Friday, January 21, 2011


I like women who haven’t lived with too many men.
I don’t expect virginity but I simply prefer women
who haven’t been rubbed raw by experience.
There is a quality about women who choose men sparingly;
it appears in their walk -
in their eyes -
in their laughter -
and in their gentle hearts.
Women who have had too many men
seem to choose the next one out of revenge rather than with
When you play the field selfishly everything works against you:
one can’t insist on love or
demand affection.
You’re finally left with whatever you have been willing to give
which often is: nothing.
Some women are delicate things
some women are delicious and wondrous.
If you want to piss on the sun,
go ahead, but please leave them alone.

Yes, the world may aspire to vacuousness, lost souls mourn beauty, insignificance surrounds us. Then let us drink a cup of tea. Silence descends, one hears the wind outside, autumn leaves rustle and take flight, the cat sleeps in a warm pool of light. And, with each swallow, time is sublimed.

Truly nasty people hate everyone, to be sure, but most of all themselves. Can't you tell when a person hates himself? He becomes a living cadaver, it numbs all his negative emotions but also all the good ones so he won't feel nauseated by who he is.

Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

I don’t like standard beauty. There is no beauty without strangeness. – Karl Lagerfeld

SO I have been one acquainted with the voice-destroying flu-disease and being stuck inside, missing out on some allegedly..whatamisaying..DEFINITELY deadly english hamlet classes and not being able to taste even my evil diet of toast 'n' tea is wearing my mental stability thin. I want to study and get this goddamn erosion of a year over, but right now this headache is preventing me, and so I'll have to be content myself with looking to the far future for now. Benicassim? Inter-railing? Oxegen? Prostituting yourself around London or Paris?, I hear you cry. no No NO. I'm talking what my house is gonna look like. Not that us art/arts people will be able to attain a house, probably better off living in some ironic box in an avenue HAH?
But anyway, post-leaving cert post-summer of love, post-college, post-inevitable immigration (nnGAH) and possible 2012 demise, this is the basics of what my house will look like, give or take a bit of Fellini's and Mr Yunioshi from Breakfast at Tiffany's:

Also it might be on a houseboat.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Instant Karma.

In Which I Learn A Lesson.
In light of the fluorescent puddle of realism that the recent Other M post has spilled on the subject of new yeerz, I want to add a sidenote. I don't and never have believed in new years resolutions, mainly because I think depending on a universal date of change to make an internal change is detatched and stupid.
So I had new years planned out to an M for a few weeks up to the event itself, and a fantaaaabulously idyllic night was to be had by all. That is, until I got a cancelling text two days beforehand, standing dumbstruck before that dodgy alley next to Vibes & Scribes with a flock of topshop/river island bags in my disbelieving hands, as a lead balloon filled my insides as quickly as a jar of marshmallow fluff lights up the eyes of a fat american child. I trudged home like a Wilfred Owen war victim, burying myself in christmas-blankets and a playlist or two, until I awoke the next morning lying in pretty much the same (juxta)position.
Then later that day (one the way to see Deathly Hallows for the third time- HOH YES) I had an epiphany that jolted my out of my deep end and into the kiddie's pool.
I was like WAITASECOND, look, LOOK at all I have. Call it a mild Christmas Carol moment..actually don't, its not like that at all, but it was like a sudden mallet of inspiration to the head. I thought of the seamless fluidity thats hijacked my reality in the past few months and year, the success I'm somehow having in every area of my life right now, the new people I've met, the new experiences I've had, the things I've learnt and discovered, the fact that I'm not dying or sick or working in an Amsterdam brothel, the class plans I/we have for the near AND far future and basically all the amazing things people have done for me in the past few daze/weeks/months.

I realized I was being unbelieeeeevably hypocritical saying that new years wasn't important and that people shouldn't pile on expectations on this one night and rely on it to "Change Your Life" or "Be The Best You You Can" or whateverthefuck books like The Secret spew out to the masses, when I was getting blue over two days of fun being cancelled.
I realized that there would be times equal or better to what my new years could have been, and to move on instead of dwelling on this one blip of a fail.
I realized that positive thinking should be something I should adopt even more, my self-induced resolution, so to speak but something I'd have to incentive to actually apply in 2k10, not to wait till The New Year for it to kick in.
I realized that a day trip to tha gurlz, hopefully a brief sesh of malibu & a night in with Jools Holland & the family wouldn't be the worst thing ever in light of the rest of EVERYTHING.
I realized how bad my would-be-accommadator must be feeling about the cancellation and how I should reaally let it be (ha) known how much I genuinely appreciated even the idea that I could stay-n-hang with her.
So I picked up my phone and took a deep breath to prepare myself for the ensuing giant text I was about to tap out.

And 1.4 seconds later my phone vibrated with a message saying the New Years plan was back on.