Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.) (lantichristo) wrote,
Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.)
lantichristo

Boobies and Trees. Trees and Boobies ...

Valborg was great! Me and Samantha watched the fire from afar as the sun was setting ever so slowly. We got a bit cold but it’s ok. Anna didn’t come, again. We walked back from my favorite path. Then I walked all the way back home with my new shoes.



Next day I just melted into my sofa. I left my mobile off and my home phone out of batteries. Sorry Anna love, I saw your message 3 days later.

 

The day after that Ronnie finally returned from stupid Spain. I’ve missed him so! He showed me pictures. I really want to see the Dali museum!!!

 

Days are going fast.

 

May! Time for sunshine and rain. Time for bright rainbows! Time for walks down by the water.

Yesterday it was raining while the sun was warming my face. My run was so peaceful. But I am so weak. I still can not run for as long as I would like to.

 

Days are rolling away as fast as a hello and I think I lost my way.

 

My friends from the North are keeping me sane.

My friends from the South are making me tired.

My friends from the East are being slowly but surely forgotten.

My friends from the West … well, they are somewhere there, I think …

 

I’m having a hard time talking lately. Silence becomes me. Yet when I’m with others this blubbering idiot gets inside of me and never shuts up. Who the hell are you? Are you still talking to yourself?

 

And the kindness of strangers surprises me. There was this girl, this beautiful redhead, with her big blue eyes, wearing a sweater as green as sin. She was smiling at me. She gave me her place in the queue. Said I had too few things to wait behind her.

And then 3 out of 3 times they asked me for an ID at the liquor store.  - “You’re buying too fancy wine to be a minor but you sure as hell look young” said the woman at the counter who is probably only 2 or 3 years older than I am. Oh how I smiled!

 

A strange thing happened today. I’d rather not talk about it.

 

I am tired. And I still haven’t found a stupid girl playing the accordion.

 

I hate drunk people. Oh god I hate them. No, not tipsy happy go lucky drunks. I mean, one step from an A.A. meeting kind of drunks. They smell, they look terrible and their IQ is dropped somewhere in the level of a potato. So now imagine how much I hate the alcoholics. The situation is getting out of control. There is a little park on my way to the train station and there they gather. All the beat down, sad, middle-aged alcoholics of Södermalm. There they gather. And they sing (out of tune stupid songs), and they yell, and they fight, and they litter, and they pretend to have conversations that go something like that:

 

- “ You … you said it was ready”

- “What was ready?”

-“What you said”

-“Who?”

-“Ah I … I want you to know … I love you … man. You … are a true friend”

-“When did I say it?”

-“You said”

-“Are … are you gonna eat that …?”

-“Don’t worry about it, you are my pal yeah?”

-“My feet are laughing”

-“Damn capitalists”

-“Yeah fuck em”

-“I love you man”

-“Fuck all the rich bastards …”

-“I love you man”

-“shhhhhhhrfmggg …”

 

No, it is not funny. I don’t see anyone laughing here. Fucking losers.

Ursh.

 

Well I have to complain about something. Everything else works fine; I simply MUST find something to complain about.

Ah, suchlike moments make me realize I’m bored.
So I play around with my make-up until I'm tired.

I have new Photography theme. "Silent Movies"
I started with these as a sample. I’m gonna need models though …


 



I’m having a serious writer's block for over a week now. It is driving me crazy.

I have all these words in my head on my walks, on my runs down by the water. But when I’m holding my pen, it is staring back at me. Like a mocking eye, black, and filled with disdain. And my brain blank.

Then I start to paint and I paint the same crap over and over again.

Trees and naked ladies. And more trees. And more naked ladies. Twigs and boobies. Boobies and twigs. Ursh! Like a bimbo singer singing over and over about the same shit. Her stupid boyfriend and how hot she is.

Boobies and Trees. Trees and Boobies. Small pointy firm boobies and naked trees. Or it is sometimes trees with boobies or boobies with twigs on …

And no, do not wonder what a therapist would say. As much as I hate to admit it it is probably because I don’t know how to paint anything else.

Maybe I should lay off things I WISH I could do and try focusing on something I actually CAN do.

 

I suggest you do the same.

 

ta-ta










Tags: arts and crafts, dear diary, drunk people and/or alcoholics, painting, pictures, trees, writer's block, writing
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