toute est seche dans mon monde, sans raison, sans habitants, sans aucune justification
french makes my heart break seem better, more worth it. its pathetic but true. french men are the way to go. la soup au oignon is needed, as is a french affair in the sud ouest cartier de paris. preferably a banker, that i dont find too attractive but that worships me, especially in bed.
je me sent comme j'ai auncune valeur a personne, et que je vie simplement pour que je respire. c'est sans doutes et sans raison. je suis le poisson, dans le desert, un millier de kilometre d'une ocean vif et actif.

fuck

i miss everything
that was and how it used to be
and i swore that i wouldnt bother me, i wouldnt let it. and ive tried, ive tried SO HARD to just let it fuck right off but i can because im me
and im that over emotional over thinking, just over everything. i wish i was a normal likable person, i wish i was special. so fucking special.
and whats the worth?
i need to disillusion myself, i need to run away, from my brain, for a day.

i dont think i can handle this guilt.
nope im going to snap, very soon, very soonish.

i despise feeling left out of things. i hate not feeling surrounded, and yet i hate the feeling of being smothered.
i need to make up my mind, about everything.

i miss home

i miss home, especially in the fall, when the weather turns a bit colder, and you can smell the chimeny smoke when walking late at night. i miss going to the cemetary and lighting candles, helping burn leaves and staring at the night sky. there is nothing crisper than the night sky in autumn in sokolovce.

fuck people who dont like spin magazine. fuck people who dont like post punk. fuck people who only like punk. fuck people who think their better than other people. fuck people.
motherfuckin fuckers fucking.
i quit. i need a cigarette.

who is the lucky bastard that gets a job as a travel writer?!
sometimes i think i should have just gone into journalism, like i planned to for 3847645 years ago and up until the moment when i was supposed to check off on my application wether i wanted regular FYP or journalism FYP. though i completly doubt my abilities as a writer, i doubt my abilities as an artist too, massivly, and i want to go to art school. i sort of tend to forget that school is for learning, they teach you to do things there.
i am avoiding my oedipus essay, still. currently the word count is at 756. not nearly enough but i know i will get it done. and i think i will probably get a "c" again. 30 bucks on it that that will be my average mark for the year, because i truly dont know how to edit my own essays to make them better.
so i sit here and watch the telly, the marvalous rudy maxa smart travels in europe. i just ventured to belgium and now im in barcelona. glorious, i love forgetting about life. i love people who make me forget about life. i love dreams because i know they arent real and when i wake up, i wont have to deal with it anymore.. unless i have those fantastic dreams about people who i actually know and that depic situations that i want to ignore. it happens more often than not.
i have to shoot a roll of film by tuesday. i have to then develope it and print it. it sounds so wonderful to be able to actually do it. ive never been proud of myself before, but fuck, that makes me proud. everything else i always dismiss because any time i try to do anything well, i end up being disapointed by the result and anything i dont try on, im surprised at my success.. or well "success". with photography, i actually did those pictures, developped the negatives and then printed them, all by myself and it was the first time i looked at something i had made and was excited it by it. and that excitement hasnt died really, like it usually does with art that feels good at first, and then i look at van goghs and i look at caravaggio's and so on and i feel miserable because i not only dont posses their skill, i also dont possess their eye. i guess i havent found my medium yet, nor have i found what i really excell at in art. being mediocre is depressing.
its also very depressing to like someone very much who isnt around and who likes someone else just as much as they do you, and well, honestly speaking probably more. and completly honestly, i havent felt like that about anyone for a while, for a long long while, because it wasnt just that i went along with someone liking me and it goes deeper than just attraction. ]
not that it would ever work out because its too complicated and wierd and sometimes i wish i just had friends and not .. well affairs?. and that i was asexual. and that i had orange juice with pulp, EXTRA pulp left. and that i had made curry so that i could have a delicious and excellent lunch. and that i was anywhere but at kings. and that making the descision wether to move to montreal or not.. because i am still drawn to that. drawn to the plateau, and living there and working there and going to university there.
i just want everything so i will end up with nothing.
gaaaaack.