Thursday, November 10, 2011


loss |lôs; läs|
the fact or process of losing something or someone : avoiding loss of time | funding cuts will lead to job losses | loss-making industries.
• the state or feeling of grief when deprived of someone or something of value : I feel a terrible sense of loss.
It’s always the same. The incredulous phone call, the rushed explanations, the hopeful tone. Then the daily updates – sometimes good, sometimes bad, but eventually all the same. There’s the cloned parking lots, every visitor exactly alike, the harshly lit hallways, the blue carpets (with a tasteful diamond-shaped print in mustard), the paintings of small Greek islands, the smell of decay and excrement, the glazed-over eyes, the rushed paperwork.
Then the dreaded five steps from the door to a small heap of flesh and dust under white sheets that smell of blood. The bluish hands, limp like little dead birds that flutter their broken wings in the back of your mind forever. The sunken-in eyes that reveal nothing of the passions and regrets of a lifetime, that remember nothing of the sunlight through blond curls. The brave smile that holds only the knowledge that one day every pillar will fall, every dream will be exposed and ridiculed, that even love is subject to atrophy. 

Wednesday, November 2, 2011


escapism |iˈskāpˌizəm|

the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, esp. by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy.
The worst part about defaulting to writing in times of crisis or happiness is the crippling awareness that your medium is limiting. The vocabulary of a single language simply can’t express the degrees of human emotion accurately. Of course a fortunate few - a poet here and there, Márquez in his genius - manage to come close, but the rest of us have to find a little manoeuvring room within the boundaries of our abilities, like exercising in jail. 
I’m like a thin layer of Marmite on cold toast today. Words hide from me, thoughts scuttle away to dark corners where I can’t reach them. I escape from my infirmity by allowing shades of green to captivate me, by succumbing to the allure of afternoon light, by dwelling on moments of pleasure and delight long past.

Thursday, October 20, 2011


alter |ˈôltər|
change or cause to change in character or composition, typically in a comparatively small but significant way : [ trans. ] Eliot was persuaded to alter the passage | nothing alters the fact that children are our responsibility | [ intrans. ] our outward appearance alters as we get older | [as adj. ] ( altered) an altered state

It all comes together in the most undignified way – like two bodies struggling against each other, biting and crying. You know that it started out with a slow movement, a flirtation, a meeting of the eye. It started with a sensual dance, a safe motion of matter with each piece exactly where it belongs. You know, even then, that it’ll come to this chaotic moment, this small and violent release. You know before you begin that you will be pressed flat on your stomach, struggling for breath, unable to tell where you begin or end.
You anticipate that moment of absolute agony, of unparalleled fear, but your whole being wants nothing, nothing more than to be right where you are. It is the only possible ending to a story for which you alone can be held accountable. It’s a wonderful freedom, a terrifying beginning of a whole new dance.

Friday, September 23, 2011


beauty |ˈbyoōtē|
noun ( pl. -ties)
1 a combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, esp. the sight : I was struck by her beauty | an area of outstanding natural beauty.

In my heart I write you a letter every day. I tell you about all the places that I want to show you. I describe all the sights we'll see together. I tell you how much I love holding your hand. I describe the way you looked last night when you didn't know I was watching: how the light in the mirror caught the line of your jaw, how it made me tremble.

I write about the morning light through the window of your room. I tell you about the summer that we'll share, about the walks we'll take, about the things we'll touch. I write a description of every beautiful photograph I've ever seen because I want to share all the beauty in my life with you.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


sobriety |səˈbrīətē; sō-|
the state of being sober : the price of beer compelled me to maintain a certain level of sobriety.
• the quality of being staid or solemn.

You'll know exactly what I'm talking about if it's ever happened to you. You spend weeks or months or years of your life with someone. You share your hopes and dreams, you lose yourself in another person's body, you share your fears and desires, your sadness, you allow yourself to be exactly who you are. Your concept of love is based entirely on that relationship.

But then you wake up. You know that you have seen something that you'll never not see again. You'll carry that sobriety with you for the rest of your life.

Thursday, September 15, 2011


adjective |ˈpərfikt|
1 having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be : she strove to be the perfect wife | life certainly isn't perfect at the moment.

I knew that my birthday would be amazing, but I had absolutely no idea just how amazing amazing could be. It's day one of my planned four day celebration, and things are getting retarded in here. I've been documenting most of it in pictures, so instead of a boring wordy post, I'll just show you.

This was waiting for me in the office when I got in this morning. I was the excite!

This was inside one of the packages, wrapped in brown paper just the way I like it!
It's a notebook, in case you were wondering.

A little personal touch. Love it!

Postcards of communist posters from 100 years ago, all the way from Cracow. Neat-o!
All of this, plus the flowers and two ginger bread people from my cousin and her shiny new fiancé!

A bunch of my favourite flowers in the whole world from my special friend. Yes, I mean it in that way. 

A box of roses from my peeps at the office. I've always wanted a box of roses. Made me feel like a movie star. They also sent me a little message for each flower. It was super special!

My desk by 10:00

A flaming doughnut and a song from my flaming hot cousin.

And just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any better, the girls surprised me with lunch at 44 Stanley! My heart skipped a beat. There were balloons and more flowers. Yes, kids. FOUR bunches of flowers! 

See? I told you!

and THEN I got more presents! No kidding!

Flowers, balloons, presents, ribbons and crazy hair, all in one picture. Yes, that just happened to your brain!

That wasn't even the best part! I was super bummed because Jacques and Carla are in Cape Town for the week and they couldn't be here. Luckily for me, they found a way to attend (with a little help from the girls)

Then we had some wine and Carina could finally share her engagement story with the rest of the girls. There were a whole lot of 'Aaaaw!' and 'Aaaaah!'s.

Still the engagement story. The best part is, this might be the wedding venue!

This is why you should have friends with skills. Thanks Rooms!

Post-lunch pick-me-up. Almost too pretty to drink. Almost.

But then I tripped, fell, and it was in my belly!

Tonight I'm cooking risotto for a growing number of friends. Expect more pics tomorrow.

Happy birthday to me!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


release |riˈlēs|
verb [ trans. ]
1 allow or enable to escape from confinement; set free : the government announced that the prisoners would be released.

It's quite amazing what a mind shift can do. For better or worse, sometimes a fleeting decision can change the entire composition of a person's life. It takes one comment to shatter a relationship, it takes one confession to build one. Merely entertaining two ideas can turn a whole life inside out, upside down. It's a fanfare, kids. It's a hallelujah.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011


close 1 |klōs|
1 a short distance away or apart in space or time : the hotel is close to the sea | her birthday and her wedding date were close together | why don't we go straight to the shops, as we're so close? | the months of living in close proximity to her were taking their toll.

I managed to drown my birthday week sorrows last night. I stupidly chased a bottle of wine with some vodka and then had a serious drunken conversation that I didn't have the courage to have while sober. For some reason I'm so afraid of owning up to my emotions. I need to work on that.

27 approaches. I'm very excited. I have a feeling this year will be filled with love. I mean the romantic kind, not the kind I already have. I think I'm ready for it.

I also think the coming year will be full of adventure. I booked a ticket to New Zealand yesterday. There'll be weddings and funerals and many, many dinners.

Two more sleeps!

Monday, September 12, 2011


resist |riˈzist|
verb [ trans. ]
withstand the action or effect of : antibodies help us to resist infection.

Sometimes the hardest part is just accepting our own happiness.


train |trān|
1 a series of railroad cars moved as a unit by a locomotive or by integral motors : a freight train | the journey took two hours by train.
It's day one of my birthday week. I have this odd desire to be on a train. It's probably the idea of movement that ageing evokes. Every year I go through the same stages of ageing:
1. Looking back
It usually starts with a fleeting and completely innocent thought about my previous birthday. "Oh, yeah. The girls came over. We had mojitos at my house." That inevitably leads to thinking about the events around that time, which leads to thinking about all the things that can happen in a year. That leads to some serious stock taking. Who is still around? Who isn't? How many bridges burnt are worth mending? How many friends proved themselves invaluable? How much sorrow? How much joy? How many potentially life-changing decisions? How many outright mistakes? How many breathtaking moments?
2. Sorrow
I'll let The National explain: Sorrow found me when I was young. Sorrow waited, sorrow won. Sorrow they put me on the pill. It's in my honey, it's in my milk.
3. Elation
Every year I take time to say goodbye to a bunch of people and things in my life, and to appreciate the things that are amazing. This year has honestly been the best year of my life so far. From September last year to now so many painful things have happened, but every negative experience was countered with wonderful things that made me feel like I matter to those around me. I try my best not to forget it.

4. Gratitude
I am a lucky person. I am loved and I am happy. I take time to remember all of that before my birthday. I also try to give thanks where it's due.
5. Celebration
One more year on earth, one more spring, more friends, more love, more time to do good, to be better, to try harder, to accept, to change. It's a beautiful thing.
Happy birthday week to me!

Thursday, September 8, 2011


linger |ˈli ng gər|
verb [ intrans. ]
stay in a place longer than necessary, typically because of a reluctance to leave : she lingered in the yard, enjoying the warm sunshine | she let her eyes linger on him suggestively.
• ( linger over) spend a long time over (something) : she lingered over her meal.
• be slow to disappear or die : the tradition seems to linger on | we are thankful that she didn't linger on and suffer.

I love how kids take time to inspect things.  My friend's baby was so fascinated by my shirt the other day that the television, a bunch of toys and a cat couldn't distract him. I don't blame him, of course. It is a fantastic shirt.

I forget to sit still sometimes. I forget to pay attention to what's going on around me. When I do, the things I take for granted tend to blow mind - a song that I love, my cat's paw in the morning light, the view from my window, my best friend's hair, my mother's feet, my dad at work, my guitar, the smell of onions frying in butter.

Maybe I'll let myself linger a little longer this summer. Maybe I'll see what's right in front of me.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


freedom |ˈfrēdəm|
the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint : we do have some freedom of choice | he talks of revoking some of the freedoms.

People are motivated by different things. For instance, you might be motivated by posts that don't start with terribly bland and obvious opening lines like people are motivated by different things. Who knows?

Because I'm a pain in the ass over-analyser it didn't take very long to figure out that I'm motivated by freedom. I need to be able to move - physically, emotionally, in my opinions and my character. I crave constant change because the ability to turn my life upside down makes me feel like I've achieved a degree of the most beautiful and elusive of all things - freedom.

Because it's spring and my brain is starting to break out of its cocoon, I'm noticing that my definition of freedom has changed in certain respects. This excites me greatly. What greater freedom could I enjoy than the freedom to change my opinions?

Here's to freedom, friends!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011


wanderlust |ˈwändərˌləst|
a strong desire to travel : a man consumed by wanderlust.

The weather is lovely now. The sky is clear and blue, a slight breeze plays through jasmine buds outside, the smell of youth and hope floats through open windows, the sun catches that particular sapling green so beautifully.

I am overwhelmed by a desire to be outside, to see everything the world has to offer. I can think of nothing but the grass under my bare feet, an afternoon under a tree, of getting on a train/plane, of setting forth, of meeting fresh faces, of sharing stories about other summers.

Listen to this. Travel with me. 

Monday, September 5, 2011

Dread and reverence

fear |fi(ə)r|
an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat : drivers are threatening to quit their jobs in fear after a cabby's murder | fear of increasing unemployment | he is prey to irrational fears.
archaic a mixed feeling of dread and reverence : the love and fear of God.

Often a cruel hand holds my heart. To cope I think of the Free State in winter, of the blazing Karoo heat, of the ocean, of trains, of floating in a pool in the summer of my youth. More than anything I think of leaving. I think of a road that could take me away from myself and everything I know. I never leave, of course, but the road stays. In my head I go away. Sometimes I don't come back.

Friday, September 2, 2011


expectation |ˌekspekˈtā sh ən|
a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future : reality had not lived up to expectations | an expectation that the government will provide the resources | he drilled his men in expectation of a Prussian advance.
• a belief that someone will or should achieve something : students had high expectations for their future.

I always have this feeling that I'm just one step (or one none-step) away from letting myself and everyone around me down. I choose to blame my traditional upbringing for it. Calvanism can be a bitch, you know? Besides, blaming my upbringing is a lot easier than admitting to my own insecurities.

My sense of impending doom is further compounded by what I see all around me. Whether it be true or not, it feels like I'm expected to be balanced, happy, healthy, a non-smoker, a social drinker at most, fit, good at relationships, a good friend, a good daughter and sister, a productive and happy worker. I'm expected to have good manners and social graces, to never put my foot in my mouth, to quote Usher to be "a lady in the street and a freak in the bed." I'm even expected to have good fashion sense.

This used to bug me until a couple of minutes ago, but things are a-changin'. I have had enough.

I'm adopting a new attitude towards the things I am expected to do/be/not do/not be. I will call this attitude Fuck It. I'm here. I'm queer. I'm feeling quite severe. Mostly because I'm not really queer. This rhyme ends here.

What I'm trying to say is I'm done apologising for who and what I am, for the decisions I make. The plan is not to become a horrible person. I will still try to be good and fair and honest and all the other things that my mommy taught me, but I'm hereby giving myself permission to give myself a break. I'm not gonna kick ass and take names, because that's not how I do. I will continue to wear jeans all the time, because that is how I do.

Hi everyone! I'm Kristia. I'm okay with it.

Thursday, September 1, 2011


water |ˈwôtər; ˈwä-|
1 a colorless, transparent, odorless, tasteless liquid that forms the seas, lakes, rivers, and rain and is the basis of the fluids of living organisms.

I spend an inordinate amount of time in water. I love swimming, sometimes I take baths just because I'm bored. When I grow up I would love to live next to the water. That line always makes me think of this song: (Sit through the initial yak yak. Worth it.)

Not exactly the point of the post, but I don't really care. I'll think of it anyway.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011


fashion |ˈfa sh ən|
1 a popular trend, esp. in styles of dress and ornament or manners of behavior : his hair is cut in the latest fashion.
• the production and marketing of new styles of goods, esp. clothing and cosmetics : [as adj. ] a fashion magazine.
2 a manner of doing something : the work is done in a rather casual fashion.
I don't understand any part of the fashion industry, except maybe the photography. I'm too grunge for it, and I'm too short. I liked these images because that's pretty much what I think when I think haute couture. 

It's obviously only an opinion. My feelings towards the fashion industry borders on complete indifference. I just thought I'd share the link, because it's rad.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011


winter |ˈwintər|
the coldest season of the year, in the northern hemisphere from December to February and in the southern hemisphere from June to August : the tree has a good crop of berries in winter | [as adj. ] the winter months.

Most of my memories are of summer. I used to hate winter. It was like my entire body shut down. My mind used to take a little holiday to the warmer recesses of my consciousness and everything fell asleep. This year I decided that winter and I will have it out. I'm getting on in the years, you know? I can't afford to lose three months every year just because of the weather.

I developed a three-part strategy for surviving winter:

1. Layer.

I realised that I hated winter because I was too fucking cold. One would think that that would be obvious, but my hatred of winter used to prevent me from buying the appropriate clothes. I figured that maybe it would go away if I pretended it didn't exist. I spent 25 winters wearing my normal summer clothes with a jacket during the freezing winter months, and getting pissed off at being cold all the time. Pretty damn stupid, no?

This winter I developed the Suck It Winter wardrobe. Underwear + tank top/t-shirt + leggings + slong-sleeved shirt + jeans + jersey + jacket. Add to that gloves, scarves and hats. I was toasty! If someone had to push me over I probably wouldn't have been able to get back up, but I wasn't cold.

2. Food and friends

I discovered that I don't suck at cooking. I'm a vegetarian and I eat a lot of salads, so winters used to be challenging. This winter I discovered the joy of slow-roasted tomatoes, of soups and pasta sauces, of risotto and even of vetkoek.

Food is better shared, so I implemented a weekly girls' night with my best friends. They would swing by, bottle of wine in hand, and I would cook something comforting. Because my house still very much resembles a student's house (one old couch, a bookshelf, a desk) we would sit on the floor, eat, drink, talk, share, giggle. The memories of these nights will probably warm my heart forever.

3. Colour

I like to wear black all the time. I loved my black jacket, my boots. I only wore black jerseys all winter. It looks lovely, but it gets a little drab, so I added colour. Hair colour (hello redhead, you sexy thing!), makeup, music, people, beer.

Johannesburg is starting to look lovely. From my bedroom window I look out onto jasmine in bloom, the trees are getting greener, the air smells sweeter, but this year I'm reluctant to say goodbye to winter.

Monday, August 29, 2011


photograph |ˈfōtəˌgraf|
a picture made using a camera, in which an image is focused onto film or other light-sensitive material and then made visible and permanent by chemical treatment.
I'm an obsessive snapper. I'm so afraid that a moment will pass me by, that I'll forget, so I photograph everything.
One day I would like to take a photo like this one. Isn't it fantastic? Sensual, daring, sexy. It makes me want to be in that room, in that moment. I want to see how the light touches her skin. I want to see the curve of her belly, her feet. I want to know what happens beyond this picture, which is what a photograph should achieve.


alive |əˈlīv|
adjective [ predic. ]
1 (of a person, animal, or plant) living, not dead : hopes of finding anyone still alive were fading | he was kept alive by a feeding-tube.
• (of a feeling or quality) continuing in existence : keeping hope alive.
• continuing to be supported or in use : militarism was kept alive by pure superstition

I'm losing my shit. I am the maker of bad decisions. I am frustrated. I'm skimping on my meds. I'm skimping on sleep. I'm drinking too much. I'm bored. I'm responsible for everything in my life. I'm not responsible enough. I'm too alive to live.

Saturday, August 27, 2011


home |hōm|
1 the place where one lives permanently, esp. as a member of a family or household : I was nineteen when I left home and went to college | they have made Provence their home.
• the family or social unit occupying such a place : he came from a good home and was well educated.
• a house or an apartment considered as a commercial property : low-cost homes for first-time buyers.

I'm home for the weekend. I love coming here when I feel like I don't belong anywhere, but sometimes I can't take it. I've always been lucky. I grew up loved and fed and happy. I had security and more love than I could stand. I had a wonderful education, my parents are still married (36 years on), and apart from a few idiosyncracies we are the picture of the ideal family unit.

And yet, walking down the familiar passage bedecked with photographs from my childhood gives me this overwhelming sense of emptiness sometimes. My family home brings about a melancholy that's almost crushing. I'm more aware of my mortality when I'm here. I'm more afraid of losing everything that this home represents. I'm more conscious of the opportunities that others (including more than half the people in this house) never had. I feel more subjected to fate when I'm here.

I guess a part of it has to do with the dreams of a past version of me that never came to fruition: Dreams that I dreamed in this house - by myself, with my best friend, with my first love; dreams my parents had for me, and mine for them. Maybe also the memory of people who used to fill this house - an adored grandmother, a loved aunt, a brother who is sometimes just too far away. When I come home I can't ignore any of these things. I can't shut anything out, because I become aware of all these things almost simultaneously.

My happiest memories share a wall with my only understanding of loss. My childhood dreams stayed behind with all the potential those who love me still see in me. I don't know how to deal with it.

Friday, August 26, 2011


This is our world. Don't pretend you don't see it.
suffer |ˈsəfər|
verb [ trans. ]
1 experience or be subjected to (something bad or unpleasant) : he'd suffered intense pain | [ intrans. ] he'd suffered a great deal since his arrest | [as n. ] ( suffering) weapons that cause unnecessary suffering.
• [ intrans. ] ( suffer from) be affected by or subject to (an illness or ailment) : his daughter suffered from agoraphobia.
• [ intrans. ] become or appear worse in quality : his relationship with Anne did suffer.
• [ intrans. ] archaic undergo martyrdom or execution.


collect 1 |kəˈlekt|
verb [ trans. ]
1 bring or gather together (things, typically when scattered or widespread) : he went around the office collecting old coffee cups | he collected up all his clothing.

I'm not much of a collector. I get distracted too easily and I move too often. However, I love the idea of collecting. I like how the things we collect - the things we forget in dark cupboards, the things we cherish, the things we have but we don't really want - can tell stories about who we are, where we come from, what we aspire to.

My grandmother used to collect rocks. She'd pick them up wherever she went and write on them. When I was a kid I couldn't understand it. Then she died and all I had of her was the idea of these rocks she collected. I didn't take one, but that they exist, that they map out her life, that she touched them once, that it mattered to her is such a comfort to me. She mattered. Now the things she collected matter.

Thursday, August 25, 2011


love |ləv|
1 an intense feeling of deep affection : babies fill parents with intense feelings of love | their love for their country.
• a deep romantic or sexual attachment to someone : it was love at first sight | they were both in love with her | we were slowly falling in love.

The modern love story irritates me. I refer to the love story in its most popular form, of course. Romance novels, romantic comedies, even great literature (think Jane Eyre and Anna Karenina) all perpetuate the idea that the happiness of individuals is dependent on another person - normally a succesful and/or attractive specimen of the opposite sex. Because I don't want to come across as a bra burner, I won't even start on books and movies like Bridget Jones's Diary.

My irritation has two sources: First, the dreaded Jesus complex. I hate the idea that we need to be saved, that our happiness and success in life is dependent on an external source. It took me a long time to shake that idea. To be honest, I still struggle with it.

Secondly, I think the modern love story prevents people from loving. I love a lot of people deeply. As it happens I was only in a romantic relationship with one of them. The modern love story makes it seem like the love of friends and family is secondary to romantic love, which makes for a generation of very lonely people.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011


tentacle |ˈten(t)əkəl|
a slender flexible limb or appendage in an animal, esp. around the mouth of an invertebrate, used for grasping, moving about, or bearing sense organs.

There was a time when I could look at an octopus and have no thoughts about it at all. Then a friend mentioned that out there in the deep, dark recesses of the Internet lurks something called tentacle erotica. Of course I had to investigate, because letting sleeping dogs lie is something sensible people do.

Now I'm inexplicably drawn to all things tentacled, even though I don't find it particularly erotic. This chair was designed by Spanish designer Maximo Riera and shared by the lovely folks over at Cube Me.


journal |ˈjərnl|
1 a newspaper or magazine that deals with a particular subject or professional activity : medical journals | [in names ] the Wall Street Journal.
2 a daily record of news and events of a personal nature; a diary.

I have an obsession with new journals.

First, there's the new book smell I find completely irresistible. I also think all those blank pages hold so much promise. I know that, whether I use it to document the mundanities of daily life or to write something beautiful, each page will represent something that's true to me at that moment.

Part of my ultimate long-term goal (to grow ridiculously old) is to document the things that get me there. It helps me plot my progress. I often look at things I wrote in the past and think, "Silly girl!" When I buy a new journal (which is more often that I'd like to admit) I know I'll be a completely different person by the time I've filled all the pages.


genius |ˈjēnyəs|
noun ( pl. geniuses )
1 exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability : she was a teacher of genius | Gardner had a real genius for tapping wealth.

I hate that I'm not a genius. Not because I want to change the world or invent time travel (although that would be rad), but because genius goes hand in hand with a level of accepted eccentricity. Sure, it sucks in primary school, and initially you probably won't have any luck in the love department, but if you stick to it long enough eventually someone will be freaky enough to dig it.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Saints and sinners

What else?
Photograph by John Hopkins, via Everyday I Show.

All about the blues

My childhood home was filled with music. Dad was a rocker (I guess he still is). If it involves the Rolling Stones he knows about it. He also really loves classical music and has a strange affinity for opera.

Mom is all about the blues. I grew up watching her dance to B.B. King, losing herself in the rhythm. She still is a phenomenal dancer, despite her 56 years. Her parties have a distinct bluesy feel, which makes her guests feel like they're on the banks of the Mississippi, not a small-holding outside Johannesburg.

I guess a lot of that rubbed off on me and the sibling - I like to believe nature and nurture in equal parts. At Oppikoppi a guy told me he was perving over what happened to my body when I listen to Dan Patlansky. Of course he was middle-aged and kind of creepy, but that's not the point.

I don't know why I'm thinking about all this today. I guess it's to do with this picture by George Mitchell. It moves me.

Monday, August 22, 2011

The future

This excerpt is from an article about the particular brand of 20-something angst that drives confused young'uns to drink and blog. A friend shared the article on Facebook, because she's writing an article about it for a popular magazine. Apparently, like adolescence, our 20s are all about emotional shitstorming, sans the sensitive naughty places.

It surprises me that this seems to be such a big discovery. We live in Anything Goes Land. Gay, straight, fashionable, skinny, ugly, involved, deviant, pregnant, barren, raving mad - it's all okay. The world is my oyster. I want to try everything. I want to be everything, including a musician and a fireman.

To be less confused, I need fewer options. To have fewer options is not an option - not for me anyway. I'm 26 and I don't know what I want from life. If anything, that makes me privileged.

If, as the article says, the "dreary dead-end jobs, the bitter divorces, the disappointing and disrespectful children" are all I have to look forward to, I think I'll hang around in this space for as long as I possibly can.

In other news...

Go check out Romantically Apocalyptic. Loads of reds, yellows and shades of darkness, with a nice hint of melancholy and a pinch of social commentary. There you have it kids, Mozambican sands to zombies in 3.0 seconds.

The daydream

Someone else is living a version of my daydream

This photo makes me think of Mozambique. Every night before I fall asleep, I allow myself one daydream. I look forward to those ten or fifteen minutes, because I let myself admit that anything is possible. One of my recurring daydreams is to own a bar almost exactly like this one in Mozambique. For some reason I get the feeling that a simple life in tropical heat, wearing shorts and open shoes every day, is my ultimate calling.

Today I feel like hanging out a bar like this with my girlfriends. Our little group has been through quite a bit of excitement lately. My bestie is starting a new job after a very trying spell in marketing, my fellow blogger/dreamer/aspiring muso friend is trying to deal with a very tragic event in her family, my cousin/friend just got engaged (!), my loveliest friend just started a BSc because her ulitimate daydream is becoming a farmer, and my former-roomie-in-real-life/current-roomie-in-spirit is getting her life back on track after an enormously traumatic time.

I get the feeling that all of us have a lot to talk about. I think sharing our thoughts with the cool Mozambican sand between our toes, a cool R&R to calm us down and the sound of the ocean filling our spirit will do us a world of good. If we're very lucky, we might even have some good music to listen to.

Friday, August 19, 2011


I'm scared. I'm making decisions that matter and I'm thinking about making some more of those. It freaks me out. The image seems appropriate.

The artist, John Kenn, draws these monsters on Post-it notes. The yellow backgrounds just add to the eeriness of all his images. If you have a moment to spare, spend some time on his blog. Or in my head. Kind of looks the same at the moment.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Sexy violence

I'm a pacifist by nature. Pair that with a complete lack of upper body strength and general laziness, and you'll understand why I'm more likely to hug a person to death than attack someone in a dark alley. Having said that, sometimes I get frustrated and I want to break things. I overcome the aforementioned obstacles and reach violent catharsis by channeling others' anger by listening to angry music (Slipknot and Rage Against the Machine among my favourites), watching Fight Club a lot and looking at disturbing images. I also bite when I kiss.

The blog Everyday I Show is a neat blog to follow. Each post features a selection of photographs by famous photographers. It's not updated daily, and I haven't figured out an updating schedule, so I get super excited when I see updates in my RSS reader.

My recent lust for violence was partially quenched by an Everyday I Show update. German fashion photographer Helmut Newton managed to find a disturbingly erotic balance between femininity and violence. The selection from Everyday I Show featured some of his most disturbing images, which delighted my frustrated inner psychopath.

Femininity with a hint of violence
Don't say I don't share.