Don’t ever ask me where I go


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The first photo has… my Blackberry; IPod Nano (which freezes, ALL THE TIME, despite being quite new, damn you Apple); Headphones by Escouche. The notebooks are from Paperchase, as nearly all my notebooks are (except my favourite Moleskine ones). In the top left corner you can see Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying, which I’ve just finished. Check it out if you’re into feminist odysseys, as I am. Above is one of my many scrapbooks… French film features pretty heavily. Also, Cruella. Why not? I would say my own personality is somewhere between Tinkerbell and Cruella de Vil. Like a truculent fairy with red lipstick and a cigarette.

I’ve been moving around a lot lately, and so my mind is filled with ideas about journeys, cars, night-stops at flourescent-lit Moto’s, trying to stay in touch and trying to stay out of touch. The rules change when you are on a journey; things always seem somehow changed when you are somewhere quiet and new and desolate at 3 in the morning. As if you did not belong to regular life, with it’s time for sleeping and it’s time for waking, and it’s sanity. Petty problems are transformed into existentialist gold that cannot hurt you anymore, because you’re free and moving, and only a tiny dot in one big starry night. The song I play for this mood is Hollow Talk by Choir of Young Believers. Listen and weep (with nostalgic melancholy and freedom-loving joy). 

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