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in times of transformation - when a paper diary simple won't do - where does a girl turn? the harpying call of electronic joy, HTML help sites, the cold sweat of an adolescent fever dream...


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monkey gone to heaven - pixies

took a bunchof cute pictures of myself in my underwear and i have no one to send them to, which almost feels better. im eating an english muffin and an apple in bed and wondering if the neighbour could see me taking all those pictures, and my flash going off, over and over and over again.





logging on to share that i went on an awful date last night. he kept sucking his teeth and his lips the entire time and that alone was enough to immediately extinguish any attraction. i told him if i ever committed suicide (which i wouldn't, for the record, but hypothetically speaking) i would take pills or poison so i would die peacefully and in a ladylike manner. to which he said, "i could see that, you're very feminine." he was a tissue engineer, killing mice to solve muscular dystrophy. not for the kids or anything, but just to consider a difficult problem solved. he kept saying the word "sexy" like it was a compulsion and i asked why and he just said it was on his mind.

i could hardly chug my way through a single glass of orange wine before i left, and we walked the same way, and we hugged goodbye but i didn't even want to do that.




miserable - lit

on thursday i saw the angel number 54 at work. $54.54... and normally i wait to see something a few more times before i classify it as a real angel number but this time i couldn’t wait and made a mental note to check it out. was i surprised to see it was a message from my angels to make the necessary changes in order to align myself with my soul mission and life purpose??? nope! i’m currently in a window seat at my “favourite” coffee shop, which isn’t my favourite any more, because it’s been replaced with another in the opposite direction because they have bigger tables and a staff of younger, sociable men which i naturally prefer. but this one is nice, and i like it because the staff are italian and it draws a largely italian crowd and everyone speaks italian to each other and it allows me to play make believe and pretend i’m somewhere else. usually some costal town in the summer and some rural northern village in the fall or winter, like today, where i can stare out the window and pretend the passers-by are nattering away about something extremely chic and refined like, i don’t know, olives or cigarettes. a guy i was pining after replies “ok!” after i ignore his invite on a date. a few weeks ago i would have been foaming at the mouth to go out with him but now i’m distracted by constantly refreshing the profiles of two different guys i’ve become cyber-infatuated with, because they seem standoffish and aloof in a too-cool-for-social-media way. i zoom in on grainy selfies and squint and wait for them to inevitably dm me after an elaborate game of cat and mouse, only to repeat the cycle when my attention wanders to something new.




special k - placebo

i'm probably only doing this because i've been reading anais nin. everyone hated her, because she was a bigamist and self absorbed. she was so involved in her own little world that she thought her diaries deserved to be put on display, read by millions, etc etc etc. and eventually they were, but if i've learned anything, it's that most people in her immediate social circle thought she was in insufferable, man eating bitch and a master manipulator not to be trusted.

more importantly, i had a genuine creative break through today. it almost makes me feel silly for not understanding this earlier, but i guess it's part of the process, and the world truly looked crystalline a few hours when it finally clicked. i guess i understood inspiration, and it's influence on creativity and an artist's body of work but i don't think i had found a way to intertwine myself with my work, like wrap and weft yet. it was dear maria grazia (who is butchering dior) who explained that in the early weeks of designing the next collection, they had been listening to samba or something, and that it was influencing the collection heavily. and it made sense that inspiration isn't about gathering and parsing together a lifetime of interests, it's about translating your current manic obsessions into art as catharsis. so the fruitless(?) fascinations with a flavour of the week, or month, isn't fruitless after all - it's the seed - the art is the fruit - and anything can be a seed - music, friendship, the 40k photos trapped on my iPhone, a kiss, a fuck, a fight, etc etc etc etc.