Saturday, September 19, 2015

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Rob Brezsny's advice for this week is to get naked and "cast a love spell on yourself." I might just do that. Maybe a spell is what I need to put an end to this endless stream of tears and self-loathing.

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BTS at the Harper's BAZAAR "ICONS" photoshoot


Have I ever been this pale? I think I like it. It makes me look the way I feel. Like a ghost.

Who knew anemia could be so fun? With this pale skin and all this hair loss I feel like I'm in a j-horror movie.


Nicole Dollanganger - Angels of Porn

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I've been in such a strange mood for months and I just want it to stop. And this has become so whiny that I can't stand it anymore. I'm thinking of moving to tumblr although I don't know what makes me think that a tumblr blog won't be just the same waste of space / time as this thing here. I don't know, I guess I just want smth new. A change. No matter how small.

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Sophie Calle asks: “What sets you apart from everyone else? What is missing from your life?”

What is missing from my life sets me apart from everyone else.


Tuesday, September 1, 2015

La rentrée

This playlist from Les Inrocks opens with a song called Envie d'ailleurs.



My ailleurs (Cluj) is so close and at the same time: so far away.

And yet on Sunday, when I had plans to go to Cluj (I had bought a theater ticket and everything), I changed my mind and decided I'd rather spend all day in bed watching Halt and Catch Fire. Yes, I'm back to my old habits (not going out, chaotic sleeping patterns ~ "je tourne en boucle"). But it's more than that. My trips to Cluj are a constant reminder that I don't belong there. That I'm a failure.

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Halt and Catch Fire (season 2, episode 5: "Infiltrator")

(The entire basis of consumer culture, basically.)

I love the passion, the FIRE of everyone in Halt and Catch Fire. It also makes me wonder why I don't have it. Sure, there will be days when I am so hungry - I want to read all the books, watch all the movies, write all the essays. That doesn't last long, though. I get so tired, so fast. First: my eyes. And soon: my entire body collapses into a deep sleep. Waking up is always so difficult.






Brève traversée / Brief Crossing (Catherine Breillat, 2001)

Waking up would be so much easier if I were able to keep that fire burning for more than a day.

(I wanna be Cameron so badly. Weird and crazy and brilliant. But this is also part of the not-going-to-happen. Too slow, not smart enough, etc.)

Also:



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However:

Fall has the power to renew my hopes. Even though for a brief time, things seem possible again. I make plans and lists. I get a new appetite for learning. (I've started re:learning Japanese for the nth time, and although Past Evidence says the contrary, I do think this time I'll be able to stick with it. I have to.) (I'd tell myself "ganbatte" but I know my best is not enough.)

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Cruel Summer



Each and every summer since I was 13. Since she left me. And I'll never know why. Or why all of our common friends (my only friends, that is) decided to side with her and disappear from my life. Literally overnight. O. was the only one who stuck around for a few more months but by winter, she would be gone too.

I'll never know why people stop liking me / don't like me. And it's definitely not smth you can just ask. And would knowing really help? I lack too many things, and it's too late to fix myself. (I hate it when people say "it's never too late." For some things, for most things it is too late.)

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From a book I haven't read:

"Friendless! Friendless! It lingered like a curse."

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Pretty Little Liars (season 6, episode 6: "No Stone Unturned")
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In the trailer for the second season of The Affair, Alison (Ruth Wilson) says:

"Sometimes I feel like I'm not a real person, like no one sees me."

This is what it all boils down to: being seen. Being seen as the only way of knowing that your existence isn't merely an illusion. That your existence matters. (This is exactly one of the reasons why I've been so obsessed with Fifty Shades. So much of it is about being seen.)

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Whenever I get this insecure I go and read my old blog posts or my Twitter feed, etc. As a way of reassuring myself that yes, I'm mostly boring, and yes, I can say some really dumb stuff, but also: I can be funny, and I can have good taste. I can be pretty awesome sometimes and fuck everybody for not noticing. But then the same nagging questions return: why did this or that person disappear? why did they lose interest? what's wrong with me?

From Jenny Hval's That Battle Is Over:

"everything I write begins with the question, WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?"

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Then again: it's easier this way. Loneliness and isolation make it easier to live with my many imperfections, with this disgusting blob of flesh that calls itself my body. And I do enjoy dancing on my own way more than I would enjoy dancing in a club or at a private party. And I do love watching movies by myself. So maybe focus on extending this list instead of obsessing over what I can't have, the not-going-to-happen? Ha. Whom am I trying to fool here? Obsessing over the not-going-to-happen is what I do. I just hope I'll get part of it out of my system and not let it get in my way. Fall is just around the corner and I need to start doing the things I promised myself I would do.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Zombie

iZombie (pilot)

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Mac DeMarco - Salad Days

actin' like my life's already over

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Margins / Marginalia

Note to self, 21/06/2014, at Electric Castle

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RETOX at Fabrica de Pensule on Monday evening. So much of what's been on my mind. So much of what's always on my mind. How to be in this world? Trembling lips mine,1 on the verge of tears for most of the performance. The mirror as an obstacle. You standing in your own way. The incapability of an encounter with your self. Which is also: the incapability of an encounter with the Other. The Other also being Love. Band-aids. Not enough band-aids in the world for our wounds. The wounds we inflict on our selves and on each other. Thinking again of Adam Phillips's lecture "Against Self-Criticism." The "I drink..." bit after I had been listening to Kendrick Lamar's Swimming Pools on a loop in the morning. Loving this line from the extended version: "All I have in life is my new appetite for failure." Also: "Okay, now open your mind up and listen to me, Kendrick / I am your conscience, if you do not hear me, then you will be history, Kendrick" - similar to the beginning of this performance ("I'm the voice in your head"). The gay man in love with his homophobic best friend. And his incapability of love. Of allowing himself to love another man. The last thing I read from Yasmina Reza's Heureux les heureux / Happy are the Happy while waiting to go in was from Philip Chemla's entry:


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a collage I made for M, on the occasion of the release of his book in CJ. (even before having read the book, I could already guess what elements I had to play with: bears, the gender binary, and sexuality)

M's book became a scrapbook. Marginalia, train tickets, movie tickets, chopstick wrappers from Nobori.

Reading his book: I got angry, I laughed (both with him and at him), I got sad. And I got nostalgic. Elements in one of his stories reminded me of our early emails. Things he'd mentioned in those emails ended up in this story. To Be or Not To Be, which he sent me. A National Geographic documentary caught late at night. It's nice to know I've been the witness - one of the witnesses - to his planting the seeds of this story, but at the same time, it's bittersweet.

This is already the second time this year that smth has sent me to our early emails. In my email drafts (aka the repository for my WORD VOMIT), after having read all of our emails, I wrote: "gosh, i miss you so much. but you know that means: i miss your self circa 2009."

And this last week, reading about I'm Very Into You has brought to surface so many insecurities. About that time, about now. Back then, I never wrote you a rushed email, felt so self-aware and yet they were still incredibly awkward and dull. I wanted to rise to your level so badly. (From "Blood and Guts in Emails:" Haley: "In some ways I do want to seduce you, I promise!! Seduce you intellectually. Seduce you as a friend.") But of course that wasn't / isn't possible.

Emma: "I think this is a really easy book to project a lot of your own internal biz onto." Also: how easy it is to project stuff on sm when most of your communication is written. And I have been doing that, on and off. And it's not fair. Not to you, not to myself. (Haley: "Like: the person who emailed me, for example, is very much alive and not a ghost, but there's no way they could know or really understand what kind of emotional impact their words would have on me.")

one of those Cluj days when you wear no mascara because you anticipate the possibility of crying in public. on trains, or on your way to the train station when the darkness of the night can easily hide your tears.


(1) the influence of Eimear McBride's GIRL, which I still haven't finished.

P.S. How to know when "fragmentary" becomes... "messy?" It worries me that this is the only way I can write, that my writing will only get worse instead of getting better.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

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Early this morning, a blood orange sun like I've never seen before and thick fog. And yet I can't truly enjoy the view. All I can think of is how deeply corrupted it feels. Because I'm not just passing by, this is my prison. A temporary prison, but a prison nonetheless. Is this what life is? Exchanging one prison for another? I wish I weren't such a bad student, I wish I could learn freedom from bell hooks.

And now, listening to Simon Joyner's Grass, Branch & Bone. The perfect soundtrack to my mood.