People In Fat Asses Shouldn't Throw Waffles

LP 2.75

2012-01-06T18:04:00.003+01:00

I continue to be weaker than I ought to be. I wonder why. The simple explanation is that school is going to shit, and I'm too tired to make an honest effort completely alone, so I disappear into the background under a veil of complete infatuation. Escape from reality with someone who I feel I can hang on to, who I feel I can build something with. Or what? Is that just another illusion based on my current need for escape? Find someone in your state of misery who makes you forget your state of misery. And then use that addiction as a "healthy" reason to not do something about the state of misery.

Talking about the fact that life changes us and changes what we need or want from a relationship. A horrible thought would be that I just need this now, for comfort and escape, and that other things such as studies and independence will seem more important to me later, when my life stabilises again or when I feel that I need to do something about myself. The selfishness. Can it really be that bad?

This person seems sane though, and in a good place mentally. Confident, strong, caring and doing well. And he likes me despite the fact that I'm a wreck at the moment, seems to understand that I'm usually stronger than this and that I have discipline and can pursue goals I've set up for myself. Just not this year, not this year. This year is fucking terrible, and goes against all I thought I stood for. It's a year of concentrated chaos and decadence and denying responsibility for failure, as well as some sort of apathy. It's a year of excuses and of tiredness and of getting yourself completely sidetracked by something that you find must take up all of your energy, otherwise you won't even be able to justify it to your own twisted conscience.

It's so hard to judge yourself when your convictions keep changing. And again - are they changing so that your conscience and sense of righteousness can adapt to the new, weaker you, or are you changing into a more tolerant, open and therefore better person?

Learning

2011-07-04T02:09:00.002+02:00

I can't quite get over how much has changed, and how much happier I am. I've lost a few good people over the past year, but gained so many more.

I enjoy trying to learn things from these new people around me, these new people that I respect and partly admire. They teach me things about myself. Putting yourself in new situations, trying to achieve something, and then reflecting over your accomplishments and actions gives insight on what kind of person you are and what you need to work on; I like that a lot, even though it's often difficult to be honest with yourself and face mistakes.

But enough about that. Mostly, I'm just grateful for the recent realisation that I'm emotionally extricated. Finally. There's no more regret about whether the right decisions were made or not. I know I wouldn't have been able to try any harder or give any more than I did, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to handle or stand the feeling of confinement, denial and self-doubt that permeates all those memories. Oh, there were many valuable things worth treasuring. Very many noble, beautiful intentions. Which were clung to just for the sake of an ideal, or at least that's what it feels like now. And this ideal wasn't questioned, it wasn't up for discussion, it wasn't open for scrutiny, so I guess when reality came it just crumbled.

I've changed the way I think of ideals, too. I've gone from seeing them as untouchable and omnipotent - almost holy - to seeing them as very stiff and brittle constructions. Those are negative connotations, and that kind of "ideal" is indeed dangerous, and unsustainable.

Ah yes, and whatever this new thing is, it feels much freer, much more enjoyable. I hate to compare them, it's not fair at all, but I can't resist. Perhaps it always feels like this in the beginning; what do I know, it's been a long while. In any case, I love the combination of both airiness and belonging at once, and I'm all excited. And, most importantly, I'm not a mentally deranged maniacal cocktail of hormones. Yet.

Befriending the butcher

2011-06-13T05:04:00.004+02:00

Despite the fact that I still in many situations come across as a neurotic, negative and unforgiving person, I've softened and balanced out a little during the past year. I'm a bit more tolerant and a bit more relaxed about things. Much of that development comes from small failures I've experienced. Failing exams, failing to keep a healthy lifestyle, not managing to live in accordance with my (extreme) ideals; all of this has led me to question the heavy demands I lay on myself. Perhaps they're overly strict, unrealistic and shouldn't be taken so seriously?

For a while now, I've perceived all decisions to take things easier as yet more personal failure; as a way to justify the cognitive dissonance that arose from knowing how I want and should live my life, but being unable to actually follow through on that knowledge. A way to excuse behaviour you can't correct is, after all, to change your views so that they accommodate such behaviour. You see, I'm extremely judgemental when it comes to me. Any sidestepping from the straight and narrow is punished with excessive and torturous mental whipping.

However, I've been talking to a couple of people I respect and in some ways admire, and they've said, in different ways, that it must be very difficult to be me. And that's true - I've always been known to make life as difficult as possible for myself. But when is it too much? I mean, you can set up obstacles in life that you fight real hard to clear, but is it really good for anything to make them harder than they need be, and trip yourself up on the starting line? Because that's what I do. I give myself tasks, and then I tell myself I'm too stupid, lazy, fat, ignorant and slow to manage them until I near the brink of psychological meltdown. What's the use of that? Who wins?

And it doesn't end there. Should I complete anything I've set up, I enjoy success for about half a second before I start to tell myself how I should and could have done better, more, faster, had I not been too stupid, lazy, fat, ignorant and slow.

The combination of actual failure and other people's comments has given me some perspective, I think. And just a day or so ago, I read some simple words in a silly journal that struck a chord with me: "You are what you feel and think, so focus on what you want to be, instead of beating yourself up about what you're not.". Those words look so obvious, so cliché even, but I suppose the timing was just right for their meaning to actually get through to me. I'm going to try and keep them in mind, and see if I can't make friends with myself for once.

Is simplicity best, or simply the easiest?

2011-01-17T22:25:00.003+01:00

I bluntly convinced myself it must be both. But simplicity is difficult, and I've never managed it very well.

I wish this wasn't now, oh, goodness, how I wish this wasn't now. But that isn't helping anyone, is it.

Careface

2011-01-09T22:57:00.003+01:00

I'm by myself now, and enough time has passed for me to begin to learn to enjoy this freedom. I no longer have to justify everything I do to someone else. I no longer have to have craziness categorised as sickness, I no longer have to stand incredulity as the standard reaction to silly quirks. I no longer have boundaries (unknowingly?) imposed by another. So, this poses the question - is there now any mechanism by which to keep myself in check?

Let me see... No. And my track record when alone doesn't look too promising, either. Destructive could have been my middle name, if that hadn't sounded so damn done.

Ah, I now have to learn to do things solely for my own good. And to be able to be good to yourself, you must have enough self-worth to think you deserve it. I must find this self-worth somewhere, find it and stop sabotaging my own attempts at success, stop wallowing in self-created mess. Just keep your head clear, dear, and demon-free. How difficult could that possibly be?

Dance

2010-09-29T22:30:00.002+02:00

You say that was the last dance, and let's forget we even took the floor. But this dance, it's all my signature moves, and I'll break you down before you even notice the tune. You say it's not your style, it's not for you. But I've got game. And I know you want to.

Attraction based on what?

2010-09-14T07:19:00.012+02:00

Since I found out you would if you could, I've been thinking about things we shouldn't. And though I know that you won't and we didn't, it keeps buzzing all around my mind. And I imagine you thinking you can't but you want to - and that maelstrom won't let me stay put.

And whatever attraction there is will all vanish, if you give in but one little bit.

Tremor

2010-09-12T05:02:00.002+02:00

You know when you look someone in the eyes and you believe you share a small, flitting thought. And then you go on wondering if they went on wondering about it or not.

It's kind of like when you fall in love, get obsessed and can't help but notice every little thing. Comments that may or may not have been throwaway can thrill your insides. And then there's the intentional or unintentional, conscious or subconscious physical contact that leaves you shivering with the meaning it held, for you.

Fantastic how small, small ripples in an otherwise normal chain of events can cause tremors strong enough to claim your prolonged attention. And for what? Are such things worth getting even mildly excited about? Well, yeah. Sometimes it's nice to notice that our curiousity isn't yet completely callous, that we still yearn for mutual understanding, mutual attraction and the confirmation that our social feelers aren't deceiving us.

Boxer

2010-03-01T21:49:00.002+01:00

I try so hard. I really do. At least I think so. I think I'm doing my utmost. Could I work more? Try harder? Do more? Whine less? Plan better? Would things be better then? They would, wouldn't they.

"I will work harder."

A way to increase self-confidence

2010-02-20T08:53:00.009+01:00

Here's a trick - imagine that you are a certain person's fantasy.

Imagine that you're both in the same room, with the tension so taut between you it could go off in a heartbeat. You could be standing with your backs to one another, but a kind of pulsating energy is strung between you, smouldering your insides and making you achingly aware of the animal instincts begging to take over. It's yours for the taking, so submerge yourself into this motion picture and star.

Watch them looking at you with a hot desperation that sets you on fire, lets you take complete control. You know, you sense that this person can't help what's happening to them. Reason has no say in this realm. You can see their body transform, heat up, swell as the craving beast that is desire takes over, clouding their eyes but sharpening their hunger. A heady feeling takes over you, the effect you have on them almost lifts you off the ground.

There's no mistaking this. The space between you now oozes, drips of condensed fever as the person approaches, heart beating like mad in their throat, liquified lust glazing their skin. They come closer, and the need for you emanates from them in heatwaves, consuming you both. It just about devours them from inside as it reverberates between you. They can't hold on much longer, the taut energy between you is one moment, one breath away from snapping. You're staring into the face of madness, of greed, of starvation, intent on you alone. They inadvertedly make a noise with a shallow exhalation. And let loose. The world explodes.

And frankly, you get quite carried away yourself.

Now: encapsulate this feeling, this mood, and carry it with you next time you meet them. You'll find it's empowering.

Good friends saying wise things

2010-02-15T12:34:00.009+01:00

"if you keep thinking that all your opinions are some kind of female derangement you might as well start looking for the Matrix plug in the back of your head"
"you have to start trusting your senses sometime"

I am so quiet nowadays. I keep on swallowing my instinctive reactions to things and denying my impulses. I've been conditioned to disbelieve all of my own opinions. As soon as I go into a bad thought spiral it's something I've invented. It's something I've conjured up from nothing in my sick, incriminating and twisted imagination.

Yeah, I just make all these bad thoughts up because I'm hormonally imbalanced. As soon as something upsets me, it's hormonal imbalance, fantasies, unreal. It's not really there. I am usually very happy with things. I am not having doubts or bad thoughts. No.

I would be such a good citizen of a totalitarian regime. You're unsatisfied you say? But how can you be unsatisfied, you said you were happy just the other day. You've been thinking doubtful thoughts inside your head? That's impossible. That's something you just made up now because you're a hormonally imbalanced monster. You really are completely mad, you need professional help.

I'm your source of self-destruction

2010-01-23T16:21:00.004+01:00

You'd better watch out. I can see what's going on, so you're going to want to be careful.

I used to revel in these situations before, and my whiskers are twitching, twitching with anticipation. The chaos in me wants to exacerbate it all and take it further, further, until it climaxes and ruins you.

A smidgeon of guilt twinges in me at reflection on how typical it all is, and how I'm not doing much to prevent matters from flowing their course... But I'm afraid I must have the recognition I've always craved, and you are excellent prey, aren't you?

So here's my nice side: Tread lightly, and deny your instincts.

Cannot squeeze the life from me

2010-01-13T14:54:00.003+01:00

I don't think I'll ever be able to make bowing down to cold rationality a rule. And I doubt that anyone will be able to teach me.

I have too much of a temper. I fire up, and I do destructive things, and I blast away at seemingly stable foundations completely forgetting what built them. My temper, my agitation, they buffet and chase my mind to all types of desperation, and I yearn to crash and burn in a billion ways, to turn myself into complete chaos, to fiercely rip through that what in my rage appears as grey mass. I take no heed and ravage to bits that which I only shortly earlier treasured.

This is not the quality of "passion", which - of late a romanticised, poetic notion - is only seen in favourable light. It is perhaps to the now lost, darker and more undesirable associations of the idea of passion which I can relate. All the sins lay open to me in my fits.

Subdued, I am a quiet, automatic thing. I give you happiness and pleasure mechanically, disconnected.

Edit: Perhaps not even that, now.

Modern world + Children

2009-12-07T22:59:00.005+01:00

Last week, a pair of tennis children stayed at my parents house while playing a tournament. Their behaviour, manners and interests made me think much of how kids grow up in today's world, and what their chances are to become righteous and good people in the end.

I suppose, with the abundance of media and information today, that it's difficult to get to have much of an innocent childhood - you're just faced with having to mature quickly to even understand what's going on around you, and what everybody's talking about. It's tough to be a normal kid, because then you have to do all of this fitting in, fitting in that might not be healthy or useful at all. Conforming is done to a world lacking in substance but chock-full of worthless entertainment, all blaring and blinking and demanding attention. If you're a little child, you won't know better and your primal senses will fall prey to the calculations of advertisement managers, marketers and PR agents everywhere.

Toys, gadgets, posters, brands, make-up, alcohol, cigarettes, drugs...

And there I go, sounding like an old hag. But nonetheless, children do manage to grow up, to somehow keep society going one more generation. And every time, the adults worry. Is it possible to say that it's worse, this time around? More dangerous? More alluring, prestigious, accessible?

Perhaps not. We'll make it one more full circle. What's interesting is if somebody could pinpoint some trend, some kind of association between people's well-being and the things they find important in life, what they think of as success, where they're striving. I suppose with so many tasks being replaced by machines, we have more time to waste and that's only natural. But if we didn't waste all this time - wouldn't that be better? Isn't a world of curious, eager and hard-working people to be preferred over an overwhelming, egoistic and instantly gratifying sloth?

Where are we going? What are we teaching children? To watch television, to fit seamlessly into the consumptive society that wants nothing more than the newest, most glamorous things?

I just walk around upset so much of the time. It feels like the values I cherish should mean something to others too, because they should be sustainable and beneficial, but this ideology doesn't make room for bigger issues. We're animals, herded around by animal needs - to conform and to show off. No perspective, no distance, no tolerance, no intellectual thirst.

And the little boy who visited said he didn't see the point in reading books.

(...I am archaic, a dated creature. The past I honour is not real to you.)

Backflash

2009-11-02T15:12:00.002+01:00

Now, I wish I'd been better when I met you today. I wish we could be friends again. You're such a sweet, genuine person and I very much like you.

It's too bad that sometimes, when we end up rejecting just one aspect of a person, it turns out that no part of them will ever be available again.

Rekindle the writing.

2009-10-31T10:02:00.003+01:00

Now more than ever, my old, romanticised desire to write a book has come bubbling up. I feel I need some practice to get me going, and freshening up this blog with more frequent posts seems like a good way to run the ol' writing through its paces.

It might also be a good idea to stop being so absurdly abstract in everything I write. That's a common problem with me; having a hard time letting actual reality into the inner realm of detached thoughts. For instance, my political views are still completely impossible to put into practice, but I still have them because I'm too uneducated in politics to be able to take real life into consideration when forming my opinion.

In retrospect, that's completely idiotic. I do everything to stand by and protect some beautiful idolised theory, and don't want it to be touched by the outer world. That is one of the fallacies of the lesser academic or scientist - not allowing the model of the world to come in contact with the outer world, and protecting it all too stubbornly and defensively. Seeing their thesis as too good for everyday trials.

But really, what is any model or theory worth if it's not applicable to anything? How foolish all of this seems.

I must make the effort to connect the abstract with the concrete, and project the concrete onto my abstract instead of vice versa. We all must.

Soon

2009-07-31T19:54:00.003+02:00

Who would have thought. Me, the enduring humanist, the useless thinker, the eternal social analyst, is going to shed this soul-searching suit. It hampers progress in the real world, you see. You close yourself up and twiddle things over within the boundaries of your own mind, hardly letting reality have a say. Indeed, I wonder how many memories I've bent, just to fit theories contrived from whims. And then how adamantly I've stuck to them irrespective of actuality.

When you model hypotheses on pure introspection, you often draw very far-fetched conclusions out of pure excitement, and in the process assume more than you know - making bias highly likely. And what doesn't fit is rejected automatically. It's classic. Everything thereafter is all interpreted to fit the theory, and contradicting information may simply be blotted out. You develop blind spots and live on, unwilling to change this nifty personal worldview of yours.

Good heavens. Your private life becomes a spiral of confirmation bias, your public convictions stiffen like Superglue because tunnel vision is activated, and the natural choices you make only lead you further down the same path. And it's so difficult to change something you've modelled all by yourself! And it appears to be working, see everything that fits? See?

No, this isn't how it should be. This is the recipe for stagnation. I want progress.

But the pain of trying to extricate yourself from ideas that have kept you going! And the frightening freedom of the loss of mental blockage, the freshness of a new domain and the absolutely crushing volume of things unknown! There is so much that is interesting outside of the familiar, so much that is yet to be understood, so much to be gained by being open-minded and curious enough to learn. Nothing should bereave man of his ability to grow.

Soon I shall be on my way. I shall be challenged, be pushed in a different direction and I shall engage faculties that have been left unused for years. Preconceived notions must be rooted out like weeds from a prized garden, must be swept away like cobwebs from a once-cherished attic, for this to succeed.

Yes, the natural sciences are going to open their doors to me. Who would have thought.

I don't remember.

2009-03-21T18:49:00.002+01:00

Losing contact with all the precious lessons and battles that made you you adds a funny element of risk to life. Forgetting the paths you've taken means you can easily stumble back and lose your way the same way you did before, in the oh so grand maze of life.

Constant fucking awareness, or you take that turn, back to that muck. You'd so much like to just get it out of your head. Ah, but no. Forgive and forget doesn't work on yourself, because you're the same old person, and without the shitburden of anxiety that's conditioned you to avoid some turns, you'd be doing it all again.

The past year.

2009-03-08T15:31:00.002+01:00

Of late, I've been musing about how the shift in lifestyle's shifted me.

The loss of people and habits hasn't at all gone unnoticed. I've become more independent and free on paper but much less so in practice; in fact, I'm being more considerate and humble than I've ever been. I'm compromising, taking breaths, listening and taking into account criticism and different opinions. And it's killing me off.

Yes, I'm the sponge I always was, the open pages which people write on. But it's worse, much worse because I now live too comfortably to question or to challenge... I know what the terms here are and I stay well inside of them, moulding myself into this form.

There is no will to impress or shock or engage because I sit on dry ground and as long as I take this form, nothing will happen. I eat away at the bits that stick out and polish myself off with sandpaper so I can roll frictionless along this rut.

First time I noticed this I thought I was becoming an adult, but really, I'm well on my way to something far sadder - complete cowardice. Oy Martin, you're back in a week or so - I doubt you'll recognise this new, cautious, wary, me.

Eerie.

2008-09-13T19:17:00.000+02:00

Somehow, you end up in a place you've been before and long forgotten.

You're looking at something and you don't see much at all. The process of disconnection begins, and because it's so familiar you recognise it. Inexorably, you empty and unfocus.

All sense of sense smoothly slips away. Indeed, you know where you are! - but it's been so long that you no longer can identify what happens when you give in.

Giving in means not wanting to deal with it and postponing it. Which is interesting, of course.

And I've stopped making sense since I stopped seeing sense. The process began two days ago and it's bearing fruit.

I recognise bits and pieces of my former self, but that doesn't help. The big picture is as always elusive and probably too monumental to handle. The weakness is imminent; the Cure temporary.

Reality is here, now.

Not quite.

2008-06-08T23:28:00.003+02:00

Sense the emptiness, the unfulfilment, this retrospective shallowness. You're still, and you're letting it sink in. Nothing is worth giving yourself away to this extent. Not a thing. But, hang, it's even less use uprooting the security you've managed to delude your entire essence that you possess, for a new one that in its turn will have to complete these flimsy excuses for criteria, these processes you've put up like tissue-paper obstacles, a sort of inverse bureaucracy that mocks its own existence. Ah, aren't you just God at reasoning in favour of your own behaviour and finding explanations that serve just enough to convince your bullshitted, short-circuited and cramped mind that all is well, all is as it should be and at peace.

You spend effort adapting yourself to your adapted ideologies and living accordingly. Shroud or slough, it's here and it serves its purpose until you stop, stand, stare.

And sense where the fuck you are, on strange territory, acting like a puppet, like a sponge, with manners and language you've sucked in to serve your own failing self-image and identity in a way that can only be dubbed tragicomic.

The broken records abound; the wild geese flock - to call on your need for stability and acceptance. A question all but dawns on you: whenever will you grow up?

Scrunch

2008-05-09T13:40:00.003+02:00

I guess I'm just going to have to take me by the scruff of my neck and shake myself around for a solid while.

Something has to come of this and it's taking too long. When you've proven your theoretical worth, you apply it - but how and where?

There's no use discussing things anymore. There's no use chewing cod like a cow, and even less use chewing other people's. This is done.

I want to create something beautiful. My masterpiece that I've been dreaming about...

Now that my large-scale experiments are at an end, I might as well start concocting something.

Make way! Make time! Here we go.

Weighing the odds

2008-04-18T00:28:00.003+02:00

This had better be worth it, and it had better show its worth in a proper fashion.

If not, exile is both a fact and a definite necessity. Research or no research, this is probably my last experiment; perhaps it shall end unfulfilled.

There's only so much you can give for art/science, and I'm at the end of my tether.

I will find solace in other trains of thought. Fog shall lift in this place and set on others. Recuperation in this faculty is urgently needed - the suspension, safety belts and airbags are quite worn.

And yes, that is a better metaphor than you might initally think.

Waste

2008-03-12T15:22:00.005+01:00

Nostalgia is now more a fact than a phenomenon. Everything prior to this was everything worth having. Lack of new terrain gives past experiences splashes of colour and a vibrance that probably wasn't there when they were being lived.

This time will be remembered with love, no doubt. But the moments of reminiscence are too many and too close in between to facilitate appreciation of the present. The grey fog that has permanently set here lifts only at external recognition. There is no longer a striving force; there is but existence, unknowingly directed by others.

When is there ever going to be something bigger to reach for? Unabridged joy at largely insignificant moments - is it enough to create a significant whole?

This is brittle; that is obvious. When a certain point of recurring distance is reached, realisation sets - there is not enough, not enough activity to occupy all faculties. Nowhere to whole-heartedly direct potential or attention or skill. Bide time, sit in lethargy; disabled, disconnected, disassociated.

Too little for too much.

Oh, why not

2008-02-24T15:22:00.000+01:00

Shin on shin
They crash
Brittle and thin
Bones clash

Imagine that pain
That earsplitting noise
Two shattered frames
Those poor boys

Sadly, they can't see
They do not realise:
Their prize
Is me, and I'm fickle as can be

Their efforts are in vain
Their tries alas
All that pain...
For a temporary lass.

I rant - you find the point.

2008-02-10T17:00:00.000+01:00

I'm so sick of this, it's so obvious, it's all over the place, but I have to say it.

The men win!

The new millenium has brought strong, career-driven, independent, confident women. This in turn means that men are not obliged to carry bags, not obliged to bother about having children, not obliged to pay her things, and not obliged to swamp her with reassurances. Because women are FINE ON THEIR OWN.

To quote a person on a forum: Jesus chairfuck.

Women are never going to be independent and even less so confident. They need men to be confident. They need men to use their bodies to make them feel appreciated. These wonderful women of our time, they believe that they are so in control of their affairs and so above the men who they can play around with like little Kens in their Barbieworld.

Listen to me.

In the end, he takes you. He uses you. Ultimately, you are giving yourself to him and not vice versa. It is the final submission; you let yourself be taken over.

Do not underestimate the symbolism.

So instead of proclaiming that you are SELF-SUFFICIENT, perhaps you should think about utilising the subservience to your gain. Stop fighting that whooshing feeling he gives you when you kiss, and stop keeping a straight face when he sweeps you away. Let go your rigid self-image of unnatural power because it will be crushed in the end nonetheless. This I guarantee.

"Playing around" on your own terms is analogous to the prostitute who sets her own price. Now, I doubt either of you feel very satisfied, but I think she has the best deal.

Until women start living like women, I will congratulate the men and join them in making derogatory remarks towards the lesser sex. I, of course, am not included in their numbers. I am God.

Individuals.

2008-02-04T02:40:00.000+01:00

I love pondering about you. I love to observe and gather and conclude. And the grand finale consists of wallowing in whatever comes out of it.

Really, I just realised I'm a wallower. A type of martyr and bragger in one.

And your body language is literally taking over me. It's perfect and subconscious and I marvel at both.

Oh

2008-01-24T17:30:00.000+01:00

Oh dear.

I just realised that you were the only one who ever could see.

Blast.

Men who know how to play

2008-01-24T15:23:00.000+01:00

So, you barely exist.

Highly sarcastic, apparently completely lacking in even a periferal interest in you, they rarely drop you a glance and instead talk to your company. You feel neglected and try to to catch their eye a little, but after a while grow bitter - how unenthusiastic they seem about your acquaintance!

Instead, observe them while they converse, to try and see who they are. Challenge them a little in the discussions; how do they react? Generally, they tend to be quite skeptical to your utterings and look like they would poke a lot of fun at you, had it not been very rude.

And then. Suddenly you notice that you seem to be getting to them. You see a subtle tipping of the scales, a shift in the shade of his attitude towards you. You glimpse a smile at something you said, and feel enormous relief that you're not a stupid fat cow after all. This increases to some eye contact, some comments directed to you, and soon escalates to normal, pleasant behaviour.

Because this is such a contrast from the earlier indifference, you shine up and in some sick way, give yourself credit for melting his icy attitude. You're on a high.

This continues, and you're enraptured. You're smitten and falling, you're caught up, caught in. You think you got him, you think he was charmed by you, you see it as a confidence boost.

Come on. Sweetie. In reality, he doesn't even have to try. You're playing right into his hands, and he doesn't even have to work for it, doesn't even have to positively discriminate you.

Really, my dear, you just charmed yourself.

Crackup

2008-01-08T18:36:00.001+01:00

I'm laughing all the way to my blog. You tiny little knot of banalities.

Bigger, better challenges are on their way.

I'm playing the game, and the stakes are higher each time (despite - but even thanks to - common sense). Also, the amount of distancing really is astounding, and it becomes more and more for every lap.

Emotions are entertaining; make me the master, or make me the puppet. Sling me from wall to wall or let me have have my vengeful control.

Glittering eyes: At impact, I smile; power is glory.
Glittering eyes: At mine, I smile; pain is glory.

Oh, I have a lot of different smiles. Come look at them, read them, shock me. Humble me in hitting the nail on the head.

Come on.
Smite my ego, I dare you.

Girls

2008-01-05T02:20:00.000+01:00

You're all so plain. You're all so, so flat. If - against all odds - there is nothing wrong with your faces, you end up looking static and empty. You don't know how to use that flawless face; I see no vigour, I see no passion, no life in your boring complexion.

I want to see joy, energy, dynamics; expressions flitting at supersonic speeds. And unimaginable amounts of combinations of your different features should light up and just radiate.

I want no pretentious looks, no false pouting. I want carefree, impeccable mirroring of the soul, with complete abandon. In a way, you should be reminiscent of a child.

Show me that perfect face, show me that person. I would not need more in life than to observe.

Until jealousy set in, of course. Then I'd just want to kill.

Fascinerande MSN-konversation

2007-12-10T01:55:00.001+01:00

Jag har blivit kallad för omoralisk och player, samt fått höra allt detta av en människa som jag pratat med tre gånger innan på MSN:

"du är väldigt bra på att ursäkta ditt beteende och sopa under mattan med det "

"tjejer som du borde få vara evigt singlar"

"leker med folks känslor och underhåller dig på när folk blir arga"

"ja men det är för att du inte klarar att inte ha kontroll på allt runtomrking dig
om du målar världen svartvit så är det lättare att kontrollera den

"värsta diktatordragen hos dig"

"det du fokuserade på i diskussionerna var att fokusera på detaljer
så gör människor som inte vet vad de snackar om
de håller sig kvar på de detaljer de känner sig lite säkra på"

"ja för det är ju självklart att alla ska lägga ner energi på dig.. så när du får kravet så springer du iväg med svansen mellan benen"

"egoncentrisk då har det gått så långt att det är en personlighetsstörning"

"när det gäller dit beteende.. så kan du nog inte ordna upp det själv.. och när du kommer till den insikten kanske du söker hjälp och reder upp det"

Och avslutar med fanan i högsta hugg:

"du kommer nog ha lite mardrömmar att slåss mot.. så lycka till!"

...I think I need a cigarette.

Three birds, one stone.

2007-12-09T23:43:00.000+01:00

..."Kick myself", you know that expression, right? Its precision is astounding.

Give me pain, give me glory.

I am blind.

Repetition for emphasis, assholes.

#4 Marina goes i-landsproblem like never before

2007-12-03T19:39:00.000+01:00

I have never before felt this useless.

I have no routine in my life. Nothing I must do, for myself.

Alright, I have school four days a week á 2 hours each. I have work two days a week. [And I theoretically have tennis three times a week.]

But nothing of this feels productive, or useful, or necessary or anywhere near striving towards anything meaningful. It is not enough. I am not happy about it, but I'm not doing anything about it, either. I'm stirring myself with my own stick, and that's about it. I'm a permanent bloody treadmill. I try to help my few friends. And I'm so static, oh so static.

Reality check. Four blog posts in one day. And I have done one of four required proper things today.

Pick me up and throw me against a wall a bit. Bounce me off the ground. Bash my head in the ceiling.

Punch me in the face. In the face.

Get me out of this comfort zone, this comfort house, this comfort country. Make me do something, give me pain to work on, work through.

Get past my defensive arguments for this state. It's not a good one. Get under my skin and make me feel like the dirt I'm becoming. But my skin is thick, now; I doubt you'll manage. I've created my own little conglomeration of certain occupations, my own little safehouse.

This is, my upbringing clashing with social norms.
This is, my brainwash at war with my observations.
This is, chaos in a fucking teacup.

I'm fine... But this fineness devours me. This is not what I'm made for.

Give me pain, give me glory.

I am blind.

#3 Jag har fått nog

2007-12-03T14:55:00.000+01:00

Era överkänsliga jävla fittor.

Dra schabloniseringen till sin spets. Dutta inte, utan överdriv och förlöjliga istället. Det är dags för en vändning i samhällets synsätt nu. Ungdomarna är på rätt spår.

Allt ska kallas diskriminering. Allt ska man kunna stämma folk för. ÄR NI FULLKOMLIGT FRÅN VETTET. Det går i överkurs. Det pluttas och nuttas hit och dit och folk blir ju bara känsligare och känsligare, blödigare och blödigare. Hyn är tunn som en vattenhinna och man ser igenom. FAN FÖR ER.

Ta ett jävla skämt, se på er själva från avstånd, förstå humorförlängningen på det hela. KOM IGEN.

Jag vill bara slå er på käften, allt är så fjolligt, jävlarimig.

#2 Everyone wanting it for real

2007-12-03T14:51:00.000+01:00

Oh, calm down people
It's just a little lie
You know it doesn't mean nothing
And I realize you could be right

(Dave Gahan - A Little Lie)

#1 Anna fick sms av mig imorse

2007-12-03T14:35:00.000+01:00

Alltså. Det finns inga fucking ord för hur mycket jag hatar morgnar. Jävla fitttid! För det första dör man varje gång man kliver upp ur sängen för man är så förbannat trött. Sedan ser man ut som ett äckligt monster som aldrig sett ljus och käkat späck hela livet då inga jävla kläder sitter bra, allt plufs breder ut sig och det känns som att man har en radie på minst två meter. Och så bränner man alltid tungan på kaffet om man inte hunnit spilla det långt innan över sina vidriga sunkiga mjukis. Och så finns det fan ALDRIG något bra att äta i köket som inte möglat, har man tur så hittar man lite ost och choklad att proppa i sig... Fan jag orkar inte! Sen så sminkar man sig och allt blir fel och man svettas fan som en gris trots hinkvis med deo och vädret ska man inte ens börja prata om och så glömmer man sina saker och måste vända om och sedan skynda till vagnen som ändå aldrig kommer... JÄVLA FITTMORGNAR, INGEN ÄR SIG LIK, VARJE GÅNG ÄR DET NÅGOT NYTT JÄKELSKAP SOM GÅR SNETT OCH DET HJÄLPER FAN INTE ATT ALLA ÄR SURA PÅ EN JÄVLA SNEKNULL I ARSLET PÅ ALL TID FÖRE FEM PÅ EFTERMIDDAGEN AAAAGH!
...Och så snörvlar man som ett jävla vrak och nästintill kvävs på sitt eget snor och bryter naglar till höger och vänster och trillar i hallen när man försöker få på sig skorna, som självklart är de mest obekväma man har då alla andra är utspridda antingen på jobbet eller tennisen. Så kommer man inte in i skolan heller utan passerkort och dräller runt i hallen tills nåt jävla pundhuvud kommer och öppnar. RÖV.

What you take won't kill you, but careful what you're giving.

2007-11-28T14:57:00.000+01:00

Give and take, give and take. Find a balance and keep it steady.

You told me yesterday that I should try to analyse myself before I went on and forced onto people my interpretations and analyses of their actions.

But then, you see, people will become boring.

If I don't find it interesting to pick you apart and look at what's going on within you, I will just ignore you. You must first fascinate me, and then be somewhat responsive to my initiating blatherings. And then I go on to try and pry open your insides to get some clarity and self-satisfaction.

One fun thing is, some people will just agree with whatever conclusions I come up with. They are just flattered and intrigued that I can be bothered to attend to their problems even a little bit. It's good; it gives me even more confidence.

But see: if I didn't find a challenge in getting a deeper and deeper knowledge of the people I'm interested in, I just wouldn't interact with anyone. I'd sit and fascinate me, with me. But then I'd become boring, to you.

I'm a supremely selective soul-searcher. Wink wink.

Dave Gahan

2007-11-12T01:04:00.001+01:00

New album. Hourglass, they call it.

Shivers and jitters and goosebumps and I twist in my chair. That voice and that tone, got me thinking of things I shouldn't.

Ahh, that rhythm. Gimme things, to that music.

Tearing up the pea patch.

2007-11-10T00:51:00.001+01:00

First up: If you get the title, I love you.

Second, more to the point: This situation is too much of a combination of two previous times in my life for me to be able to treat it like I should. I know what happened in the past, and I don't even want to think about what would happen if you combined those two results.

Hey, you. I'm here again, on that silver fucking platter, right in front of your face, reassuring you, comforting you, promising things I shouldn't really be promising, and listening to your hollow words and comparing them to 1) clichés and 2) past experiences.

When I'm sober, it's entertaining. After a little bit of alcohol, it's dead serious and you've got me crying. CRYING. Taste that. I haven't cried since the Tree (Hahaha! Are you reading this, fucker? I haven't cried since you.).

And I can't accuse you of anything, because that's a sign of doubt, of disbelief. You say you're the worst scum imaginable, yet you act as though your word is law. What. The. Fuck. You say you don't know if you can trust me yet, and yet, you expect me to poke out my eyes with steeeks and follow you like a fucking puppy.

How long must I grovel for you to trust me? Should I even be grovelling in the first place? Why am I letting myself get to this.

Ah, right, because the worse things are, the better it will feel when they resolve themselves. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, remember, remember? But these things don't just go poof and click into perfection like the strings of a tennis racket do into their grooves. If this hurts already now, it won't go away. It'll writhe and snap and rip, duller for every day, but nonetheless. You'll end up being okay by the end of it, but not better. The click of the ideal won't even dream of appearing.

This is what's in my head. It's fun; I give myself away, heart on sleeve, self spilled to you, every door open. And then, I feel unbelievable pain when it goes wrong, and I walk around, reveling in my own misery. Born fucking martyr. Relationship masochist.

Do you realise this is for you?

The days

2007-10-29T19:18:00.000+01:00

I'm beautiful, but nobody fucking cares.

Dig a hole and jump right in

2007-10-25T16:53:00.000+02:00

I've noticed that as soon as I start searching for photos of guys on the internet, the whole thing goes to hell. Without fail. (oh, haha)

I have to stop it. I have too many folders titled with those guys' respective code names or just things like "ZOMG" containing mounds of more or less flattering photos of the boys in question.

Make it stop!

Or, just please, make an "exception to prove the rule". Just this once. Hot damn, I really want that boy in that new folder.

It's called "GeMigPunktNu", yes.

Third and final week.

2007-09-19T22:09:00.001+02:00

Wiki: "Waiting for Godot is a play by Samuel Beckett in which the characters wait for a man (Godot) who never arrives. Godot's absence, as well as many other aspects of the play, have led to many different interpretations since the play's premiere. "

This was the third and final week. No more.

Conversations triggering thought.

2007-08-22T02:44:00.000+02:00

It's interesting when you have heard that something terrible has happened to you and you don't know if it's true or not. You're sort of kind of sorta kinda stuck in limbo and you don't know how to react to said suspected terrible thing. Supposing it didn't fucking happen and you're tearing up your mind for nothing, searching and re-evaluating for nothing? For something that's concocted and fabricated? And if it did happen, what, are you just throwing that away and disregarding it because there's a possibility it didn't occur?

For example. Say somebody got told in their adult years that they were abused as a little child, from a questionable but partially reliable source. What to do? Huh? What to do if you were too young to remember?

Oh well. On to another subject. I am so far away. I wonder what can speed up the process. I keep wondering about my reactions to the different things that have happened to me. How I've changed with all of it. My mother tells me I'm an open book and my friends do sometimes comment.

I want to be read and analysed, you know, in true IB English A1 HL-style. I want to turn into an enormous volume and lie there for you to understand. All of the games people play before they get to know eachother and trust eachother are tiring. I just want to lie there and read, and have other people be engrossed in me, too.

That would be so nice.

Therapy? - If It Kills Me

2007-08-09T00:41:00.000+02:00

...And if I do just one thing with my life
I'll get the truth for you tonight
'Cos there's more to me than this twisted side
I'll get the truth for you tonight

If it kills me
If it kills me
If it kills me
If it kills me.

I'm no good with Maths.

2007-07-31T01:13:00.000+02:00

Nine times for something I didn't need.
Five times for nothing.
Once, almost, for something I needed, imagined and conjured up. That didn't exist!
And what happens now?

I'm waiting for someone who likes broken things to come along. Until then I smile and round down.

But, as me, it's less than two.

------

And what is YOUR problem? I have never been noticed as little as this time. What? What? WHAT?!

------

I'm just waiting... And waiting... And drinking to come to terms with it all.

The flow

2007-07-29T21:27:00.000+02:00

I've been reading texts that I wrote months ago on another website. They seem like my best. And this blog is currently sputtering its last breaths.

Happy people have no stories.

Mission

2007-07-03T22:59:00.000+02:00

We have started our mission to find the best latte in town.

Bear in mind that the best latte does not only include the best latte. Our concept of "best latte" includes the café itself, the staff, the location, the bathrooms, the chairs, the atmosphere, the customers, the cutlery etc.

One great criteria for a good latte is, for us, the amount of fluffed milk on the top. We used to have a favourite café for everything, but since we've gotten into lattes, the quality has been somewhat unstable, with 2 cms of fluff one day and less than 1 on another. This is intolerable. Such fluctuating standards will not be accepted.

So, the café we tried today was called "Café Cava". It is not in the centre or Gothenburg, but quite near to two big public transport junctions. The amount of people walking by is just right, and the cars are a fair distance away, so traffic does not bother you.

Inside, the lighting is flattering, being a little dark and very cosy. The furnishing is great and the place is clean and tidy. We sat outdoors, and although the chairs were a little deep, this was compensated for by the existence of pleasantly-textured blue blankets.

The clientele was sophisticated but not stuck-up; i.e. ideal. The staff were good-humoured and quick. The ashtrays were pretty and plentiful. The only complaint we had about the bathroom was that the tap was a little jerky; it did not adjust water pressure smoothly enough. Also, they did not have a spare roll of toilet paper at hand. The spoons were rather original; like the usual latte spoons, they were long and slim, but the actual scooping part was round. This set them apart from the common spoons and brightened the occasion a little more.

So then, to the actual drink. There was too little fluff. Only about a centimetre. And it was too dark, tasted of too much coffee. Coffee is nice, but we expect the fluff to be more milk-fluff than coffee-fluff. The texture was great however; very thick.

The liquid itself was perhaps a little on the strong side, but nevertheless likeable. It had a distinct unexpected watery aftertaste. We pondered this for a while, and decided that it was good because a) it was unique to this café and b) it served to stave off the thirstiness that otherwise tends to accompany coffee-drinking. The price was less than at our usual café, which gladdened us.

All in all, a good experience, but we are set on finding the perfect latte. This is a nice place to stop by, but going out of your way for their lattes is unfortunately not an option.

P.S. Yes, I do hate myself a little for having become a latte-person.

It's understood.

2007-06-25T21:40:00.000+02:00

In all of the possible meanings that phrase holds for me.

It's not over 'til the fat lady sings

2007-06-24T01:23:00.000+02:00

Edit: So I spent the whole morning singing Depeche Mode.

A bit on the bitter side.

2007-06-06T19:07:00.000+02:00

Your actions simply confirm what you said I had to change.

I can be appreciated fully physically, but not fully emotionally. Thanks so much for opening my eyes, I might have lived in ignorance otherwise.

Yay for my banal revelations,
and no more hugs for you,
Marina.

Made in IB.

2007-06-01T18:03:00.000+02:00

Floodgates

2007-05-29T09:58:00.000+02:00

A few years of stuffing experiences away into that back corner of your mind without processing them probably has to show in the end.

And then there you sit, you bastard, telling me that that's not the way to do it. That I have to understand things. As in actually take them in, and reason with them, and then put them away for storage. Because that is in fact what you're saying.

Don't I feel enough as it is? Do I need to dig all of that up now, too?

Anyway, I guess I know now why my long-term memory is so bad. I don't process things which I perceive, they just get stashed away immediately. My mind is passive in that sense.

Oooh, but now. Now I can feel those gates back there. Those gates are starting to creak and groan under the force that's behind them. I am terrified.

As if you haven't gotten enough of me to deal with.

If it's not one, it's the other two.

2007-05-06T20:05:00.000+02:00

People, yet again.

2007-04-27T19:03:00.000+02:00

Jean-Paul Sartre was rather a genius, I must say. Such a concise and beautiful epiphany. Add a tinge of helplessness and a palpable feeling of awe, and you get the famous quote:

"Hell is - other people."

Think about it, see how right he was. And is.

Then take into account the fact that the Earth's population just keeps climbing.

Oh yeah.

Friend-specific questions

2007-04-16T20:55:00.000+02:00

I've noticed that some of my friends have their own typical questions that they like to ask me from time to time. Rather abstract and general ones, and the wording sometimes varies, but nonetheless:

"Are you OK?" (said with quite a touching, concerned look - it makes me wonder what I've done to deserve such pity)

"Why are you always so sad?" (said with more of an interested, contemplative tone than the previous question - it makes me wonder what I've done to deserve such close scrutiny/observation/examination)

"What are you wearing?" (said with a pseudo-confused and -innocent look which we both know is an act to mitigate the actual attempt at messing with my self-confidence - it makes me wonder how many kilos I have to lose before I look good in things)

Fruit

2007-03-26T18:28:00.000+02:00

I like kiwi, and I really want kiwi, but I know that when I get kiwi, it won't be as fun anymore. Kiwi actually makes my mouth itch and it's very cumbersome to eat. You usually need a knife, and a spoon, and some tissues (if not a plate, too). All of these accessories just for a fruit.

Of course, all of this stuff which is inevitable and annoying doesn't stop me from wanting the kiwi, even if I have to put in time and effort to get it.

Give me kiwi!

Going out (excuse the melodramatics)

2007-03-26T16:13:00.000+02:00

Jag täcker över allt som är jag
Tar med mitt pick och pack - och drar.

Just like that.

2007-03-23T08:10:00.000+01:00

It's fascinating how quickly all your hopes can be dashed. It is also fascinating that they can be dashed by such a tiny thing as a name on your screen.

I don't think I've ever been this confident about anything before. It's only been a few days, but I've developed such a belief in my own abilities that - to me - the idea that it wouldn't work didn't even exist. Of course, I considered that idea, but I dismissed it. I was too confident.

And now the idea is not just an abstract doubt, it's a reality. It's not going to work. You find that everything you've built up in your head (and computer, and journal, and even mp3 player) needs to be erased and forgotten because you can't let this get to you. If it does, it'll ruin you.

Just because little big things hurt.

Thought of the day.

2007-03-22T02:06:00.000+01:00

Du har varit en stygg pojke. Du behöver smisk.

A dream

2007-03-13T08:45:00.000+01:00

I had a dream yesterday night, and it was strange.

I was in some sort of forest, and I walked out into a more or less open space and saw three tennis courts. On them were a few guys, practising. I noticed that one of them was really good-looking, and just walked around there a bit to look at him.

The next day - after dyeing my hair - I came back, and this time they were finishing their training. So I went up to the cute guy and started flirting with him. I acted all confident and happy, like I always do. He mentioned that my hair had looked better on the previous day, and I said "Really? ... But I'm still a 10, right?" and cheekily looked at him. He agreed (and I realised that this was purely because of my own confidence).

The next thing I know, he has turned into Leonardo DiCaprio (who I don't even remotely like) and we're trying to sneak our way onto a train with only one ticket. It works, and when I get into the train I suddenly end up with a small Asian baby in my arms. It is clothed in towels or sheets, but in a minute of two it starts to stink.

I comprehend - through a stroke of genius - what is happening, and wonder how I am going to get through the crowded train to the bathrooms. Then I realise! I am going to use the disadvantage of the situation to my advantage. So I barge through the train with the screaming baby held out in front of me and a menacing, determined look on my face. The crowd cringes and parts. I feel victorious.

When I finally do get to the bathrooms, there's a mile-long queue. Among the huge amount of people I see Pekka, Bugsy and Ruben, and they all look like they need to go. There are three different bathroom doors, but apparently they connect inside in some perverted way so that there's only one line to get into them (because you end up in the same place anyway).

This time I grow creative. Instead of looking menacing, I just happily swing the crying baby from side to side, propelling the stench over all of the waiting people. They look like they're going to be sick and hurriedly back off. I start laughing.

Then I wake up.

Cheerio

2007-03-10T20:57:00.000+01:00

As I am going to have very limited access to the internet for the next 82 days, do not expect any excessive blogging.

Expect boredom.

Walk 'til your shoes break.

2007-03-04T00:56:00.000+01:00

I have a few questions.

What happened since being a child.
What happened to being a child.
Since when did this change. And why did it have to fuck things up to such a degree.
How do you know for certain who is going to help you out of it in the best way - whatever that is.

I know. You stop being a child the first time your problems aren't solely based on external factors.

Ugly girls

2007-02-27T11:15:00.000+01:00

Why are 90% of all the punk/alternative girls ugly? Or did they become punk/alternative because they are so goddamn repulsive?

Them and their stupid black eyeliner, black "skinny jeans" (even though most of them either have deformed legs or are fat), unbelievably ugly hair and accessories that are meant to be unique but in reality are exactly the same in their noncomformist, wannabe-independent haze.

God, I detest you. And excuse the generalisation, but I can't help it. You're no better than the girls you usually call "bimbos" - you look like you were made of the same defect mould, 90% of you.

Or wait, 99.9%.

"Livet är en klyscha"

2007-02-26T00:24:00.000+01:00

Livet är så fruktansvärt banalt att man inte kan säga det man egentligen har på hjärtat utan att låta som en pretentiös, självupptagen jubelidiot. Man måste linda in saker i antingen skämt eller ursäkter. Tänk själv nästa gång.

Last night.

2007-02-25T15:46:00.000+01:00

So, yesterday's evening included:

- 4 rejections

- 1 valuable item of mine confiscated (YOU BASTARDS!)

- Money hidden in vanilla sauce

- Threats to call the police

- A dude whose hair looked like a) he'd been in a lab explosion, b) he'd been to Universeum and gotten stuck or c) he was still back in the '90's boyband era.

- Very cheap shoes ^^

- Linda learning to walk in those shoes, and - obviously - almost cracking her ankle

- 1 person not believing my English accent (YOU BASTARD!)

- Fitting in my bloody jeans for once, and managing to do something great with some make-up

- 1 conversation on the way home with a more or less sensible/desirable guy who happens to live right by me

I guess that's it. Questions about what was confiscated and who the police was to be called on should be directed to someone who can be bothered to answer them.

And I don't understand why Linda keeps being so embarrassed when I talk loudly about stuff in public! It's a free country! I can talk about sex and tits and asses and flourescent dildos sticking out of foreheads if I so want to! Relax!

Analysis.

2007-02-22T19:36:00.000+01:00

My laughter might appear forced to some. Others it might delight, make them feel secure because it's disarming.
But I'm beginning to realise - as I get more frantic - that it's a compulsion. It's a type of tic developed to wrap everything I say. Like someone said about Jerome - his main weakness is that he cloaks the truth in jokes, and it gets lost. Someone else has said that truth is always best told in the form of a joke.
The latter saying has been my staple so far, but I'm slowly beginning to consider the possibility that the truth is sometimes best never mentioned at all (yes, this is yet another cliché).

...Yet by nature, I'm a wide-open book. How is this supposed to be put into practice?

Don't ask why.

2007-02-22T19:23:00.000+01:00

I'm tired. Too many people. Too much effort to entertain them. I can't be quiet - I have to attempt to entertain - and this tires me out. There are too many people to analyse, to adapt my tone towards, to feel their ulterior motives and figure out their little, swift, fleeting changes in attitude and thought. It tires me out. There's nowhere to be alone and just relax without people. Human beings are everywhere and always. There's never a rest, not even a small one. Not when you live with them, study with them, train with them and see them on the streets. Only to go home to them. And then they're there electronically, showing or not showing their intentions and emotions.

All this needs to be processed, understood, and conclusions must be drawn on how to react.

People have created or modified everything that I come across and compulsive determining of their characteristics and character makes me exhausted.

No-one does the same for me.

...

This helped me, I needed it. I don't want you to know. I can't force what you need, even though I want to so much, I'm completely torn and disappointed in myself. It feels bad that I can't react the proper way.
You're one of the two people that have seen me like that. And it didn't feel awkward at all.

...

And you, you've changed. You're patronising in a way you believe is subtle, but I realise and feel it all too well. Keeping up appearances is making me fray at the edges.
When I was in your situation, this is not how I acted. You're going.

esoterisk

2007-02-19T20:13:00.000+01:00

...har skrivit detta på sin blogg:

"(Ja, jag skall plugga sen, men det är sen och det är inte nu så det är sen.)"

Genialt.

Fool.

2007-02-19T19:54:00.000+01:00

I am such a bumbling idiot. Theoretical does not directly get you material. Anything you have in your head is not good enough unless you put it into practice, hence "Иньдюк тоже думал, да в суп попал." (Roughly: "The turkey also thought, but became soup.")

Just like thoughts aren't anything without their communication, knowledge is nothing without its practical usage (this reminds me of how the term "external validity" so niftily applies to everything). And potential/talent isn't worth squat without results.

This is obvious, and right; this is how it should be. And I know this, too well. So why does it have to be difficult to apply it to reality - to use that knowledge - in a way that will actually give practical benefit.

I'm a bumbling turkey.

Men.

2007-02-18T18:20:00.000+01:00

I think that guys should be kept away from me.
I don't want to meet them. What happens is that I stick to them and exert myself to make them like me. To get the confirmation, appreciation. And if I do, I'm stuck in a weird situation with what to do with them next. And if I don't, I feel horrible. Get men away from me.

Under The Influence Of Giants - In The Clouds. I don't think this is the music I usually like, but that song got to me.

I've noticed that all the music I have is by men. Around seven of the songs I have are by women, and they're all Paris Hilton-ish except for Lily Allen's "Smile".
Also, my favourite books so far are written by male authors.

This could be just a coincidence because females are "underrepresenterade" in those areas. No, it can't be, because it would be feministic of me to think that way.
So what's it mean? You tell me. (By the way, Coco Chanel was anti-feminist. I like her more by the minute.)

And God, YOU annoy the shit out of me. Your one and only photo-pose gives my eyes blisters. You're so ugly that it's a borderline case between hate and pity. You're full of so much shit that I want to bash your head in just to examine your brain every time you open your mouth. But what would the world be without people like you.

Continuing on columns.

2007-02-12T23:27:00.000+01:00

I'm thinking about sending in a column to PunktSe, the newspaper that has "nätkrönikor". In true Vicky Olesen-style, it's going to be about nothing special in particular. I'm seeing what reactions I get from it here in English (if any) and then I'll translate it and send it in.

"What's wrong with guys in Sweden? I refuse to be typically female about this and blame myself. Not this time.
What is wrong with guys in Sweden?
So you're out on a Friday night, you're having fun with your girlfriends, you're dressed up, made up, good to go. You're the hottest girl in the place, or you feel like it.
Exuding confidence and a bubbly, wonderful personality, the first hour or so is to have fun for yourself. Then you begin to look around for a suitable guy. The place isn't too bad at all - most of the guys are of a pretty good standard. But what is WRONG with them? Not a single one comes up and talks to you, no icebreaking fun pickup lines, nil attempts to strike up contact, not even a cliché little wink comes your way.
So you start worrying, wondering what you've done wrong (female reflex). You retire to the bathroom with one of your girls, complain a little, whinge a little. The inevitable conclusion - after making sure nothing's the matter with your reflection - is that you don't need guys to have fun. You're all set now, so, armed and rejuvenated with this conviction, you glide out onto the dancefloor again. This time around you last about half an hour. You're clocking zero approaches from the opposite sex. Your dance is now half-hearted, your mood down several notches under par. Maybe you'll go and get another drink...
It gets you happy for half an hour more, tops.
So you leave. What is wrong with the men?! You wonder if it's the Swedish rigidness. You think about the non-Swedish-looking guys. Their problem might be that they probably don't want to seem to forward and pushy, because that would be fulfilling the cultural stereotype of brashness. Riiiiight.
So you're home, after more musing. You scrutinise yourself in the mirror from top to toe. You replicate some of your dance moves, your smile. You suck in your tummy and shake your ass a bit more. And then it dawns on you:
You're so damn good-looking, it intimidated them.
So you go to sleep, peacefully marvelling at the world."

And yes, the anaphora is intended.

Apparently

2007-02-12T13:53:00.000+01:00

It seems to be Valentine's Day soon. God, what an uncomfortable day for almost everyone. Except me, because I don't care about it, haaaaa-haaaaa! And not like "I don't care about it because I'm single", but I really, truly don't give a crap about Valentine's Day. If I was to be in a relationship, this day would still just be a nuisance. And the only reason I'm mentioning it at all is because it's inescapable. It jumps at you from every single direction, ahem.

It also seems that someone in school sent a rose to me on Friday, but I missed it as I wasn't in class at that time. I wonder if I'll get it on Monday and who the bloody thing is from.

Annoyance: Metro's sort-of-new column writer, Vicky Olesen. She's still in school at gymnasium-level, just like me. And man, does she write awful. I wonder who those columns are for. I could do so much better. (Pay no attention, this is probably just jealousy)

Hooray for the holidays.

I wish the internet hadn't been invented, then people wouldn't a) waste so much time on it or b) become emotionally retarded (like someone I used to know used to say).

Since internet, my schoolwork has been going to hell. Blame others for the big wrongs and yourself for the small wrongs, that's the way to get through the day.

That 70's Show.

2007-02-07T16:41:00.000+01:00

"There's a butterfly in the garden! I'm onto it!" (runs at full speed with butterfly net in attack position)...
...(runs back and forward a few times, valiantly trying to capture butterfly but not succeeding)...
...(runs back out onto the path, looks back) "...Now it's onto me!"
...(throws net at it, eyes where it lands, runs away)...
"Now I just angered it" (scampering away)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

...God, having your period doesn't make you too stable, or smart.

Boy

2007-02-06T13:47:00.000+01:00

"Skinny boy, skinny boy, what are they feeding you?
Skinny boy, skinny boy, nu-u-uthin'..."

ANGER

2007-02-06T13:01:00.000+01:00

I am going apopletic with rage. I shall start ripping things apart soon. Too bad my father took down the punching bag we had hanging on the wall. I would have annihilated it.

I HATE STUPID FUCKING CALCULATORS! How bloody complicated can it be to plot a few points for me and draw a line of bloody best fit? I COULD DO THAT IN TWO SECONDS WITH A PEN AND PAPER! And yet this expensive piece of plastic and metal can't do it! I don't know what to press anymore! I tried the rational approach, I tried the guessing, I tried the hysterical pressing-every-single-button-randomly, but it WON'T DO IT! And the worst thing is I actually need printouts from a GDC for the bloody portfolio that is supposed to be due TODAY!

And I'm sick and there is no chocolate in the house and even if there were I would just feel worse, but that doesn't stop me from wanting it! And there are a million things I have to do but I've spent HOURS on this bloody, idiotic, obsolete, incomprehensible PIECE OF TRASH YOU CALL A CALCULATOR!

First it shows me "Err:Invalid Dim" no matter what graph I try to plot, be it y=sin(x), y=2x or even y=10, the stupid crap. I don't even know what invalid dimension MEANS. I tried understanding it on my own and testing different buttons. I tried looking in the stupid instruction manual but the most difficult thing in there is the explanation to how to figure out five squared plus three. I tried talking to someone, they didn't know. I called a friend, she suggested some things. And after having tried them, it got me to try a thing of my own and LO AND BEHOLD - the bastard managed to plot y=x! It's a miracle!

And then comes the drama of trying to get it to plot 0;3, 1;12, 2;48 and 3;192. Like I said, this would take about two seconds by hand! What am I supposed to type into y= here, huh?! HOW DO I GET IT TO PLOT THOSE STUPID, SIMPLE POINTS?

OBNOXIOUS, SCHEMING AND PLOTTING [against me, not the values I want], DEFIANT, GORMLESS, REBELLIOUS, AGGRAVATING, RIDICULOUS FUCKING CLOD OF A CALCULATOR!

Ben Whishaw.

2007-02-05T20:24:00.000+01:00

Why must I always fall in love with one of the guy characters in all movies.

Annoyed.

2007-02-05T17:17:00.000+01:00

I'm getting annoyed. I want to isolate myself. But that neeever works. People are crappy. And complicated. I don't want to have anything to do with them. Isolation is the key. Let me find it.

Now I'm going to watch "2½ Men" and continue with my plan.

Get to you.

2007-02-04T20:46:00.000+01:00

I am going to get to you. I am going to put you in my mouth, chew you up and swallow you. This is vindictive me. It's a bad reaction.

(If I don't manage, I will cancel you out and be cross.)

Static people, dynamic people. Static people, dynamic people. A mantra.

Breaking yet another good streak is depressing. My interpretation of Manson's lyrics to be "Another system's down" is still valid. You hope that system's not down.

...Maybe this is where everything falls apart, eh? It will be interesting to see how matters develop. If they do crumble. Oh, they could. It's very possible. I can just see it. But I'll be fine. Who needs people? "Hell is - other people." Might as well cut 'em off.

Haha.

Simplify!

2007-02-03T19:52:00.000+01:00

"I can do what she can do, so much better"

Too slutty for you!

It's disconcerting when people are on different levels... Or how do I put this - in different stages of moral development. Because morals do develop with experience. I hope you'll realise that things can be taken as they are, in the moment, without having to think forward or back. They don't have to be serious: fun and simple things exist. When it's between two people, the consequences are what you make them.

I become so aggressive when we go out. I want to pick fights with anyone who does something annoying. And believe me, being out at a place that's packed with half-drunk half-brats, that's not too difficult. What for? Just to prove that I am better than a half-drunk, half-brat? To assert myself? How neanderthal of me.

Yesterday was great fun. I haven't danced so much, so hard, in ages! And kicking some Ullevi ass didn't make the day any worse. Just that my body is in pain right now, from the two tennis matches, gym and dancing in high heels.

Girls, we need to repeat that. Preferably sometime when I'm not near-broke like now, dammit. Think I'll be able to find a sluttier outfit? ;)

(The photo is of me and Alexander from vimse.se; we used to go to IB together and he's sort of nerdy, so I dragged him out for his first time clubbing. I think he has every right to be happy with the evening)

A dialogue right after we left Wish, talking about Biffen who was still in there:
Anna: "Asså han är ju snygg som FITTAN ju!"
Marina: "Jaa, fittor har en tendens att generellt vara väldigt snygga"

Easier

2007-01-31T06:32:00.000+01:00

Life was so much smoother when I knew how to plan my time. I ended school at 1510 yesterday, and had the whole evening to do my EE. But instead I have to pull an all-nighter because I'm constantly lazing around.

The more things you plan to do, the more things you have time for.

And I STILL haven't finished it. Hooray for me. I'm going to give in like, two pages tomorrow. I would really like to sleep for two hours, but I don't know if I'll ever get up again. My limbs feel like they're moving in water at the moment. I need sleep.

Frightening

2007-01-31T02:19:00.000+01:00

Every single little creak and movement frightens me and I think I'm going to be surprised in some awful way.

Anyway, today's interesting (?) thought comes from Anna prophesising how I will feel when I actually "like like" a person for real, and become heartbroken. We were talking about me getting tired of boys in 24-48 hours, because that's how long it seems to take until I get the confirmation I need. So, Anna says something like "What happens when you like someone not for the sake of confirmation?", and that got me thinking. I can't like someone if I don't want confirmation. Can anyone? If I start liking someone I do it because I feel that their affection/confirmation is good, is what I need and want. Why else would you like anyone? It doesn't make sense. Anna was making a huge point out of the fact that it will happen sometime, and then I will be heartbroken for real, or something to that effect.
I can't see it happening. But on the other hand, we don't have the ability to see emotions that we haven't experienced before approaching.

Oh well. In any case, it's interesting at the moment how I completely excluded the possibility of that, and the symptoms of it are creeping up on me from all sides but I kind of don't want to realise it, still. I think it happened because you started giving me some confirmation, and now I want more, because I do, after all, like you. This is interesting.

Going to see the Perfume movie on Friday, and then we're going out. I'm more looking forward to the movie =)

It's like I said before

2007-01-28T13:45:00.000+01:00

I feel trivial things too much, and important things not at all.

Maybe, instead of moving out and "running away" to be a bad person, I should just work on staying here and becoming a good person. That would be the easiest thing. Don't get mixed up in all kinds of crap. Just lead a normal, honest life. And be good at it.

I feel like making a surprise comeback. Federer inspires me. What I'm going to say now is blasphemy, but: I can relate to his tennis.
And the things everyone says about my talent... One of the best was probably in the beginning of December, after a training: "You'll be no. 1 in 5 years". And I know I could do it. I just have to get through IB, then maybe have fun for a week or so, and start training again. I enjoy it, I love the combinations I can do, I love the kick I get from a perfect rally, a perfect shot. Not everyone has that joy and the opportunity to feel it as often as I get to with my game.
I'd also like to think I've matured a little bit, mentally. Instead of having a chronic case of negative distancing, I think I can now change perspectives to my gain. But then, I haven't played proper matches for a long, long while. I don't know how I'd handle the real pressure of a whole match, a whole tournament.
And then - like a discussion I had with a friend once - there comes a point where your talent doesn't matter anymore. The advantages and ability you had before are cancelled out, the other people have trained themselves to it. That's one thing I find unbelievably depressing. (But, in my overblown ego, I believe that what I have, no-one else has, and never will have. Which is the basis for my "silver platter" expectations.)
Perhaps it'd also help me that I have better confidence nowadays. Maybe that'll spill over onto the court, as well. I can believe in myself.
I know what to do.

Another thing - I think I'm going word blind. I need to read more, or something. It's sick.

Old Idea

2007-01-27T14:53:00.000+01:00

This is an old phrase that Asian Anna and I thought of while simultaneously being a little depressed and a little wacky: "I hit rock bottom and was so fat I broke it and fell right through"

De-sexualisation of boob

2007-01-27T14:16:00.000+01:00

After deciding not to go out at around 2230, tennis-Anna said I could sleep at her place. We went there, and she gave me this great nightgown, granny-style, really old-fashioned. I looked hilarious in it! It was loose, wide, and the cut and pattern made my boobs look like two water balloons. Anna laughed so hard she almost shit, and took photos of me on her mobile. After jiggling them around a bit, I decided to go all artistic. So I draw two eyes and a mouth on one of them, and mush it around so that the face is making stupid expressions. God, was that funny! The pens must have been pretty good, because the marks are still there.

Maybe I should do some kind of puppet show.

A Happy Thought!

2007-01-25T14:04:00.000+01:00

Something that just brightened up my day is the confirmation that I wasn't wrong. That I actually did manage to somewhat charm you back then... It's so funny, I had completely forgotten about it and I hardly think of you, but the knowledge that I got you to like me - even a little - and wasn't completely wrong in interpreting your attitude towards me, makes me happy. I wonder just how different things would have been, if things had been different, those couple of years ago.

It doesn't break even.

2007-01-15T19:25:00.000+01:00

"Это любовь, что без денег делает тебя богатым
Это любовь, о которой в книжках ты читал когда-то"

YouTube.com, search "Galkin", second page, first video. If you happen to know Russian and have three minutes to spare... The song genuinely moves me, and it's Russian "schlager" the title of which translates to "This is love". What are the odds?

----

"Marina seriously misread the poem ... we were disappointed with her written work."

I was certain I was good at that. Now it seems all I ever could do was play tennis, and that was before. ...I don't really need an identity anyway. Let's leave it there.

----

A second drags by
Two minutes zoom past
A day oozes
Two weeks race
A month slithers
A year vanishes

You can't control time or space
That's why you're useless
You silly, egoistic, and naïvely, fantastically overrated:
Humanoid.

----

I'm not happy today. My highs do not compensate for my lows. Infatuations mutate into depressions too fast: I feel everything good at once, but the unpleasant things drag on.
But not only that, you know. Other stuff. Stuff stuff.

----

With no audience - present, future or past - people do not act abnormally.

With those lips, and that smile

2007-01-12T18:36:00.000+01:00

What can he be, other than a great kisser? I'm going crazy. I'm not being logical.

Oh, by the way, I almost choked laughing at this extract from an interview with Galkin, where the interviewer was forwarding questions/comments from different people:

- Девушки всей страны. МЫ ТЕБЯ ЛЮБИМ!!!!!! ЧМОК!!!!!!
- Спасибо, девушки. Вас тоже чмок.

HA! HAHA!

Quote

2007-01-10T01:09:00.000+01:00

Leo Rosten: "We see things as we are, not as they are.".

Milliseconds away.

2007-01-09T17:55:00.000+01:00

It's always like this. My thoughts fly so fast. Before I know it, I'm onto the depressing things again. It's never more than milliseconds away, that bastard recurring Milly Way.

I'm sick but apparently not sick enough to justify missing the last two lessons today (English and Maths). It seems that to be sick, I must have a temperature over 37.5. I had 37.4. The fact that I was dizzy, nauseous, exhausted, appetite-less (that NEVER happens to me) and had pains all over just wasn't enough.

Let me be somewhere alone, where I can curl up when I'm sick, and lie down in peace all day. Why does there have to be a grand plan when you can enjoy the simple pleasures instead? Hooray for short-term rewards instead of long-term.

Possible?

2007-01-06T18:58:00.000+01:00

Would it be possible to have your life, without the fucked-upedness?

Chronic Celebrity Crush

2007-01-03T11:39:00.000+01:00

MAXIM GALKIN. The genius of parodies, impersonations, and with a voice that outstrips anyone else's in range. God, he's wonderful.

Dreary blog.

2007-01-01T23:59:00.000+01:00

I just realised that my blog is pretty dreary. It does not at all reflect the bubbly personality I sometimes squeeze out of myself. Heh.

But right now I don't see what there is to be happy about. I have tons of schoolwork which will kill me in the near future. I have an extreme infatuation which I have no power to affect in any way. I have a few extra Christmas and New Year's kilos and I'm sick so I can't really train that much, or do much at all, and anyhow - technically I don't have time with all the schoolwork I'm meant to be doing. I'm almost broke and don't have time to go shopping anyway. The weather is bloody awful. I have one close friend and she has about as much schoolwork as me, and no opportunity to go out in the evenings and have fun with me. My old friends are slowly but surely drifting away, and don't seem to be as perplexed and bothered by this as me. I'm 18 in 10 months, which I will never make it to because IB is going to kill me. I should be happy about graduating soon but IB is going to kill me. I have a house full of relatives, one of whom (the practically mute six-year-old) seems to be permanently attached to me. I also have a semi-stalker who seems to be electronically attached to me, and I can't be bothered to tell him off. Oh, and top that - I am supposed to be writing part of my mother's article about a professional tennis player I haven't seen play for ages, tomorrow.
I want to go out in the evenings and have fun but a) no-one ever wants to or can go with me, b) I'm sick, c) technically I don't have the time, d) I am not allowed and e) all of these previously mentioned things make me rather depressed.

Now yes, there are a lot of people who have it worse than me - at least I have a school to go to, relatives who like me, one friend isn't so bad, 10 months isn't so long, infatuations pass, colds get better, you know you look good even though you gained some, and you should be happy you have food enough to gain weight at all you ungrateful Western teenager!

But fuck it, there aren't a lot of things brightening up my days right now.

Go 2007.

2007-01-01T15:43:00.000+01:00

This is my attempt at making New Year's with my visiting Russian relatives a little more interesting. Porn shoes, blue wig, plastic tiara. I think it cheered me up for 15 minutes, and then the belt and shoes got painful, the wig got itchy and sweaty, and the tiara started to fall off and take hair with it.

Every single thing

2006-12-31T13:23:00.000+01:00

I hate flashbacks. I keep getting them. And with them come urges. Urges to have you, all of you, because right now I'm convinced - yet again - that you're perfect for me. Not perfect in general but perfect for ME.

We'd be great together. Our minds and bodies would click. We'd fit.

You, you, you. I want to relive that. I want to feel that again - I'd played my cards right and you wanted me. It all felt so good.

Where did that go? What's wrong with your memory, what's wrong with my memory, my imagination?

And when the fuck will these sort of things stop happening? It's not like anything results from them. They just mess with my head and waste my time.

2006-12-31T11:27:00.000+01:00

"Ät fett och socker tills du spyr"

Somehow, Jocke Berg manages to adapt his voice so well to the lyrics he's singing, get into the mood and let us feel what we think he means. Their lyrics often include phrases that aren't completely related to the general point of the song (or so you might think) and these phrases are what makes sure so many people have personal resonance to it. Kent are pretty damn good at what they do.

Let's go.

2006-12-29T13:48:00.000+01:00

"I start today, I drive the other way"

I wish I knew what the fuck was wrong with my blog - why my profile and the links show up at the bottom of the page, all scrunched up, instead of to the right where they're supposed to be. It messes up the whole presentation. Bastard blog.

I want bananas.

2006-12-28T21:58:00.000+01:00

There can never be a balance between anything.

For example. There is always a difference in security. "That's my thing, you can't take it". And as soon as you show any sign of adopting that quality, the person gets out their claws and retaliates, defending their identity because they don't know that it can't be taken away.

The secure people are happy when others adapt to them. But then the ones who are adapting are the insecure ones, and you have an imbalance again.

First they joke about it, and then the jokes get meaner, and then they're not jokes at all. They're wallowings; the person revels and mocks you. And then it poisons everything, not just that particular aspect where there was friction. You don't expect it from them... So when you realise - too late - that your relationship is getting fucked, you don't know where to start because everything in it is screwed. Everything is an irritant and blisters pop.

I'm ill now.

2006-12-27T19:34:00.000+01:00

I just woke up this morning and felt like death reincarnated again... This time without my gorgeous jeans. Awful.

I felt absolutely great yesterday night, and now it's like it just swooped down on me and smothered me, that bloody cold or 'flu or whatever it is.

Met Wave yesterday night... I think I realised how much I'd missed him. I got that feeling back - the one where it just feels so wonderful to be with him and hug him, and so empty and cold without him. Not as violently as when I was first infatuated with him, but this is much better. It feels so secure; safe and comfortable. And I know millions of people have felt like this millions of times before, but that doesn't change the fact that it feels good for me right now.

...And some other people are so clingy it makes me nauseous.

.deednI

2006-12-26T18:45:00.000+01:00

What Your Face Says

At first glance, people see you as warm and well-balanced.

Overall, your true self is passionate and physical.

With friends, you seem logical, detached, and a bit manipulative.

In love, you seem like a huge flirt.

In stressful situations, you seem sad and helpless.

What Do People Think Of Your Face?