What a weirdo.
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L O V E
T H E
C O S M O S
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Finally watched Melancholia this weekend.
Kirsten Dunst is back in my good graces.
LARS VON TRIER
you strange ingenious man you.
The Morning by The Weeknd
Still the best.
Still reminds me of some spent summer mornings in San Diego, California.
I would drink a fair amount the night before in order to surpass intoxication and reach the point of obliteration, grub on carne asada fries and down horchata purchased from real Mexicans who know their shit, I would chew and sip until I could taste again, piss like a lady on someone else's toilet, wipe myself, go for illegal dips at Blacks Beach to lose my body in the sea as it fused with the night sky -- pitch black, terrifying and overwhelming -- believe in multiple gods for a moment, the uncapitalized ones, wonder if I'll die right then and there, find peace in chaos, pick up empty and broken shells, drink some more from a bottle, sit on a single couch with my feet perked up on the coffee table -- rude, relax, eat ice cream straight from the tub, share a spoon and saliva, exchange all the insignificant details of one's life, like the best way to chop tomatoes, confess to failing Gordon Ramsay's eggs, sleep for a few under blankets and arms, then wake up at dawn to go to the beach again, view from a different angle, to wait patiently, and watch the sunrise from inside my humble Honda, windows rolled down unlike sleeves, listen to the flapping of waves and seagulls' wings. With The Morning blasting between the driver/passenger seat. With or without company, depending on the type of morning.
I wish I could repeat some mornings as easily and as often I could this song.
Simply, the best.
James Blake (DJ set) @ Le Poisson Rogue
2/3 times I've watched him live.
Go white boy, with lovely English accent.
Valentine's Day Stings a Little, and I Like It
pen & nail polish
Love is the most lucrative of all clichés.
It sells chocolates, flowers, concert tickets and reserves dinner tables. It is legitimized by the likes of God, and his posse, Jesus and his pet dove. It's sought out in movies, by producers, by screenwriters, by the likes of Audrey Hepburn (I'll have what she's having any day). It's novel.
It's something we love to hate when we don't have it, but there's no denying it. Because then you're denying something real. You can deny it to yourself all you want, but you can't take it away from those who have it. Besides, they don't give two shits about what you do or don't believe because they've been in love and you haven't; they are experienced which automatically make them your superiors. So shut up already and play along, punk.
. . .
Usually I don't give a damn but on a day like today, I acknowledge everything in pairs. I feel accomplished just by noticing the slightest exchanges between person uno and dos (occasionally there is the tres, if they're into polygamy, threesomes or tag-alongs).
You begin to wonder. You begin to wonder what their relationship is like, how they met, what they say to each other in the morning over freshly squeezed orange juice and burnt toast, or the night before, during and after sex. Is he selfish in bed? Is she happy? Is he nice and slow? Is she patient? No, really though. You wonder how people can devout themselves to another being who is just as capable of hurting them as much as loving them; who is capable of tearing them into even smaller, impossible, irreconcilable pieces; finishing what their families started. How does one learn to trust another who is capable of changing their mind as much as they are; sometimes this is not even their own fault, the mind changes without one's consent... so what then, who's left to blame, but yourself. Maybe I'm not pretty enough. You repeat this until you truly believe it. And this is all voluntary, until. Until you're in love.
Are they not terrified? Are they just completely oblivious and unaware? Do they even care, because the worst that can happen is that they'll still have each other. You begin to question whether they truly love each other or they just think it. Are they absolutely mad or is it mostly for convenience. Was their relationship over five weeks ago and they've just agreed to stay in denial, together. Is she okay with the fact that her boyfriend is shorter than she is... when she's not tall to begin with? Is he actually infatuated by her scrawny legs or has he trained his eyes to focus on her personality, while imagining his ex's body in place of hers?
Do they fight about big things that can potentially break them or bicker about the little things that'll ensure they stay in the exact same place forever? Do they fight for foreplay. Do they attend Bible study together and disagree on certain verses. He favors 1 John 3:18 and she likes Psalms 145:8. Do they refer to it as 'fucking,' 'making love' or 'premarital sex'? Will God forgive them, or was God even mad to begin with. What if He enjoys watching two lovers consummate it, with or without a ring, as long as it's honest and selfless. What do they know about each other that no one else knows -- not me, not the fat hungry financial guy next to them, not his business partner -- not even their own mothers.
Does he remind you of your father whom you both consciously despise and subconsciously want all the same? Does she remind you of your mother. Warm, submissive and in utter denial of the life she could have had, had she rejected his bloated proposals while life was still sweet and her figure fit it.
What makes her man so special? He swaggers like he has a dent in his leg and walks too fast. So what about him appeals to you more than that other guy over there, who also has the same dent in his leg and is always walking as if he's running from the police.
Love fascinates me. But I'm not special, because love fascinates you too. Some of us are fortunate enough to have it while others are more or less fortunate to not have found it, yet. This is why it's fascinating. How selective love is. How punctual and late it chooses to be. How limiting and burdensome yet expansive and possible it could prove to be. What is it. Why is it so morbid and beautiful at the same time. Why. Why does it sting. Why is it both pleasurable and painful to watch it happen around you, unaware that you're there. Is this intentional. Love is honestly so bizarre.
Then you wonder why, of all days in the year, some novelty couple decides to break up on this particular day; only to leave this ugly stain on something already tacky as is. It's like spilling fruit punch on a tie-dye shirt. Couldn't they pretend for just a day longer? Why the fuck are you drinking fruit punch in a tie-dye shirt, in the middle of February, anyway. Please explain.
Happy Valentine's Day, lovers. Stay in love for the rest of us.
I love you all.
Bad Girls by M.I.A.
Makes me want to bite down on aluminum foil and withstand it.
Something about hip hop and aggression, so sexy.
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