Epiphanic? Epiphaniacal?...

Using this opportunity to develop a skill that really matters, I attempt to blow smoke rings with my Dunhills. I light one after the other after the other like it’s going out of style to smoke in a bar so full of thick smoke already that eye contact with anyone on the opposite end is virtually impossible.
Where I work, the only way to survive if you're female is to not smile back, so for the whole ten hours of my shift my face is one big scowl. And I'm so used to my being so friendly that this is actually incredibly liberating, my being a bitch.
When I feel like my lungs can't really take it anymore, I lean back in my seat and set about destroying as many square inches of cloth as I can with my thread pulling.
And all I can think about is how I really want to leave and go to Rome or maybe Paris. I can't even believe I'm saying this but what I really feel like is some normalcy. I want to work in a record store. Vintage, preferably. In some other continent, maybe. I'd tell people my name is Penny, wear my hair in pigtails and maybe I'll give myself an accent. Or maybe not. Even a library would do. Aa... I'd be the best, working in a library.
At this point some asshole comes to pay for one of the dancers and is waiting for his change and I smile, his change still in hand, and ask him whether he wants to tip the nice waitress. He nods and starts to say something but I turn my back to him quickly. Fifty euros in tips, oh so dazzling is my charm. Cue* eye roll.
But then I'm thinking when it comes to it, I only really like the idea of normalcy. Not that I've ever given it much of a chance...
Ugh. You stay awake all night and you start being really epiphanic, if that even counts as a word.
Maybe the whole point of this is that no matter where you are, it's never the right place. And no matter what you have , you always want something you believe to be better.
And I really don't know about living in the now all the time. My attention span is really not that long.
How long can you go on ignoring the bigger picture?

Shock

Bruise me shocked with truth and nails
Honest participation
Tell me how to feel
Reach my soul with teeth, clawed hands
Light me anticipated.
Give me something real
Suck my breath and brand my flesh
Mark me your satisfaction
Show me how to feel.
Teach me.

Warped and twisted.

Why do I always fall for the jerks, huh?
I don't know why I do this to myself. And the thing is, they act like jerks with me. Then they go find some girl and suddenly turn all nice. And it makes me fall even harder. And I know that this would be just them masking themselves up, because hey, I know what an ass the specific guy really is. Yet I decide to intentionally convince myself that they're nicer now, really...
That's just so fucked up.

Twilighted?

The picture is me squinting like one of those posh ladies in the 1960s movies. Or was it the 60s? Anyways, in my head I had glossy red lipstick and slick, shiny hair, head tilted backwards, smoking a cigarette from its holder and smirking knowingly. I have a slight flair for the dramatics.
Where I was really was, was at work behind a stinking bar, no doubt looking like an idiot smirking to myself. Well, it was either that or crying.
I could feel this pair of eyes just burning a hole into me. The S.W.D. ( Scary Weird Dude) decided to nurse his unrequited love by drowning himself in Jack. Well, not drowning. Downing.
His eyes were following me everywhere. Every time I looked up, he was right in front of me, like some freaky Matrix move. Or a vampire. That particular thought had me in hysterics and before you could say 'Prada', I was having a close albeit blurry encounter with the filthy carpet and endless cigarette butts, doubled over in laughter.
Yeah... people were probably questioning my sanity at this point. That made me laugh even harder. Maybe they'd leave me the fuck alone. I somehow always seem to manage to get socially adopted by either Aggressively Happy People, or Creeps. Tough.
And S.W.D. was still looking at me weird, trying to talk to me. And it was funny because he was behaving like every body's fictitious crush, Edward Cullen. With the brooding and the intense looks and him wanting to just hold me and me waking up in his shirt ... it was SO fucking annoying and chillingly creepy. It was.. no.. just NO.
And everyone of these girls thinks this novel character is so romantic and sweet. What they choose to ignore is that he's obsessive and stalking and creepy. If every one of them met a guy like that in real life, they'd be having restraining orders issued like they were warm bread buns.
The lion does does not 'fall in love with the lamb', people. It eats it.
Cheers.

Time

Why is it that people wait till they're seventy to have a bucket list?
Why is it that people, they have to wait till just before they're married to go to strip clubs?
Why is it that people have to be struck by some disease to go on that longed for holiday?
Why is that we're always apologizing to corpses?
Why is that people have to be given a deadline in order to live what they want?
So last minute.
James Dean, he said once, Live as if you'll die Tomorrow, Dream as if you'll live forever.
And what he meant was that, sometimes we have to forget the bigger picture and focus on the details.
Un-wait.
The whole is less important than the sum of its parts.
What I want to do is live my life the way I imagine it. The way I want. Be happy.
What I want is one big adventure.
I don't want my life crammed in a single word.

Iris ; The Secret Life Of...

Iris - Keeper of the Rainbow

"Throughout the ages, the rainbow has been the symbol of hope, a promise of better things to come. The ancient Greeks personified the rainbow as the goddess Iris, the favourite handmaiden and messenger of Hera, the queen of the heavenly court of Olympus. Carried by her shimmering wings, Iris travels so swiftly that mortals can see only the trail of her rainbow-coloured passage across the sky".

Isn't this absolutely lovely? Greek mythology has a way of explaining things in the most romantic light. And I had absolutely no idea Iris was the name of a goddess.

I guess you learn. This is what happens when you've got nothing better to do than surf the net aimlessly. Eh.

Of barcodes and board games...

What I dream of is to lead as fact less a life as I possibly can. The facts - my name, where I'm from, what my CV looks like, how well I get along with my family - inevitable information given to me by birth. Information accumulating over time, gathering dust on shelves.
Facts. Statistics. Superficially essential and absolutely irrelevant.
That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet... and all that jazz. Basically.
I am on my own, alone, independent, absorbed in my own random thoughts and I am almost absurdly lucid. Myself. An anonymous, asexual, ageless soul.
And maybe this is not really coming across the way it sounded in my head. The feeling it brings when I think of myself outside given facts and labels is something like that first deep gasp for air right after breaking the water surface.
Why be limited by what you didn't choose? Be shaped into something, not knowing why?
What I mean is... What would it be like if I could take it up a notch? Be my own personal Reincarnation Project. If I wake up in a different place and a different timezone, could I wake up a different someone? Almost, not quite.
If the people around you insist on giving importance to such frivolous facts, you could play around with that. Have fun. Change the facts. Don't share.
The world is your game you get to play by your rules.
The way you're going, you've got nothing to lose.

Mirror, Mirror...

I just wonder sometimes, what it would feel like to stop caring. To let myself grow fat and ugly. Stop doing my hair, stop brushing my teeth, doing such an effort. Be so grotesque that people, they wouldn't even look at me. Look right through me.
I could stare a hole through anyone, and people wouldn't even notice. They'd make such an effort to ignore me. You have to wonder sometimes, what it feels like to be really ass ugly. Or deformed.
I bet it would be so liberating, not having to care. Just giving up hope of someday being stunning. Giving up hope is such freedom sometimes.
We're so conditioned by the power that beauty is.
Mirror Mirror on the wall...

The hills, they're ALIVE.... HA!!!

My usual existential angst has temporarily fled my body so that I feel light and exceptionally giddy Hmm... the night and how it is is, everyone appears to be asleep. I love how quiet everything is. How the lights sparkle and everyone just shuts up. How the air smells like wet and summer and damp grass.
Maybe it's because I bought sneakers. In my mind, I'm already a whole bunch healthier.
Could be it's because I'm reading something really really hilarious. It involves people, an embarassing situation, and we all know how funny other people's humiliation is.
Either way, how I feel right now is like running on top of a green green hill in the middle of Salzburg, wearing a horrendous brown dress with a twirly skirt, take a deep breath like I can actually breathe from how tight the dress is at my tiny waist, pirouette like nobody's buisness and sing... " Theee hills are aliiiivvveeee... with the sound of muuu-siiiccc....!!!!"

Dreams Dreams Dreams

This pretty picture reminded me of that lovely poem I posted a while ago by Pablo Neruda.
And God knows, I'm not the clingy type at all, but you tell me which girl wouldn't want to be loved like dark things are loved? Delicately? Secretly? Like a secret obsession...
A mutual addiction...

Echo

And God, I'm so tired of being me me me all the time.
I'm so tired of being the center of my own universe... I'm so tired of being always the same person.
What I need is a script and a stage and a new story. What I need is to shut up and let everybody else think me up while I think of something else.
I guess what I'm trying to say is; until I become what I want myself is all I will think about. What to do, where to go...
Sometimes I feel like Narcissius had nothing on me.
Mostly I'm Echo... stumbling around in the dark.

Tired to the power of...

Where I'm supposed to be in bed. Where I'm supposed to be sleeping , dreaming. Or maybe waking up.
Where I am is at six o'clock in the morning, sitting in a new car, the smell of formaldahyde wafting up my nose. Do you know, formaldahyde is what they store dead foetuses and frogs and hearts and whatnot in, in lab jars. New car smell. New carpet smell. Biology Lab smell. Smells of clean cut death. And it's toxic.
Jump to me being too damn dramatic, Jesus I tire myself out, at six in the morning heading home from work with the sun blinding me. And I don't know which is worse. No really. At this point I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. Give me a clue.
What I need to do is to stop overthinking things. What I need to do is to stop being disappointed. Living too much in your own head and the side effect you get is, you're let down. Because nothing is as good as you can imagine it.
What I need to do is stop living off of coffee and cigarettes. Running on fumes.
What I need to do is do something so absurd and surreal to give me a break from all this normalcy.
Give me a break.

Rumblings of a semi comatose

Where I work, these girls, they smoke long thin white cigarettes they forget in the ashtrays repeatedly, so they burn out and end up one long greay burnt ash. Like incense. Only it smells like shit. Only it kills you.
Where I work is a strip joint and right here, right now I'm the waitress/bartender. I've just finished my shift and I'm dead beat but this is too funny not to write about. This guy, let's call him John because that is his name. For real. He asked me when he could see me. I smiled. He asked me when he could see me. I smiled. Third fucking time, I'm not that much of a bitch, to say, listen pal, I don't really think this is going to work out. And truth be told, I wasn't that all against it. I'm kind of missing the idea of having male arms hug me tight tight tight.
Fast forward a couple of hours when john is drunk off his ass off Jack. He takes hold of my sticky sugary hands and asks me to stay with him. And I laugh, I genuinely say and What John, would I get paid for exactly?
This guy whose name I didn't even know last week was asking me to stay at his place. Cue belly laughter* Oh god, and I'm tired and maybe a bit high on passive nicotine intake, but God, it's funny as hell. He looks at me all serious and says, IJustWantToWakeUpInYourArms. He says, this is all we need to know about each other. I fucking kid you not. Wake up in each other's arms? Is this what kids are calling it these days? Do I give off some vibe I put out easily?
Wait. Wait. Don't answer that.
Fast forward to a couple more hours, more sulking ensues and hey, John looks at me and says, 'Are you a lesbian?' for real. I mean, I have to be, since I'm not putting out, aren't I?
And then he says 'It's your loss!'.
Instant gratification denial, anyone?
This guy who hadn't even asked me for a date wanted me to sleep in his arms. In his clothes. Hahaha!!! God, serisouly... I must be one of the most unattractive sleeping persons ever.
What happened to men who knew how to flirt, huh? Who snuk up on you and subtly brushed their hands up your thigh... who rested their hands softly on your lower back. Whose eyes met yours when you felt them staring. Who, when you couldn't take it anymore, shoved you high up some godawful wall, and pound you senseless...?
Hand holding? Wake up in each other's arms...? Jay-zus...

Insomnia

All night long, your thoughts are on the air. Am I sleeping? Have I slept at all? And then you know how when you can't sleep, everything becomes an out of body experience.
That was me last night, and I quite clearly remember arguing with people in my room that it was absolutely not normal that I was arguing with people in my room that just weren't there. They answered me back. My door opened on its own. This was probably all in my head. Probably. It's worse than when you're drunk and remember in flashes.
I took a walk around the house. I drank water, drank water drank water. Such a drag when you can't sleep, when you're actually falling alseep that you get so excited and your heart starts beating so wildly that you wake yourself back up. And all I was waiting for was light.
Twenty years old and the middle of the night still terrifies me.
And I'm biting the inside of my mouth so much. My tongue feels like sandpaper.
And instead of counting sheep I'm counting reasons.
And even though nobody died from lack of sleep. You still feel like ripping your hair out.
Dawn makes everything better.

Asphyxia

How many masks can you put on until you get confused and forget who you were in the first place, huh? How many people can you be...?
How is it that some people, well, they keep on changing yet manage to be the same deadly virus?
If you love something, set it free. If you hate something, well. Set it free.
When you're sick of starting over, when you see that every new beginning is just in fact a continuation, when you're ready to be who you want to be... cut yourself off.
Eventually you see that your roots, what started you off, they're holding you back.
Choking you.

Sighs, sighs...

Just for the record, the weather today is sunny and the air is full of... hmm... can dreamy-ness pass as a word? I stumbled coincidentally on this lovely poem by Pablo Neruda, some months ago... Cue girls sighing everywhere*


"I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close".

Ehh... ehh...

I won't worry my life away

I'm a No/Mad Nomad nooommmaaadddd...
People, they seem to have a problem with me not having a clue about lots of things. Like, they don't approve of what I do, or what I want to become. Or how to go about it. Or that I can't live in one place for too long.
It's funny how when you notice it, it's people who have issues with what should be your own personal, private concerns. You can't talk because you know most of them, they won't understand.
And when you can't talk about your problems and your concerns, it makes you not give a shit about other people's. It really goes like this. You only ask people about their weekends so you can tell them about yours. True fact.
What's also funny, and this is me NotBeingSarcastic, is. People can't live with what they can't label. Where is she from?Where does she live? What does she do? WhyWhereWhatWHAT??!!!
It kind of gives you a funny feeling of fondness... like you're petting a pet that's done something really stupid and funny at the same time. Most people are so predictable.
Me, hmm... I Just feel really really light.
And I get that you have to trade your youth for something, at some point. A future, Stability. Whatnot. But not yet.
With the sun shining, and the blue blue sky, and me being where I am right now, what I become could be anything. The smell of sea and wet grass, and my good good friends. Special mention of A.
I won't worry my life away.

Cue*

Because even the strongest of rocks still
breaks from the constant
angry waves.
The phoenix in love with the flame
that consumes it,
it still
gets burned. The shoe that doesn't
fit, you'll still stumble around
in it. Pain.
What doesn't kill you
doesn't
necessarily make
you stronger.
It
scars
you.