What if my computer sometimes takes secret pictures of me? I must now always look pretty when I sit in front of it. I’ll dress up. I’ll put on make up. I’ll sit straight, in flattering positions.
It is a hard and lovely thing to be on the very thin line between performativity and performance.
Once, I let a man pull my hair. Any other day, I would hurt anyone who would even think about it but I felt adventurous that time and also I had this idea in my mind that if you pull your hair, it grows faster. I wanted really really long hair. It was a time as good as any.
So he did it and I was like “hm” because he was doing it well and by that I mean he was doing it like a pro, doing it like he knew exactly everything about the craftsmanship of pulling someone’s hair. His technique was completely perfect and it was clear that to him, this was very sexual. It was interesting to me, but not captivating enough. So I changed perspective. I looked at me as if I was him, shifted so that I could see how he saw me. And then I saw it as he did, how and why I, sometimes by some people, could be read as a person who would enjoy this kind of thing. I also saw why I sometimes misread the same bend in sexuality in some specific people, for example, in him. I saw which things in me, all things in me that from a certain perspective could look like something else and therefore be mistook in this specific way.
Perspective is very fascinating because I believe that all is made and nothing is. How you look at something decides what you see. Not everyone understands this until they actually try it. By knowing this and using it you can mold and change and turn and shift and play with all reality. By knowing this, you can form reality into what you want it to be. How you look at something is a powerful choice, if you know that it is.
So anyway, I let him do it. I thought about it growing fast and even. And then I looked at him, in a way that still matched his perspective. He let go of my hair. I looked away and he started to do something else, that I disliked. I did not like the hair pulling but it was a neutral not like and that is different from dislike. This other thing he started doing was a real displeasure so after a very short while, I looked at him again. I saw the question inside him, maybe it was an asking for permission, maybe it just was: I wonder if she likes it. To me, it looked like a mix of both things. I said: You are reading me wrong. And I stood up from my sitting position. I was wearing silk. I made coffee and I put on this song and I went to my window and I drank the coffee and I smoked a cigarette and I used the song to help me touch the feeling of being that kind of person who likes those things and I tasted the feeling and I grabbed it and let it unfold completely inside me and I knew from all of me, all parts of me that I have never been that and never will be and I let the real but borrowed feeling fade away fall away and I told him to leave. He told me I was very beautiful. I said I’m gonna start a fashion blog. He said he could not tell if I was lying.
My hair did grow very fast for a while. He was a smart good looking man. I liked him. I have a friend he will like. I have a friend that would like him.
I had a conversation yesterday and I said:
And then I told him why.
So you are actually saying that you are afraid of everything being awesome.
I laughed ‘cause it was so. I said yes, this is true. I said I feel like N and then I felt like N for a while and you know what, now I thank you EA because you gave me a gift yesterday. I’m not like N. I shall not act like him. I was falling in to his behavior.
And then I mentioned Vladimir/Fredrik/The lost boy. And so of course he texted me today for the first time in forever. He told me a story about the jade bracelet. And then he mentioned Victor Black. And so of course he also texted me today. The men I love or loved can very often hear me.
I went home. I didn’t sleep. I read a lovely girls description of her visit to Stockholm. She helped me too. She made me remember the magic in this city. If I would write about Berlin, I’d say the magic of the city. This city is not magic, but it has magic in it. I still won’t stay but I’ll love it again while I’m here.
I am always the most awesome when I am when I do contradicting things.
every, every single thing we touch turns to gold,
One of the harshest things you can ever say is I loved you. There is something amazingly bittersweet in the feeling I’m having. This day is drenched in it. I only like pain in me when it feels exactly like this. It is mixed. I’ll drink wine. I’ll think about this. I’ll feel every twist and turn of it. I’m wearing nothing except my sisters expensive dress and a gifted perfume called breath of god. The person who gave it to me is so very lovely. I will never be able to wear it and not think of him. It’s the same kind of hurt, the same kind of everything. I think about all Daniels I’ve ever known. I’m gonna pick one and I’m gonna call him and he will not answer. I’m gonna buy some tasty wine and I’ll drink it alone. I’m gonna decorate my body.
Daniel called me from the deck of a ship in Copenhagen. He said: We should walk around in cities like this city. Then we talked about life choices, then we talked about his sister. I am too much of the future, in the future. I want to find a girl as a sort of replacement for Elmira because she is and she will be so far away though I know there is no such thing as a replacement for the awesomeness that is she. I’ve been having a crisis so huge I could not even see it. When I saw it, it looked like this enormous cute fuzzy monster with razor sharp killer teeth. I petted it. I told it it’s okay. I said I do remember alchemy. I said I finally remember how to make small shrunken heads and bend all matter in reality. I told it I can’t sleep and my brother doesn’t sleep so we play wordfeud at 3 and 4 and five every night and then I can’t wake up when it’s morning. It laughed. It licked its fangs with a fuchsia coloured tongue in the exact same colour of my favourite lipstick from lime crime.
I have seen and heard everything so it’s not easy to shock me but a week ago I saw something that really made me…I don’t know what it made me. I still think of it. It was completely insane and very disgusting. It went on and on. I was sober, present. Of course I could of walked away, but I almost never can resist a freak show. I could hear the nervous laughter of other people watching. There are so many sleeping people in this world. They fumble in darkness, unaware. They understand nothing. They mix up every emotion.
For a very long time, I was stuck in the idea of truth. That is why I attracted all these liars. Not very long ago, one of my dear friends told me that I was very scary, because I was the face of absolute truth. He was right, though there is no such thing. I have always known this: Truth is bendable and temporary. Truth changes with perspective. Things are often both true and untrue. It all depends on where you’re standing.
This friend is my best mirror, the best of my very few. What he actually meant is that I am an exceptionally good mirror. This is why I see everything so easy if I chose it. Because they reflect their real selves in me. Because I reflect it. Their real face. Their true fears and intentions. Their real desires. Things they don’t even know about themselves. Things they think they cannot handle. They try so very hard to hide it but for me it’s like it is written all over their faces in capital neon letters. This is why I rarely look. This is also why I am so hard to read for most people. I understand it can be very difficult to see what is behind a mirror especially for someone who is sleeping. I provoke so many people, just by seeing them. I guess it’s reasonable for someone who has worked so hard to develop all these masks and defence mechanisms to get scared or angry when I so easily see right through the layers, to the core of it. But this is also one of the reasons to why those who are brave and close to me love me. The liars and most importantly, the cowards, fall away. I really do not care for cowards. I am not done on the mirror-subject. I love this kind of automatic filters.
I dreamt about the first boy that I loved. I went on a trip, alone. I was sitting near the sea. He suddenly turned up. We had a drink. A conversation. I woke up almost missing him.
Yesterday, I visited my grandmother. Every step of the way to her place was memories. Fifty, no, more like hundreds of visual memories of what happened there. Every place I saw. It was all still there. I could see everything. Me and the others. Here I did this, and here this, and they, and her and him and in this place this happened. So fast. So many pictures. How can I think so fast and see so many pictures in my head in an instant. Can everyone do it? If they can, why don’t they ever talk about it? Is it a secret? This was not like my regular memories. Everything was so vivid I could of touched it. Things I could not have remembered if I tried. I didn’t try. It just was there in almost the same way that things that are now are there. I saw it and it hurt and it was also lovely. I saw it and I started laughing and then I let go. Sometimes, I am so free it’s almost frightening.
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