In Paris
I was told by Oliver that I should really get a livejournal. I shall conform. meeeeh meeeeeeh (how do you type the sound of a sheep? what about a drunken Icelandic sheep? I bet they sound different).
so here it is. a blog!
Back in Paris...speaking French like nobodys business and feeling a bit nostalgic of the yellow Geddes bricks...
walked into the flat, greeted by the mother who turned me around and said that i should tell her if I had any tatoos, piercings, or intentions to go live in a tree.
Unhappy is not a word I like to use in the same sentence as me...but I don't think Paris treats me right. I feel like I'm in a crowd of people, pushing me down, eyeing me, breaking down my barriers, waiting for me to bend backwards til I break and look just as grey and stressed as them. There is something so unusual about accepting to live in a pattern of grey, of metros and of repetitive jobs. "Metro boulot dodo..." that's what we call it here...metro, work, sleep. I remember accepting this, and feeling like a suspicious blot of colour in a perfectly alligned scheme of unatural colours.
Last night I went out with some friends from Iceland. I got them very very drunk and ended up wasted...chatting to people I don't know on the champs de mars, the park next to the eiffel tower, notably one girl who had a rat. I fell in love within seconds, the sort of Gigja feeling I get, where someone becomes amazing because they have a personality. Is that too much to ask?
This is probably the most down I'll be in years. Why? Why do I feel like some little monkey being forced to drink tea with one pinkie lifted up?
hahah now that I think of it that's a really cool image. I want to look like a monkey! I could totally be a monkey.
Being a monkey would be ace. I'd be a sex fiend monkey with an illegitimate drivers license and would live near bangladesh with a community of old hippies.
now I'm happy again.
Need to go check on the carrot cake in the oven.
so here it is. a blog!
Back in Paris...speaking French like nobodys business and feeling a bit nostalgic of the yellow Geddes bricks...
walked into the flat, greeted by the mother who turned me around and said that i should tell her if I had any tatoos, piercings, or intentions to go live in a tree.
Unhappy is not a word I like to use in the same sentence as me...but I don't think Paris treats me right. I feel like I'm in a crowd of people, pushing me down, eyeing me, breaking down my barriers, waiting for me to bend backwards til I break and look just as grey and stressed as them. There is something so unusual about accepting to live in a pattern of grey, of metros and of repetitive jobs. "Metro boulot dodo..." that's what we call it here...metro, work, sleep. I remember accepting this, and feeling like a suspicious blot of colour in a perfectly alligned scheme of unatural colours.
Last night I went out with some friends from Iceland. I got them very very drunk and ended up wasted...chatting to people I don't know on the champs de mars, the park next to the eiffel tower, notably one girl who had a rat. I fell in love within seconds, the sort of Gigja feeling I get, where someone becomes amazing because they have a personality. Is that too much to ask?
This is probably the most down I'll be in years. Why? Why do I feel like some little monkey being forced to drink tea with one pinkie lifted up?
hahah now that I think of it that's a really cool image. I want to look like a monkey! I could totally be a monkey.
Being a monkey would be ace. I'd be a sex fiend monkey with an illegitimate drivers license and would live near bangladesh with a community of old hippies.
now I'm happy again.
Need to go check on the carrot cake in the oven.