Month: January, 2015

Onion, I.


You unintentionally hurt my feelings yesterday by opening that file on my computer even though I told you to stop. That’s why I had to wrestle you down onto the floor before you had time to see anything. It is not that I am hiding anything from you, some things I just want to keep private and that file of little films I have made is highly private. Not because I don’t trust you but beause I don’t always trust myself. That file is like you reading my diary. It is my inner thoughts but in a more visual sense and since I see myself a little like an onion it will take some serious peeling of layers before I can allow you to reach my inner core. I never show my work¬† – or if I do, I do so anonymously. In secret.¬† If I ever show you my work I will do so because I want to and not because you happen to find it when going through my computer.


4 pictures from that day when I discovered I have about 10 minutes of afternoon sun illuminating my wall

IMG_8758_edited IMG_8773_edited IMG_8784_edited IMG_8795_edited



Dark room. Headache. Feverishly sore skin.

“Do you want anything? Do you need anything? I think you should not get out of bed today, darling.”



21, 180, 7.5


For the first time in 21 nights I’ll be sleeping alone. 21 nights are quite many. If one would suggest that we on average have slept about 8h each night that makes a total of 168h. That is quite a lot. Add sleep-ins and general laziness spent horizontally close to each other and we probably end up somewhere around 180h (if not more). That is seven and a half days spent together in bed. That is quite long.

Acquired Taste


Clear example of acquired taste – home made cappuccino and a ginger nut biscuit.

You don’t like coffee, tea or salty liquorice, ginger, rocket or wine. They are all acquired tastes, nothing you’ll necessarily like the first time you try it but something you’ll get used to, slowly and with practice. I like them all, I have acquired them, I am acquired (am I?) and maybe I also take some getting used to. Maybe you won’t like me straight away.
You told me the other day that one thing you admire about me is how I am always myself (and god knows I try to be) in every situation. In other words, I do not make myself taste better in front of other people who might prefer other scents. I keep my own flavour and sometimes you will have to acquire a like for me. It is not a love at first sight situation. It is not instinctual. It is what it is and one little step of escaping human nature. It is thinking.

But I do still like to think of myself as rather likeable sometimes.

Motivation, or rather: the lack of motivation

IMG_8749_editedThis week has so far proven to be highly unmotivative. The reading has taken ages to complete and the lectures have been even slower. I actually think it quite sad how some of my lecturers seem to have no passion for the subject they teach – at all. One of them looks so uncomfortable where she stands. She’s a little like a drawn out piece of old chewing gum – tall, slim, dull . . . chewy. I feel like either falling asleep or like jumping up and down just to make something happen. As I get more and more tired I feel that little lump of irritation growing within and every little minimal piece of enthusiasm I ever had about the poems written by Thomas Wyatt slowly slowly disappears and evaporates.

A little comment

A little comment saying that my writing is nice. A little comment saying that someone found what I write interesting. I find that interesting. It makes me feel nice. It makes me feel happy. Thank you.

New Look pricetag bookmark contrast


Do you see that? This is the clash that so well captures our time. This is where Renaissance love poetry and the corruption of kings meet the snare of consumerism and material means. We have an industrial revolution between us. We have world wars between us. We have almost 500 years between us. Still, I can understand what you write and I can feel for you. I can evaluate your texts but maybe I can’t understand them in the way in which you wrote them. Probably history gives me a perspective which you did not have or maybe I have lost something which you once had. When the only tool you have is a hammer, all problems start to resemble nails. That is why you, Renaissance writer, and I, New Look consumer, cannot fully understand each other even is the main gist is transported through the centuries.

I can’t tell you about everything I did last week but I can tell you the contents of my bin


  • 7 tissues with lipstick stains
  • Tangerine peel
  • 1 pair of old socks with holes on the heels
  • 1 price tag from H&M
  • 1 rotten pear
  • 1 empty bag of Quavers
  • 14 cotton pads
  • 1 old toothbrush
  • 1 blusher that was too red so I threw it away
  • 2 empty concealer containers
  • 43 sticky notes
  • 1 pen with no ink left
  • 1 empty sellotape role
  • Infinite amounts of tea bags
  • That note you wrote me last term
  • 1 airport bagage tag – ARN to LDN Heathrow
  • 1 day-saver bus ticket to Coventry, valid only on the National Express buses.
  • 1 apple core