finally managed to draw inspiration from my lasting memories of the bavarian flickr gathering. I mean, I was always kind of tempted to take photos with more decent lighting as in early 19th century paintings but I am so happy that I finally went through with it and combined it with my burning passion for the ugly and weird lately.
- selfie mit laura zalenga
i wonder why people barely ever take selfies with their arms showing, like, if you’re being narcissistic, at least you can have the decency to be able to admit it. it’s kind of gotten part of our culture and times. i mean there’s nothing wrong with selfies/self-portraits but how many times did i hear someone gossip about a photo like “and you can ttly see her arm, like, she’s holding the camera, like, how vain is she?” and then these exact people go on taking photos of themselves with their iphones and sometimes i’m really sad that all of us are such enormous hypocrites.
Tuesday, the 16th of September 2014
I’ve cried for no good reason today. I had watched this very bad movie about a girl with cancer and had smoked a cigarette in my room which led to a dizzy head, and as I got up and started listening to “For Marlon” by Soko, it just got to me. I didn’t feel sad. I just felt like crying. for an instant even, I wanted to message L. and tell her about how beautiful and touching this song seems to me, how I’ve never heard something so unambitiously honest. lately I always want to share all of this, share all these songs, let someone know of my existence, let them know I’m still there. I have accepted failure as an inevitable part of growth, and have reflected upon the thought that a momentary feeling does not necessarily imply a greater disease. I don’t even know how or if I’m mentally ill. when I was video-chatting with KL today I got so coy about the thing with M., as in, it just would not, in any way, get to my head why or how he could have interest in me. it doesn’t exist, you know, appreciation from foreigners. it took me years to accept the love from my friends and now I carry it with so much tenderness that sometimes it seems that their love is all I need. as though I would never need to meet anyone new. but I do. I want to meet new people, share lives, always more than I have, discover what it is that I haven’t had before. at least I have curiosity. at least I’m curious enough to keep going. it don’t matter how confused I seem to be. in a way, but only sometimes, it’s almost comforting to know there is nothing great ahead. yet on the other hand I don’t long to be idle. almost. on my mind is this image of achievement as an unreachable goal, the kid in front of the icecream venue. sometimes I wonder if I only need to be gentle to push forward. but it seems to me that I’m nice. it’s what they say. they say so many things it’s hard for me to keep up. I see it as, other people collect stamps or feathers or lighters for cigarettes but I collect the words that fell in context of my person. I collect what is being told and how I feel about it. maybe that is why it is so hard for me to keep up. I’m always different. and I want to be. despite the love I learned to hold for myself, only if I’m that, by and just myself, I aspire to go beyond and be ugly. or weird. mis-shaped. I want to go for the fucks I give and accept anything and everything.
i miss donna’s awful hair-cut and the way she’d die it blonde, her flat where i always worried about messing things up, but most of all i miss the way she laughs when we make a joke that goes deeper than the last five years.
Monday, the 4th of August 2014
not staying in today seems like the best decision I could have made. it still sits in front of me like a proof of the “wrong”, that moment when I was taking the tram to the city and thought about how I have to prepare myself for the place, the people, how I had to take a step back and adjust my breathing only to not fall into paranoid depression once I arrive. it seems strangely relate-able now, sitting in my room at night, yet then again I do see the beauty this afternoon granted, a carefree and content feeling to see how D. and I. would talk and how I could lean back and observe I.’s gestures or the striking yet decent elegance of D. smoking. when I had first met I. at the cafe for a bit I felt unable to communicate, as though it was hard to focus or make a happy thought. you know, you just sit on your chair and even though you’re being spoken to all you wonder about is your place right there in this world and how you fit in after all.
normally this is a lasting emotion. it’s so threatening that once I’m out of the transaction I feel such a melancholic relief. but when I. was telling me about her tales of life and dreaming it crossed my mind how utterly well our friendship has been going, growing, and that in all this time it was always based on a deep and heart-felt connection, and after a cascara which the waiter had recommended for a damp, dry and hot day as this, I felt a good sort of relief, not of the conversation but relieved of the urge to step out of it.
now, I do see that still while I’m around anywhere it is still a huge sort of pressure. I was on the computer tonight checking facebook and M. had only commented his photo with my name and a heart next to it and I read way too much into it and worried how he obviously would like me less, but then fate rolled in and he sent me a message with an enumeration of lovely compliments of which I had received tons in the past weeks, and for a moment I did really feel this, you know, I knew he meant it but all of it vanished up until now. KL said I’m stupid and rude for feeling this way, and honestly, I am in fact stupid and rude both at the same time for constantly feeling as this little, unloved, silly boy. it is actually like that. you don’t really get around it once you’ve got the hang. at least I don’t. it’s like that with my photos. the embodiment of my lack of taste, my teenager-y mind, my mediocre thoughts, silly, pretentious, that is how I feel about it when in fact I don’t even want to. I wish I could at least pinpoint this self-perception.
with an example: when I write M., it’s too much. I show too much affection, I’m kitschy even, I have this adolescent mindset, I’m annoying, I don’t know. I’m not that. I don’t want to think about it. I want to do stuff rather. a drag I am not as productive and passionate when in fact I have both the desire and motivation. if there was an audience for this talent. yet then again, it always seems like people are better and this will never change. the thought they are “better” than me is at times so empowering. there is so much for me to achieve.