And I don’t feel like blogging at all.
Things I won’t manage to do tonight:
Excuse my angsty teen self that will most likely emerge now that Skins season 7 is coming out. I am excited beyond words, thoughts or even proper emotions. My girls, Effy & Cassie are both getting an episode (Effy’s titled Fire and Cassie’s Purity) and I am absolutely thrilled. Plus I can’t wait to see some interaction between Naomi/Effy. Skins Skins Skins, god how I miss it. Generation 3 was an utter fail and I am so glad we’re getting some extra material from classic Skins characters after all these years in between. It’s going to be beautiful. Visually stunning, heartbreakingly wonderful & my soul is kind of not ready but at the same time I can’t wait any longer.
I am going to that Parov Stelar gig tonight and instead of feeling excited I’m rather grumpy & simply uninspired - I can’t move a finger. What a hell of a week. Also, Lana is possibly coming in Greece as part of the Rock Wave festival yet ticket dates are not out. I want the entire thing to get confirmed already so I can proceed to some official ticket & train booking.
I love the natural warmth of some people. I love their discretion, their gentleness. Some people simply seize you from within; their inner space is uncommonly distinctive. Think about it: Mostly, you are going to be devastatingly alone. You will barely be able to carry around your thoughts let alone come to terms with the impossibility of sharing them with others. But in case you meet someone whose mind will attract you — do not be afraid of opening up to them. If there is something glorious about the human race altogether, it is the ability to connect. We are most fearfully simply existing until we slowly and steadily develop the need to preserve our innocence and at the same time break some boundaries; Until we responsibly crawl outside of ourselves without losing ourselves and commit to some form of beautiful connection. Whatever happens, I always seem to need this kind of reassurance that I will maintain my self-sufficiency as well as open up enough, in order to connect. I need to be self-critical but I also need to remain soft; I need to keep my distances but I also need to show people more often that I actually do care. The best moments of clarity come to me when I am alone in bed drinking my black coffee and experiencing the very second at its fullest as well as genuinely embracing my current mood and its flow. I feel so purely honest with myself and consequently with all the rest of the world. And most of the time that alone is enough. The moment is whole; something is unbreakable. Something fits. But talk about an open landscape. Talk about intimacy. Talk about wordlessly wonderful communication and the unsurpassable sense of twoness, togetherness. It doesn’t have to revolve around romance; It might be utterly friend-rooted or not rooted at all. No definition might fit it but I still name it intimacy. And it is so strange and spectacularly profound.
I adore the fact that suddenly everyone seems to be insanely into the 1920’s just because The Great Gatsby came out. Like yeah, wow, Gatsby and parties and flapper girls and dancing and wealth and glamour, how very original. Well I personally love the 20’s because of the stunning silent movies and all the atmospheric coffee places. I love the 20’s because of good jazz music being played all around and complete fashion revolution, eroticism, pathos, genuinely good love letters, modernist literature, architecture which had a lot to say. Generally: what an era. And how it gets to me that it shall become over-hyped now just because well…Gatsby.
Reading Nietzsche’s biography by Ronald Hayman. Can anyone explain to me how this happens? Like, Chopin is practically my religion and Nietzsche is my man and I’m getting to read that Nietzsche adored the piano and my eyes are rushing through the entire paragraph, and I have a gut feeling that I’m about to read something that will haunt me and suddenly I’m reading that his favourite composer was also fucking Chopin. And I can’t even explain to you how this made me feel. And yeah, I simply adore both Friedrich and Frédéric. My point is: Sylvia Plath worshiped both Anne Sexton and Virginia Woolf. Nietzsche adored Chopin, Kafka was strongly influenced by Nietzsche, Woolf had a rivalry with Mansfield but admired her writing the most and deeply respected her…and it goes to show that all my beloved ones (authors, musicians, poets, philosophers) profoundly liked each-other in some abnormally spectacular way. And that is amazing.
I bought When Nietzsche wept. Excuse me for the lack of activity but this book is tearing my life apart and I am busy indulging myself in the pleasure of doing nothing about it but enjoy the indescribable emotional pain. Plus there is a movie based on it and I haven’t watched it yet. Oh god
Had the most beautiful day;
My sort of existential crisis can be summed up in having trouble believing what Rumi said about oneself not being a drop in the ocean but an entire ocean within a drop; It is a question of faith. Sometimes I feel so small. I feel like nothing is up to me. I occasionally deal with stuff but it’s like I am touching a fragrance of a fragrance of the tip of the iceberg and never, ever the real thing. And you know I then immerse myself in thinking how insignificant everything is and how little one can actually do but create a universe for themselves and kind of let their own inner life touch them. And all the cosmological shit goes down the drain each time I philosophize and talk to myself in an empty room and it kind of extends to being a sort of mental activity which has no subtlety left because it goes back to being the same damn thing all over again. And repetition kills me but then I realize the thought process is different; the rhythm is different so I console myself with the possibility of being insane but at least being original. And all this shit revolves around me being a completely self-absorbed asshole but you know then I read a little bit of Spring and I quote Cummings in my head and I end up thinking in pure poetical language and I listen to The Ronettes and I feel a little better because be my baby
*sigh* I am sleepy and it’s merely 1:30 a.m. My Kafkaesque instincts seem to weaken a bit.
So I have a new baby kitten.