i go from numb to tears in seconds, too salty french fries starts it off and i can't control it. it's impossible. because this time it's not me. it's not my demons. demons that have grown familiar, that i can keep in leash. demons that are possible to keep out, or at least at an approved sound level. i have somehow learned to live with my own dark thoughts. now, how do i live with someone else's?

she, who used to be close to me, was now almost a stranger. part of the life i left behind, because some of it forced the complete shutdown, because some of it drew out the demons in the first place. by blocking that out i also blocked her out. because it was easier for me. it's always what's easier for me. we are an egotistical race indeed.

the worst part is it won't sink in, i don't believe it, or rather i do believe it, i've heard the words been said and you don't joke about these things, i do believe it, i know it's true, but it won't get to me. it's still too surreal. and i dread the day it will finally hit me. it's not even that i can't understand it, i can very well, perhaps too well, and i respect it too. if you see no other way out, if you are that deep down that you can only see one escape then i respect it, but the situation of being left behind, of dealing with her choice is not a pleasant one. i think i realize now that it doesn't happen to you, it happens to the people around you. or maybe i say that because it's easier to play the victim in this case. now this won't be a sentimental note over an unwanted life, a life that burned out rather than faded away. you were always in a rush. i just wish i'd said that in person.

bengali in platforms (in lack of better)

2010-03-10T13:51:00.000-08:00

next to a bengali off licence is a mcdonalds, a man with a lazy eye and a dog walks past the restaurant windows and smiles at me, a bank is squeazed between a liquor store and what used to be a pub, coffee for a pound is expensive and rent over 200 is waste, some don't even buy their own fags, some people might call it ugly, say it looks like the kind of place where you get raped and mugged and possibly even killed, some people see the junkies on the street and say that's how you'll end up if you stay there for too long, some people even say it's far away, far away from their reality maybe but not from mine, to me it's a place i'd like to stay for a long long time, the night bus go through the entire area, connecting it, the smell of gasoline, dirt and indian curries, a costume boy looking more than a bit lost next to a man in holey boots and a big knitted sweater, two dogs starting a fight, a boy shouting something at me, tired mothers, tired fathers, tired children and amongst all this walk the most beautiful boys in all of london town.

desperation and a troubled mind

2010-03-01T17:21:00.000-08:00

peppermint tea in the middle of the night, a throat that burns as desire on a saturday night, i took a shower this morning and cried my way through it, the pain was unbearable, hot flushes like i'm in the middle of my menopause, fuck it, i'm in london and i can't even walk down the stairs, not even take a shower, without wanting to throw myself off our balcony.

the search for a flat goes on, been looking mainly to the east where a promise of dancing through the night at warehouse parties, drinking strongbow from bottles the size only coke comes in at home and discussing philosophy until birds start singing and the sun is rising over hackney streets, random dancing with french guys and trying to escape jamaican guys with gold teeth desperately telling you that apparently you've 'got a pretty face'. maybe it's true what they say about favourite places, that the mists of nostalgia make the memory of them so much better than the fatal time when reality hits you. i've lost my love for camden lock, the frenetic asians offering fried chicken although you've walked past them a thousand times before and told them that you don't things with a heartbeat, the tourists walking in their own tourist pace - taking up the left side on the escalators, pointing out every single leather piece and actually waiting for the green light, i even loath the average leatherjacked camden beau, with his messy hair and second hand shirt, his way of acting nonchalant is wearing thin when you see the same desperation in his eyes as every other man and woman. only by night does camden still hold a shed of its former mystery, only then does the strange creatures leave their homes, only then do they mix with the rest of us, only then does the possibility of finding someone with something to say, something that actually matters, occur. and here i am, ranting over the commerciality when i plan to go to westminster abbey on wednesday like a proper tourist.

people try to put us down

2010-02-19T05:34:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-02-12T04:04:00.000-08:00

allt dom bygger upp ska vi meja ner

2010-02-12T03:54:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-11T04:29:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-07T04:36:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-05T04:36:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-04T10:32:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-04T01:13:00.000-08:00

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.

let's fuck it up boys, make some noise

2010-01-31T11:44:00.001-08:00

it was nothing out of the ordinary. got a bit drunk courtesy of bubbly and red wine, drank pretty much anything i could get my hands on, got money and a lollipop from mr dj, might have pushed my way through the dancefloor and stepped on some sensitive toes, smoked in the bathroom, talked to the girls who had the same dress as me on, saw a beautiful man, got a hug from a boy i've talked to once before - about from where he recognised me (probably thought i was the lil sis from gossip girl, i get that a lot), befriended a girl by dancing as a maniac to babyshambles, screaming out the lyrics, even tried to start a riot in order to get another song when the lights were turned on, didn't work. i might even have pulled a belly button ring. not sure though. the question is what i did in between.

please don't confront me with my failures

2010-01-26T16:27:00.000-08:00

too drunk to fuck, too honest to lie, too tired to write. writer's block is slowly killing me. the skin on my left thumb is cracked open and i'm sick of life. at least i'm leaving in less than a week, i'll ride doubledecker buses all the way through my youth, forget all about the snowy streets and tired jokes, i'll quote oscar wilde and hope that no one realizes what i'm doing, that everyone thinks i actually come up with these witty comments as i go, i'll sing and dance and live under the influence, and i'll manage when sober, the books i read will never be finished because once finished they're in the past and i'd like to stay for as long as i possibly can, in due time i will know the ballad of reading gaol by heart, i'll spraypaint all the grey into black, if i can i'll write a book that will change absolutely no one's life except perhaps my own, when i feel like it i will stop listening and start imagine things in my head, i'll drink too much coffee, i don't care if it's good or if it's bad, maybe i won't get alzheimers maybe i will get cancer, i'll never read the newspaper except when i'm on the train and if someone decides to discuss recent events i'll just act as if i know what they're talking about, i'll be right in front at gigs and i'll push my way up to the singer if i have to and then i won't know any of the lyrics, i'll just be there, drunk and fucked up, and when i come home i won't go to sleep because i'll write stupid blog posts, and i won't trust anybody, not even my closest friends, because god knows people are cunning and everyone might just be waiting to stab my back, and i'll listen to conor oberst and think he knows my pains and sufferings simply because he writes sad songs because he does too much drugs, and i'll romanticise peter doherty even though the magazines call him junkie and my mother says he's gross and he might seem like a douchebag but he writes amazing poetry, he really does, and i'll still be addicted to facebook even though it makes me stressed, and if you're still reading this text you're worthy of a big round of applause, too bad there's no one there to hand it to you, and in my head i'll always be the heroine while in reality i'm not even the heroin, when i let my hands go they always write this shit, i have no idea what i just wrote, and this will be the end of it. when rock 'n' roll is dead where the fuck will i put my hopes and trusts and dreams and longings?

work is the curse of the drinking classes

2010-01-19T07:17:00.000-08:00

on public demand (by that i mean one friend telling me my last post was cute) i thought i'd write once more in here while still on swedish ground. right now i am in over my head in preparations for my last night of drunken mayhem in sweden. that is, i'm trying to figure out what on earth i should drink and how the hell i'll get my filthy hands on it. i really should be focusing on translating grades and giving my cv the final touch but i suppose the whole "i'm leaving the country in a fortnight" - thing has yet to sink in.

i am a real mess right now, haven't showered for two days, reading oscar wilde and letting alison mosshart sing me som kind of i-am-not-a-bit-tired-but-can-i-just-fall-asleep-anyway - lullaby. this kind of meaningless existing is really taking it's toll on me, i honestly feel drained and my absolutely exhausting efforts for today was making myself a meal (i don't know if i should call it breakfast, lunch or dinner), reading and taking a walk. life is fucking amazing sometimes. and that was me being sarcastic, as i find it safer to tell you since some people are thick enough to don't catch up on sarcasm. it'll happen a lot here. sarcasm that is.

i probably won't write again until i've left this nation of decay but i know better than to say it'll definitely not happen. hopefully next time i'll actually have something to write though. hopefully i say, not likely.

take a drink of my red wine, i've got enough to go around

2010-01-14T13:58:00.000-08:00

i wasn't supposed to start this blog yet, it's not my time, not yet. i had to warn you though, this blog is, in the words of the gallagher brothers, about cigarettes and alcohol. not that i am particularly fond of oasis, quite the opposite actually, stuck up dickheads in my opinion, didn't do any good after the nineties anyway. that's what too much ego does to one. let's not linger on oasis, i was supposed to introduce myself, or atleast that was the idea. i love it when you hear a song for the xth time and one of the lines suddenly stand out and starts to mean something to you. i love the smell of books. i love hats. i love cats. not the musical, the animal. i love to listen to music on your ipod and have that special song give you some much needed confidence when you walk past people you want to feel superior to. i love dancing when drunk. i love singing. i love the smell after spring rain. i love dark coffee. i love vinyls. i love songs that save our lives. i love red wine and czech beer. i love discussions out of the ordinary. i love london.

the things i hate will become obvious over time, but i'd rather not start an aquaintance by hating. that might scare somebody off. but i do hate when i realize i come of as stupid when i'm drunk.

i am afraid of the dark. i am afraid of being left completely alone. i am afraid that i will never see a meaning to life, just go through it like i do today. i am afraid of horror movies. i am afraid of the feeling i sometimes get when looking up at the sky on really cold nights. i am afraid of being unimportant. i am afraid of endings.

really, how much does a blog tell you about the orator? what you'll read are just fragments of my life, what i choose to share with the world wide web, my self portrait. retouched and edited. it's a narcissistic story, where i choose the me you get to know, it's a one way relation where i pour things out and you read, comprehend and interpret, it's my truth, now tell me yours.