trams to moscow.

so, today i saw vicky after four months of unwilling separation. it was really strange to see her in belgium, having met her on the chinese island we both called home for a while, but the shock quickly faded as she showed me around ghent, her place of residence and one of the more grimy and ancient-looking cities ever. i must admit that she’s done quite a good job at rebuilding her life – she doesn’t have any money, but so what, neither do i.

we bummed around for a day, rode on a tram, played with her little kitty tommy, had a haircut, and chainsmoked our way thru the city. perfection chez sc.

valerie solanas, superstar-watcher.

once again, it’s late (or early), and i’m wide awake. maybe it’s insomnia, maybe it’s the acid, but it can’t possibly be the yum yum green tea with honey i’m having. whatever the cause, i’ve been lying in bed, re-reading michel faber’s the crimson petal and the white, and thinking about, yes, men.

most men are totally unappealing to me. it’s quite ironic that i happen to be gay, because men normally bore or disgust me, especially the gay ones, for reasons i can’t fathom. there’s only been ten or so men in my life i could even have a normal conversation with, without wanting to drift off into coma quite badly. unfortunately, this list doesn’t include my father or stepfather, or even old classmates or whatever (okay one). nooooo. it’s all pretty ex-boyfriends, my current boyfriend, friends abroad and deceased relatives. YA.

conclusion.

1. i’ll have to treat my boyfriend well, ‘cos a picky bitch like me can easily morph into an aging spinster with a shrill little laugh and a sequined lady purse, all somerset maugham-like.
2. i wish i was lesbian. i’d be a 6′2″ brunette supermodel named cecily, deeply interested in literature and high art, and pj harvey would be my girlfriend. together we’d sail our yacht to destinations like hadramaut, ceylon and the british carolines. when the sun would set on the teak deck, we’d drink cosmopolitans and listen to vintage new order all night, watching the stars.

i do believe i am tripping.

passengers for brussel/bruxelles, please alight.

so me, lp and nicky went to brussels. although i eventually never got to see the world-famous BOB MO, we had long walks thru the capital of this crazy continent, and spent some time at a weird houseparty in the coolest flat ever. as usual, the pictures speak for themselves.

this love will mess you around.

the last week has been a bit frightening in many respects. i’m currently in a bit of a maelstrom of sadness, fright and nausea, and you can add some ennui and all manner of other annoying feelings to that as well. the fact that my biorhythm has officially defenestrated itself doesn’t really help either, but ah well, it’s all quite insignificant

random news: i’ve discovered the sheer joy of blasting devo’s whip it thru oversized headphones on busy city streets; i cut my own bangs; and, i apparently sound cute, euro-british and effeminate. yayza!

***

whenever i hear people talking about the iPhone, they’re always deliciously ignorant, but sure about one thing: it will be a grandiose failure. they don’t quite know why, but what else could it be? after all, who’d want to buy an apple-branded phone? it’s sooo expensive. it doesn’t run microsoft word. it’s black, and beige would go better with those khaki slacks. it… actually looks like a wonderful little computer. so there, i’ve said it, it’s a computer.

thanks to my mother being a supa doopa machead, i grew up with a macintosh ii (monochrome monitor and a laser printer about as expensive as a cottage in the south downs), then a performa, g3, g4, the list goes on. what everybody seems to forget, though, is the newton, the first iPhone-like device apple produced. it sort of tanked, but it was a very avant-garde and tiny computer. even if they’d just recreate the (circa 1995) newton with a colour screen and some fancy bells and whistles, they’d be set for instant success. it’s not even a question of the newton being good – it was actually quite a mediocre and loathsome thing. today’s mobile phones were just designed by sucka toddlers. it’s fairly easy to do a better job than the designers of my current (expensive) phone. it’s got 732737 features, but also a kazillion different dialogue menus. it’s also very bland and MEH. iPhone, come quickly!

***

pictures of me, a lovebunnie, a map of russia, and miss brooke dressed like me (i am clearly a recurring theme in this blog!):

 

ponytail.

when my soul starts glowing
when my soul starts growing
when my soul starts growing
 

i get so hungry
and i wish it never would stop growing

 

this song by panda bear (on the person pitch lp, for those interested), makes your soul glowwww.

shameless picture time, vol. 2.

so, after yesterday’s intellectual rant, its time for some pictures! they were taken at various times and places. enjoy!

marguerite yourcenar you’re the one.

the last week i’ve been ‘busy’ meeting with old friends, gardening, smoking overpriced ciggies, carrying a ziploc bag full of pills around, and, last but not least, reading marguerite yourcenar’s two seminal novels, memoires d’hadrien and the abyss. hadrian’s memoirs are, um, about hadrian, the roman emperor. he had quite the fascinating life, and lived it to the fullest, in an age of reason with a capital r and pretty boyz in discos. hadrian was also an optimist: while nothing lasts forever, affirmative action keeps things running, and life pleasant. at that time, the world was still quite a mysterious place to live. no tourists on the akropolis, no mcdonalds in rome, no autobahn in nord rhine westphalia; and the romans believed jade was something that popped out of shooting stars. can’t we just go back to the mid period of the roman empire please?

the abyss is its absolute counterpart, set in flanders, in the late middle ages, a rich but decaying country. zeno, an alchemist, philosopher and doctor, is mr. enlightened renaissance man in a world that’s still fairly grim. he travels a lot, but sees the same misery and idiocy everywhere, from uppsala to istanbul. his mother was burned at a stake when a Crazy Cult seized the city of munster, where she happened to be; his friends and lovers all die of diseases he can explain but can’t cure, and his relatives are obscenely rich and stupid bourgeois cunts. instead of saving him from the flames when the spanish reign of terror starts taking out scientists all over the netherlands, his sister uses her influence to buy already executed nobles’ audubon tapestry for a nice little price, so he burns at the stake, after sixty pointless years of searching for something to live for. his last words: mankind’s biggest problem is man – the inert, immobile mass of dumb cattle being pushed forward by foolish leaders. we’ll destroy ourselves.

so why the hell did yourcenar, a grumpy old nanny figure, spend 30 years or more writing these two novels? you couldn’t find protagonists who disagree this soundly anywhere else. my, now pretty educated, guess is that she meant to demonstrate that, whilst we destroy almost everything we touch, it’s still a pretty rewarding experience to be human.

em. this supa intellectualism will start scaring people away, so soon we’re going back to the nice little blog posts with lovely pictures! when i get over my laziness and put them on my beloved little macbook, that is. and, i miss my boyfriend, HUMPH. maybe that’s why i’m going crazy about cryptic novels. au revoir, dear reader. *misses boyfriend and keeps losing his mind at a steady pace*

poor little rich boi.

the middle of the night, menthol cigarettes, a very big and very empty house, soft music on the stereo, the GoogleMap of taipei on the display, cranberry juice, hooting owls outside. if this isn’t hardcore, i don’t know what is.