Abstinence totale

When I feel like the most lonesome person on Earth I do this: I Google nondrinkers. The best part is, I find them. Tiny beads of gold scattered around this planet, breathing the very same oxygen, representing and standing for the exact thing I get disparaged for every other day. Blake Lively, Natalie Portman, Russell Brand, David Bowie, Christina Ricci.

This is my virtual sanctuary.

"I don't need to take drugs. I feel so much more high all the time right now because of the type of momentum that a person can get going when you really dedicate yourself to something that you really love. I don't even consider doing them, they're completely silly. Between my dedication to trying to constantly be a better musician and eating my health foods and doing yoga, I feel so much more high than I did for the last few years of doing drugs."

— John Frusciante, Red Hot Chili Peppers

Une fleur sans soleil

I don't eat much these days. Following the guidelines of Bobby Strom, celebrity trainer and fitness instructor, I've cut down on edibles rich on carbohydrates and starch, which makes me nod off anytime, anywhere during the day due to my energy level being below average.

My cat and I take naps together. Yes, it's that bad.

I am not fat, but I can't help wanting to be just a bit thinner. Average-size makes chubby-size on photographs/videos and considering the career I pursue looking good on camera isn't a bad idea. Decided not to postpone this resolution any longer.

Thirty-four days and counting. Won't be long now.

Seul du nouveau, naturellement

This happens for the hundredth time in my life. A friend of mine feels in love. Suddenly, everything else in her life slowly slithers out of her consciousness except for this feeling - this person.

Tiresome is what it is. I could tell her this is an echo of every relationship she has ever had, a predictive pattern of pain (undoubtedly recognised more by herself than anyone else), and yet it wouldn't change the course of events. I could tell her she is pathetic not knowing the difference between feeling and falling and criticise her thoughtlessness and total lack of reason, all to no avail. Because she is conquered by an emotion strong enough to overpower rationality. Imagining my opinions to be more important is naïve even for me.

I might be suffering from sleep deprivation or cynicism, but I also might truly resent her just a tad bit for repeatedly leaving me like this and expect me to always forgive her.

This is where I stand right now. And it's just too tiresome.

Tenue de travail

Last night was a work night. A club needed party pictures for their website featuring the world-famous VIP's of the evening, so there I was. Catching crowds on camera. My first photography job ever, all thanks to my brother's connections.

I will tell you this: no sound rings as good as silence. After three and a half hours, my whole being ached to be rid of obtrusive trivialities and realities, such as beer stench, too friendly faces making too friendly approaches and pounding, throbbing, banging, bumping and thumping music.

Being a nondrinker and teetotaler makes clubbing strike a bipolar chord in me; I simultaneously enjoy and endure the company. Considering this inner turmoil and eventual mood swings that may occur throughout the evening/night it is, I think, one of the most strenuous activities ever, and also a bit mad to be going through voluntarily. 

My work was done at 1:30 p.m. I went home, played Nintendo 64 and finally felt completely at ease.

Tranquillité

A friend of mine made me promise to read a book called "Hush, Hush" by Becca Fitzpatrick last month. After finally getting hold of a copy I realise much too late that it is a promise beyond my abilities to keep.

I quote to you page 151, otherwise known as What Made Yours Truly Realise the Bitter Truth of Today's Literature.

"Nothing. No Facebook, no MySpace, no blog. It was like he didn't exist."

This is the computer age for you. Human worth measured by number of hits on Google. Not available on Google means nonexistent, not on the map.

You might as well be dead.

I announce this: I will not waste myself reading books that do not define me, pages of no more value to me than tissue. It is the promise I make to myself.

Couvert de poussière

Socks, books, bags, pens, harmonicas, lingerie. Everything sorted to its rightful place. Copious amounts of coffee consumed for the sake of clinical cleanliness, for my own peace of mind. A spotlessness spree.

This is the part when I manically clean my room and imagine it makes a difference. Where logic roams, so does reason: however I try I will never get the kind of order I need in my life.

Toujours pur

Yet another attempt at thoughtkeeping. Organising insides. No better way of keeping track of oneself.

This is my own personal Pensieve. If you don't like it, fuck off.