the importance of being Morrissey

But you must be breaking someone's heart by saying "I've never gone out with anyone". There must be someone out there who will read this and say, "But I saw him for four years - how can he say that?"
There's a chilly pause. "There's nobody living on the planet who can say that. So there..."
Well, I don't believe you haven't ever gone out with anyone, Stephen [sic].
"Well, I haven't, so put that in your Sony cassette and..." He laughs sharply, almost harshly. "I really haven't."
But you're a human being.
"You've got no evidence of that," he rejoins. "Artists aren't really people. And I'm actually 40 percent papier mache."
Have you been in love with people?
"Oh yes. Real people with flesh and bones and eyes. But I'm so used to fantasy and everything being rock 'n' roll, I could never quite come out of the cinema and relate everything to the hard world. It was always at a distance. Always a dream. And I'm used to that now. I understand the life of books and films and music."
When's the last time you walked down the street holding someone's hand?
"I've never done that."
Ever?
"No! My mother, when I was one, perhaps."
When's the last time you snogged in the cinema?
"Never. You really do overestimate me, don't you? Can you really see me sitting in the back of the cinema snogging? Well, you should stop reading Cosmopolitan. It's not one of my strong points. You may bang your head against the hotel wall but there's nothing to tell. Nothing at all."
Fairly icy silence.
Did you friends ever suggest that by the time you were in your late 30's you'd want to settle down?
"No."
I'd think they'd want to see you happy.
"Maybe they do. I don't know. But they don't say."
Because they're not that crass?
"That's it. They're not that crass." He pauses and looks at the ceiling. "You know, this conversation has devolved dramatically."
....
I look at the man who not only invented Being Morrissey, but is still the unchallenged world champion. And I start to laugh. You're really good at this, you know, I giggle helplessly.
Morrissey rolls his eyes. "Ohhh, you can't keep an old pro down."

read here

things to cry about when I am old and lonesome

I've thought for a long time that I wanted to be 18, 20, 21 years old, and living a different life from this one. That I was tired of all the ogling, and the desperate need for attention, I was bothered how in this time of my life I can't really live, but only try and gather enough of everything so I can live later. I was tired of the way people drop in and out of my life, of how hard it is to find someone you can have a normal conversation with from time to time. It seemed possible, when I was younger, it was a refugee for all the hard times, that I will grow up and move away and find myself and all of that. Because now everything puts on so much pressure that it's suffocating, I feel like I'm between four walls, in a room that smells like a space heater pushing deep against the air inside. I've been missing out on a lot of things, for the simple fact that I take everything and twist it in my mind and make it so damn complicated. So now, I don't want big cities and falling in love in Paris anymore, I want something far more simple. No. Actually, I still want big cities and I want Paris and I want unlikely-to-happen-adventures, but I want even more. I know it's a cliche, but I'm already regretting a lot of things, and I now I will regret tons more when I'll be older, so I really prefer regretting things that I did do, taking chances, than things I didn't have the guts to try. I shouldn't be so terrified of making a bad decision, I can not avoid this.. endless "chain" of mistakes anyway.

Bad decisions make better stories, oh, that's comforting.

Sophie van der Perre

by sophie van der perre

I really like the soft light, the intimacy and the atmosphere of these photos. They just convey a particular mood, they have a subtle, intimate ambiance of some sort...

Lib-er-tine

one who does not restrain his desires or appetite; a debauchee

I'm really not sure what I believe in exactly, because I believe in too many things. For example, I guess I find a sort of divinity in stars, knowing that something is out there, and that it's constant enough, regardless of how lost or lonesome you feel. I also believe in karma, in ghosts (or wandering souls, or whatever), in luck and lucky charms, in second chances, in true love, in God. Well, actually I don't belive in God, but in A God. In something that's out there. It even confuses me. I don't know why everybody is arguing with me on this. I have nothing to offer to this people except my own fucking disorientation. Most of them think that because I can't name anything concrete that I believe in, I've been raised in a wrong way and I am spiritually deficient. And I want to say, that's just bullshit.

Inside

you need to watch this

Misanthropy

a general dislike, distrust, disgust, contempt or hatred of the human species, human nature or society. A mistrustful scorn for humankind.
Perfect for describing me on this foggy, freezing cold, useless morning. Cynical, grumpy misanthropist. Hopefully some coffee will help me pass through it.
As I said before, my life is getting quite turbulent and chaotic lately, but gladly this one week winter break will be a glorious rest from it all. I need to strike a balance.

"...i only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. how free it is, you have no idea how free."-Sylvia Plath, "The belly jar"

I ask you not to watch the video while listening to this song, but close you eyes and let it just seep into your blood. Oh please please do.

i'll never be tired of england

This is going to be my new soundtrack. So happy I finally found it, thank you!

la poésie est dans la rue

On a completely different tangent from what I've been writing lately, here's a quick update of what I've been doing. My life is getting ever more hectic this year, in a good way. Apart from the school crap, which I don't even find so tiring and demanding as everybody is complaining, these have been some really good days. I went to a lot of cultural events, and I'm really proud of myself because I never make the time for this anymore. I've been coping with school quite well, and I even started writing poetry again, after re-discovering two of my favorite poets (Traian T. Cosovei & Charles Bukowski).
So here's some poetry I've been enjoying, as of late. Of course it's Bukowski. Again.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I'm not going

to let anybody see

you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pur whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he's

in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess

me up?

you want to screw up the

works?

you want to blow my book sales in

Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,

so don't be

sad.

then I put him back,

but he's singing a little

in there, I haven't quite let him

die

and we sleep together like

that

with our

secret pact

and it's nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don't

weep, do

you?

-"Bluebird", C.Bukowski

I started a personal collection of poetry. Who writes poetry in the morning? Preachers and wanderers? And thieves?

and me?

t a m e

I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I just don't know what I'm supposed to be. I can't find a style of my own, whatever I write, compose, create, I hate. Everything I do seems so mediocre. It's not false modesty or anything. I strongly believe I suck at this. There are so many people who inspire me, that's why I started this blog in the first place, to collect inspiring works of people I admire. It seems I just can't really put this inspiration into something productive. Whatever I try, there goes nothing. They say every artist has his pauses and his moments of stagnation. Too bad I'm not at all an artist, to use that as a plausible excuse. I need musings and muses. I need something or someone to keep me "on the edge of my seat" again.
Oh, and this blog? This blog is a lousy excuse for a..whatever it's supposed to be. Seriously, don't you think?