A snippet of a long forgotten past:

All is not lost, not hopeless and definetly not OBSOLETE just close your eyes and think of smiles
when you run clear your mind and run faster than full speed always in life
I feel like a wise woman recomending herbs for abortions to you and is this making any sense?
I dont care to explain my thoughts nor my actions to anyone any longer. If you promised to join with me here in Paris, say, next summer I would not say no to the chance of running away, again.
Love yours truly.

 A way to describe me: 

you are a delicate flower with gold flecked petals and slender elegant stems.

I think the thing in which I most delight is when people use my name in conversation, in written in typed and in thought. 

they caw

and they crack, they cack

they are ethereal as they cavort,

as they swoop

their eyes like imitation hawks

pretending  like a childhood game

to no gain

as they feed solely on the flatgrass of the marsh

their stark white against the muddy green

and they are free 

unlike me 

starring from behind a thicker pane of glass

breaking on my white wrists

I long to be one of a kind

I hold 

I am held

I am the prisoner of Shalot

observing closely

what other's watch not. 

some nights I dont eva wanna sleep and some nights I creep into my crypt and dream a thousand dreams that I never remember

I like it best when I am taken away to follow dirt paths in strange forests on horseback.

It's rare I feel satisfied and I despise the horror of waking up to a bad dream and falling back into it after the light leaves my eyes dark as the miseries they see.

Some days I only want to spend money on clothes and fashion

Somedays when the wind howls and I breath in the ashes of thousands of favorite dead authors I would rather spend every penny on beautiful books.

I just wish I had a way to lug them all back home with me, in that huge suitcase that will be filled to the brim as I know it, as I can barely tug it along the metro platform and as I shy away from help from strangers.

I trust no one, and some say this is good, some say it is bad.

I am disappointed in the way I have been blogging here lately. Let's keep this written and let's do another one for silly rants and pictures, and keep this sacred and mysteriously dark. 

I WANT I NEED!!! Sunny Malta requires sunglasses. Too bad I'm a blind girl with the ole YSL thick lenses glued to my face. 

I can't lie

My heart skipped a few beats when Harlem covered Come back Jonee from Devo

THANKS GUYS! Let's all get married and live in stylish polygamy.

J'ai rate mon train ce matin a Paris car je suis conne et j'ai oublie tout mon argent et mes stupides cartes de credit chez moi, alors mes reves se sont vite termines a 6 heures du matin. PUTAIN DE MERDE.

In other news, due to above fact I have a severe sushi craving that was replaced by finishing off my goat cheese craving. It was mildly embarrassing to ask for "3 chevres frais" especially since I only usually buy 1 and the woman most certainly is completely aware of this.  I started working on an "Genomes" inspired art project for school (lame) but the "piece" itself is turning out really great! I'm shocked! I forgot how much I loved making art.

Central Saint Martin's has a graduate program in Magazine publishing. I think I just went to ambition heaven. Unrealistic as usual, but I am relentless and it helps that London speaks english just like my boyfriend, and its close enough to french speaking me to keep me rolling in Paris happy.  

I'm feeling very chatty tonight which is unusual for me.  I am also feeling cheerful due to above mentioned song. I love to hate on life while really being ok with loving. 

When I get chatty I make no sense. I need to quiet down. 

Tomorrow I'm going to eat 28 pieces of sushi

I cant wait. 

     Pour un flirt, avec toi, je ferai n'importe quoi

I can't get over my infinite fears of being a failure as a writer. I dont truly understand the correct definition of a writer, but my journals are boundless territories of thought and terrifying emotion I would never willingly chose to inflict upon the poor citizens of the world. 

However, I have once again failed to write something I began. My folders of this dear laptop are filled with many starts, many bad starts I begin to hate after reading them a second time. My ultimate second inclination is to say that I am a poet-however does being published count? Does a fear of reading this poetry to anyone make me less of a poet? Many men go through the same wasted brainless thought of wondering "am I a Man?" and I waste more time and energy on similar questions.

I feel like everything within the spoken word is a great eternal quest for me. I have not yet found a character who I love, I have no names of locations. it seems simple enough, to write a story-I feel adequately prepared in my life experiences to share my vast knowledge of moving to random countries for no reason. yet research aside, I dont feel at all prepared. And perhaps this is ultimately what is stopping me from moving forward in a literary sense..

I feel better after sharing that. I would like to word for Penguin books because I appreciate the simplistic aestheticism that goes into their books-whether it be covers or choosing the fonts or the paper. It's just all very nicely selected. 

I am weaving spells on everybody- it used to be so easy to weave my own destiny.

I make rash decisions-I am going to Malta, I am flying to Calgary (for love) I am abandoning countries and people and significant realities. 

In many ways it is my deepest curiosity why I have never been interested in space travel. The hour ticks by and I notice only when my eyes drop and my drool hits the keyboard, waking me up. 

I watch french boys dance in tight high waisted red pants, shaking around like they've got nothing to lose and then hell with it, I dance too. I peer upon concrete balconies feeling like it may drop off the facade of the 17th century house yet while I drag on a light I am assured that "zat will neva appen becas zes buildings ar vairey secue"

I know words to song I dont remember every hearing before. Sometimes I wish everyone I knew could plant themselves into this country and we could carry on the way I do.