At some point in our prepubescent lives you all experience that micro Socrates moment where you stop to think and ask yourself crucial questions about life, it is that little fundamental moment in your life when you really stop to think and get all philosophical. Then a jerk named Society hijacks those thoughts, censors them and takes control. He locks up your sense of reasoning, throws away the key and keeps you busy with all sorts of repetitive activities, persuading you to stop questioning, to blend in as much as possible, advising you to match your fellow inmates as much as possible. Gradually forcing you to live life mindlessly numb without doubt. I call that purposeless. We go on living, working, fucking and breathing, passively agreeing with anything set out for us by others? So call me malfunctioned, ready to be send in for repair work, I have a hard time bowing down to a senseless life without reason,to be terrifically frank, can I honestly just say I still don’t get the punchline of life, or did I miss the memo?

I remember when I didn’t give a damn. I miss those days. Now, I wish I gave a damn and could actually remember what day it is.

I wish I wasn't So Evil.

Short notes on a Ride to Insanity - fire to fury

So I managed to get myself finally to JFK and now I'm waiting in a badly lit hall, investigating the pattern of the gray carpet. I don't know whether to think it's just painful for my eyes or actually mesmerizing, at least the carpet is interesting enough for me to hold my attention, and I catch myself staring at it way too long. The waiting area is filled with too many people that don't want to sit next to each other on blue faux leather chairs, all looking in their papers or on their watches to see if it's boarding time yet. Let's face it, boarding planes is boring. It's just about my least favorite thing to do in the world. I am not a patient person and waiting is therefor an absolute torture for me. Just put me in a room and let me wait for "something" and I would be terrifically bored. Sometimes it is good to be bored, people who say they are never bored, try desperately to be cool and are probably living the uttermost passion-less lives themselves. Boredom makes you think, and thinking gets me in a perfect creative process. When I am too busy I don't really think too much. That's why I need these little torture waiting areas. It makes me think about more fun times, it takes me back on a fantastical voyage in my mind to places I don't think too often about or about people I forgot. It brings me back to the places I walked by without actually noticing where or what I was walking past. This happens not so often, I tend to really soak in my surroundings when I stroll around. But sometimes, when I would get too hung over or have a terrific come down of substances, I would float instead of stroll, and wouldn't pay too much attention to the people in the street or the nice little shops. In that state it is almost like you are wearing an invisibility cloak,  a magical cape that gives you a temporary superpower of being unnoticed. Right now, in the waiting room I look around and I notice it again, that no one really observes anyone. I am in my cloak feeling comfortably numb and unseen. It is the perfect time to recapitulate the last couple of weeks I spent in the most visited city of never land, New York. I feel stressed and tired, and I look at my hands trembling, probably because of a sugar low or because I haven't smoked a cigarette for a couple 'o hours. That little energy I had left before I came here has been ridiculously sucked out of me, and the only thing on my mind now is to get these heavy bags on the plane, and leave to my home-icidal destination Amsterdam, which I sure hope is not going to be my Final Destination - Did you see that movie? I'm flying back to one hundred percent reality, I think. This short trip, where I spent my most of my days in the Lower East Side, has been a four week delirium,  filled with non-stop skulduggery, switching back and forth between classics such as "Girl, Interrupted" and "Single White Female". It's been a continuous fury where I ended up feeling wonderfully lost, and, with an ironic cherry on top; literally losing everything - from my handbag, passport, money, bank cards and two phones - to losing my forceful beating heart, morals, restrictions and the false hope for things to get better. I came here with Great expectations and a full blown desire for life, only to end up living in chaos, self destruction and borderline insanity. I have to hurry, the gates are open and "we are now boarding".

To be continued.

Success and fame lead to a lonely life; A world without love, where a person's reality is altered by the opinions of others, a world of make believe with puppets who are only called to perform if the director says so. I hold the strings and my master holds mine. It is constantly hollow, distant and if you run with it too long it will lead to insanity.

THIS IS NOT SURFACE. THIS IS PAIN. AND THIS IS VERY REAL.

Let the fires of hell come, I would go through them
I will do anything, but what I won't do is go away

Zombie Town

I guess I am here now, in The City where Scum meets S.C.U.M. Fully aware that indeed this city never sleeps, it's hard to imagine that New York has a worse case of insomnia than I do. The stench of sadness is everywhere around me, I walk around without really looking where I'm heading, kicking the dirt in the street aside, clicking my heels on the pavement, head up strong, I feel like I'm about to choke, I am running out of breath. This can also be a very logical after effect from all the late night frenzies we've been having since I got here. The awful sewer smell, that disgusting water stench filling up my East Village appartment, that horrible stench is everywhere; in the water, in the walls, on the street, on my dirty floor and in my head. That mal'odour must have rubbed of on the skin-deep rats that live here. I think the inhabitants of this city must have evolved or, let's say devolved into having a inferior sense of smell; A small olfactory modality defect to protect themselves from smelling others like them from a far, because us mammals are nothing without instinct, if we can't smell dirt or detect danger from a far with our senses, we'd land rock bottom on the food chain in no time - we would continuously surround ourselves with rotten fruit and shout "this is enticing, the taste of new exotic!" and "messy, but tasty", we would eventually end up miserable, feeling sick and food poisoned, with the inevitable outcome; Death.

Everyone who I've just met here seems dull, nit-witted and deeply Empty. I'm afraid if I would stay here longer their uselessness might rub of on me. I stop to think and realize I'm still here, in this French Cafe on Prince street, listening to this Blonde chick who I've never met, speak. She has been entertaining me to sleep for ten minutes now, her conversation is a non-stop gossip monologue about probably much more interesting people than herself. I interrupt her, force a smile on one corner of my mouth, and I walk home on Avenue A. Happy to be gone from that boring bitch, I am now left with my own thoughts instead of hers. It took me just five seconds to switch back, and think of you. I've been walking alone here all week, sometimes with my beautiful french friend, who's always telling me stories, getting my mind off of you and on to hers. But now I'm walking here alone, and I'm nervous. I'm almost twitching, and I can't seem to focus right. Frantically, I look around on the streets, slightly afraid that I might see you, secretly hoping to bump in to you. I jump up from this brown steel table I'm leaning on every time I hear an accent similar to yours. I think it's you who's talking, run to the window and search hopelessly for you. Shamefully I am always mistaken, you are not there. With only a few blocks between us, I have never felt so far away from you. Every day I wake up smiling at the sun and welcoming another come down in East 4th street. I look in to the mirror at the creature that I've become. I'm absolutely repulsed by the choices I have made that have led me to where I am right now. In this mind-fuck of a city, I live in a perpetual nightmare that goes something like this; I'm trapped in a Lunar Park without doors, surrounded by sharp objects, hysterically loud laughing midgets, happy children running around, eating cotton candy, clowns with sad faces behind their plastered smiles, an ice cream truck passing back and forth playing creepy music, the green neon lights are flashing and everything is bright - I'm stuck in a numb state, totally lost and I keep running circles. I realize I'm stuck in a maze, I'm doomed.

I refuse to enjoy anything or anyone, because my eyes are wildely opened to see the point of it at all, which is absolutely none, added with a side of no satisfaction to go. There is no happiness, there is only a dream state of happiness. A fantasy, or fable if you will. A little tale that people have told us over the years, and we believe the legend, we eat that shit right up because this gives us meaning; So we go and search for it, in every corner, to have some sort of goal in our lives. And if you are lucky, you will find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I have been one of those lucky ones already. It was only a brief moment <<Too Much, Too Soon >>  Now it's all too little, too late. It was a buzz that I will now be stuck chasing for, for ever. A happiness so intense that it is indeed character defining, personality changing and most overwhelming. Life after pure bliss is just not the same. It's like there's an empty shell in your hand, but no bullet. A cigarette without a lighter. I'm contemplating if this is day or night? I'm still in Amsterdam mode, although I've been living during the night these last couple of months. Why can't I wake the fuck up from this dread? Worse became worst when I found out that I was dead to you, I would be one of them now, those zombies without morals, who live here who have nothing to contribute to this detested state of hate we live in. I think I might have caught this sickness too, this flesh eating disease that they all have here. You're the only real person that has affected me, or infected me. I feel a real sickness when I think about that I'm sitting here now, getting fucked up on chemicals, weed and empty purchases to feel better, and you - fucking up your liver to feel nothing - you . are . so . close. The fucking one who gave me this pain can take it away, you're the only one that has any meaning to me, even if I know you don't deserve a blink of the eye, or another word I will write, I know it's all a waste, but let me be that crazy, silly twelve year old right now and tell you that I'm still madly in love with you, sadly. It's not even lovely, to me it's a burden; A physical pain I carry with me every where like a hand bag. I have a hole in my body that is growing rapidly, expanding more every day. Soon that hole is going to grow so big that it will cover my whole body and consume me, I will disappear completely, to become as invisible as I already feel in this city; Let's try to live softly for a while.

Mayhem

"All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape." Bret easton ellis - American Psycho

A confession I can relate to.

And if we don't burn together, I'll burn alone.

"Got you. You're mine now. For the rest of the day, week, month, year, life. Have you guessed who I am? Sometimes I think you have. Sometimes when you're standing in a crowd I feel those sultry, dark eyes of yours stop on me. Are you too afraid to come up to me and let me know how you feel? I want to moan and writhe with you and I want to go up to you and kiss your mouth and pull you to me and say "I love you I love you I love you" while stripping. I want you so bad it stings. I want to kill the ugly girls that you're always with. Do you really like those boring, naive, coy, calculating girls or is it just for sex? The seeds of love have taken hold, and if we won't burn together, I'll burn alone." — Bret Easton Ellis (The Rules of Attraction)

you are not lost, you are here.

and here's to another night of binging on everything that numbs me,
here's to my wasted friends who are in for a party every day
here's to bad energy. I want to be around it, endlessly
here's to being homeless soon
here's to booking overpriced plane tickets only to end up homeless again
here's to thinking I have a shot
here's to smoking buds out of the ashtray because the cigarettes are long gone
here's to another night crying at 6am looking at a screen
here's to 20 dolla bill thrillas
here's to telling the same story over and over, to any stranger who comes by
here's to that empty cold bed again, staring at me
here's to being intoxicated and feeling numb
here's to the nightmare that greets me when i wake up
here's to not waking up, and dreaming for ever
here's to the hate i feel every morning to start a new fucking day. alone
here's to another day of me wasting my time thinking about you,
here's to hanging on to something that is not there,
and here's to the demise of me, and to you for not giving .... a fuck
here's to no where

float

Soon I want to make a bonfire on the beach, we would drink overpriced champagne, go skinny dipping in the ocean, and swim until our limbs couldn't carry us up anymore. And we would lay there in the water, content and sleepy, drifting away further and further from shore, floating in the black liquid looking in to an endless darkness with a smile on our face.

not / the end

You tricked me into loving you, where as every person I meet leaves me blank and dull, I am severely affected by you. And now that you left, I am thrown in to a cold turkey detox where I literally lock myself up in a room, shivering in my bed sweating heavily, worrying about meeting more pointless, good looking strangers, that I might fuck once in a while because I miss you. I am constantly being flown in to new places, a must to get out of this memory lane - your face is plastered on every touristic landmark here. Everywhere I go, with all the faces I talk to, I try to find a connection, searching for some sort of physical string that attaches me to someone else. And no matter what kind of glimpse of a feeling I might have everything will involve you in some way, because this house I live in is a constant reminder of you, you, you and me. Now it’s just me in an empty house.

I’ll flee again in a few days, hopping from city to city, where I will be too busy with the shape of an overpriced dress on a stick. Surface is my rescue right now. Anything else is dull, mind-fucking and over appreciated anyway

Call it like that

I thought you were my friend. Well, I actually feel you were more than that, but above and beyond I thought you were my fucking friend. No, not just a friend who I was fucking, no, a fucking friend. I mean, a friendlier relationship with a stranger who you thought to be a like minded individual. A person who you have things in common with, someone you can stand to have a conversation with, someone who you can talk to, someone who you can share things with, things you don't just tell to everyone. I mean special things, hidden things, sad things, especially those sad things. and let me call it sadness, that disgust and anger. those raw emotions that consume you, you would want to share that with someone. i guess with someone who you like,..."And if you want to call that a friend, I would call it a friend".

So call me. Don't ignore like I'm some cockroach you just stepped on, spit on and decapitated. A headless person is a silent person. Just give me a sign of life once in a while. Pretend that you used to know me. Even if you already forgot you knew me. Or maybe not even knew me at all, pretend that you did. And that you cared, like you told me so many times. I should stop doing Silver Haze.

To mickey

We are just kids who try to kidnap our youth, hold on to it desperately, squeezing it so tightly it's hard to breathe... we lock it up and throw away the key, and after a while, when we calm down, we realize we are who we always said we were, we had just forgotten, and closed our eyes for too long. This is when we freak out and know that we are completely lost. I thought my eyes were open, but they just might as well be closed.

So I'm in the same Thalys train that I'm always in when I go to Paris. Fast, comfy red seats and perfect service - unless, they intercom you in the middle of your journey and ask you to switch trains. We all just love having perfect journeys. Or adventures. Speaking of adventures, let me talk to you for a few seconds and tell you my story.
I just embarked on a wild ride heading to disaster, again. Never the less, this is just a story. And all stories come to an end, even the wildest ones. I look at my mac book pro and I notice it's already 10pm. Looking out through the round squared window I see a black landscape with on top a perfect fire red sky. The sun is about to set, and I'm looking at what could be the perfect setting for a mid forties battlefield. Anxiously awaiting what's going to happen outside, I secretly hope to see some tanks explode. I notice that I'm still wearing my fake Ray Bans I bought in Brick Lane, and wearing a black suit jacket with badly sewn gold buttons on it. I realize that I've been living out of the same suitcase for two weeks now. I need a whole new wardrobe. Next to me is no one except my messy camouflage eastpack. This could have been a great ride, a spectacular one even, if things had gone exactly according to plan. I have this gut feeling that this roller coaster ride is about to be over, but I'm still sitting here, desperately prolonging the journey. Run, run run, seems like this is all I've been doing for the past month. Quite the contrast with the safe place I was hiding in for the past ten years. Things never stay the same, do they? We would become bored and lose our mind if they did I guess. Right now I am losing myself in the moment, no questions asked, I'm talking hands down blind trust. This movie is not over yet, because I don't see any credits rolling in yet. So we go on, full throttle ahead towards something less spectacular, and we know it. What would be left to write about if your head is constantly in the clouds? You can't write so many interesting things about a sky, can you? Unless you want to go with writing poetry, but fuck that emo shit. I'm already on a slippery slope towards sadness. Pain is a motherfucker, but I never want to travel without it. I knew it in advance but I chose to ignore the signs and kept chasing that high I've so blissfully enjoyed before. We were supposed to travel together to paris, after a three-day bonnie and clyde frenzy through the streets of Amsterdam. But somehow he took a flight and I had to hijack this train. This train ride has been nothing than a sum up in my mind about all the shit we did these last couple of days. Literally, the "Shit" we did in Amsterdam, but also some nicer shit, such as holding hands twenty four seven, watching Bad Santa together, taking a boat tour, kissing on every corner of the street and inbetween, laying on our backs in the park looking at the sunny open sky, sleeping like kitties huddled up in the middle of the day, and all that cheesy stuff I never thought I'd ever do again. All these things were making me weak in the knees, unable to have a normal conversation without stuttering. It was official. I was hooked. This Clyde motherfucker had me smiling from dusk til dawn. My jaws all hurting and shit, not because of the coke addiction, but because for once in my life I'm actually happy. I look at the yellow and black bruises and scrapes all over my body, a sign of love according to him, and I know I'm ready for more. I'm about to enter Gare du Nord hoping that he will be there to pick me up. I feel lost on the station, and I look at all the couples getting out, I hate them all. I walk a long way, head up looking around to see if he's there. After a while I just give up and I know that it's pointless. Why am I even here? I should have just stayed home, or at least, at someone else's home, since I don't have a home anymore. Tears roll down my face and as I look up to look for the exit, I see his smiling face, arms wide open welcoming me to Paree. My loneliness just made room for a fire burning in my body. The train leaves the station. It seems like I've left this planet and ended up in another galaxy, here we go again, Fear and Loathing in Paris. As we're walking away, with imaginary shotguns swinging in our hands, I feel like I'm on top of the world, nothing or no one can touch us now, it's just us against the world, Mickey and Mallory all the way. Until we die and die and die again.

After a four day whirlwind tour through Paris I got an email from a guy that I had just met, hinting that my good friend has just "passed away" in Milan. Obviously this must have been some sort of practical joke, or a type error. Confused and slightly worried I call him. Voicemail. I think about the fact that I had just spoken to him on the phone yesterday night. I remember how awkward this conversation was and I thought he sounded very strange and quiet. I could barely even hear him...I walk back and forth through this matchstick box we call hotel room and call Sarah. She picks up the phone in tears, I sit down and I know. It's true. My friend really is dead. He jumped out of window from a five story balcony, killing himself. Thoughts and anger start to race and I just can't believe it. Still can't believe I will never see his smiling face again and I already miss hearing his funny english accent. Mickey is crying. He does believe it I guess. We all went to his place to celebrate the good times we had. In his honor. This whirlwind just turned in to a full blown storm, a supercell in the making if you will. For days the sun kept shining in Paris. At the same time there was a dark cloud hanging above us, and it was raining hard. We kept running, and getting lost, desperately looking for a place to take shelter. They completely turned around the script of our movie, and we lost our way. We were heading in to two different directions. He was drifting away and I tried to pull him closer. I knew he was a jerk the last couple of days, but I miss that jerk. He opened up his heart to me, let me take a look behind his mask, showing me his disgusting self image and ruined heart. He spoke to me about so many things that he wanted to change in his life and I listened to every word. I genuinely loved him from that moment on. Misery and all, I would be there for him for ever, because you know the only thing that kills the demon is love. He was surrounded by demons and I was prepared to exorcise every last one of them. I would be the one who would take care of him and drag him out of this dark hell hole he called life. Instead, we continued to make ourselves feel miserable, to keep ourselves intentionally low. We would walk separately, gazing at the strangers in the street and I would feel just as strange to him as those people, those people that he'd never even met. We were dead inside. I kept chasing that something we've felt before, I was so tired of feeling numb, and alone. I missed the rush we experienced together, the menace to society we inflicted so vigarously, those crazy discussions made me feel alive, finally someone who disagreed with me. I missed the comfortably sharing silence with each other, sleeping together, correction - spooning together, watching silly Youtube videos on the computer, literally, all of it. I still do. Here I am now, thinking about everything and trying to forget. You are in New York and I'm in mother fucking Amsterdam, the city that reminds me so much of you. Every day I go to bed at 6am totally wasted, because I'm afraid to sleep, afraid to wake up and start a new day in this empty house that isn't even mine. I have absolutely nothing to look forward to. I wonder if I will ever enjoy things again. I got our initials inked on my skin for the rest of my life. I hope that some day I will be back to my old mother fucking self again. An empty shell of a human being.

It was just a ride, and what a fucking ride it was.

love, xM.