Suddenly it became spring and I am still in my winter stockings and am too warm. The air is dusty and warm and again has a scent. I am not scared of anything. I will stare anyone down in the street. You know it’s spring here when the streets are suddenly very clean and sweeped and free from gravel. In winter they put gravel all over the streets so we don’t slip on the ice and snow. But then overnight they (“The Man”) (city council or the government or whatever) decides that it’s spring now and then they send out little cars in the night that secretly cleans up all the gravel and little stones and sweeps everything and then everyone wakes up and is happy because spring has arrived. That’s how it works. When it gets dark, it gets very blue. That is also how you know it’s spring. In winter the darkness is black, or white. In spring it gets very very blue. And you also know it is spring because you get a hook in your heart. It is mostly there on Sundays but the old hook can really hit you anytime when it’s spring. And especially when it’s very blue. I imagine the hook as similar to a meat hook but a little bit smaller. And the hook is pulling you but you don’t know why or in what direction. But the hook makes you fucking crazy.
i am currently obsessed with a brazilian telenovela about a prostitute that falls in love with a monk. he is in love with her too but he thinks its a sin so he whips himself for looking at her shoe. its all very romantic.
anyways she only became a camelia as they call it because her family wanted to put her in a mental hospital after she left her rich fiancé at the altar, (and also i think to punish herself because her ex commited suicide) so she had to run away still in her wedding dress and ends up arriving in the red light district to become the new mayor of whoretown. there she befriends a cross dressing gay prostitute called Thin Waist and some other colorful characters and together they practice the noble art of holding their heads high in the face of hardship and ruin, which i think is very RuPauls drag race-coded in a way… its all very beautiful, i highly recommend. u can watch all episodes with english subtitles here: https://jabutranslations.blogspot.com/p/hilda-hurricane-episodes.html
i think brazilian portuguese sounds so soft and lovely, to my ears it sounds like a mix of russian, swedish and portuguese kind of. i will learn it on duolingo and one day i will Come To Brazil….
Dear diary… welcome to my new blog on my new website.
This will be fun. It will be like my own little world and you can come visit me here.!
I used to write every day before. I wrote in my diary and I wrote a lot of poems. Sometimes I had to write in my diary every day and it became like obsessive compulsive and I stopped and then I started writing in a more normal way. And then when I started making physical objects and working with metal I kind of stopped writing again. I like to think of my metalwork as physical versions of poetry. But I don’t think it is a substitute because sometimes when I go out walking I kind of write in my head, like the whole walk. But then afterwards I don’t want to sit down and try to recreate what I just “wrote” because it feels like just recreating something and I don’t have the patience. I wonder if anyone else does this (write poems in their heads).
I think I have always been the same, like I think I have the same personality as when I was a child. But maybe everyone has. Or maybe some people change more than others, and some stay more the same. I don’t know really, but I wonder. I don’t know a lot of people that I knew when they were children. My sister maybe. She is also pretty much the same.
Nevertheless one has to grow up. One has to kill the manic pixie dream girl inside and stab her in the heart. No one wants to see manic pixie dream woman. Because that is someone you would put in a straitjacket. So you have to kill her, and you have to take the glass bottle and smash it against the side of the sidewalk so that it breaks and you have to stab her repeatedly in the chest until she dies and you can become non manic non pixie dream woman and grow up. But also you have to keep your sense of wonder and belief and magic. And that is a hard thing to do. Many many fail. They either become the one in the straitjacket or they become dead inside. Balance is key. Good luck to all of us and may we all succeed!
Btw. In Sweden it is considered embarrassing writing in English on your social media if you are Swedish and living in Sweden. Its because we have something called Jantelagen. It is a very good law because it protects us from being brazen like americans. Its not a real law its just like a social unwritten law. But I used to have a video blog on youtube last year and I happen to know that like half of my audience is Russian and the other half is American. Like no one in Sweden is gonna read this except my friends and like 20 other people maybe… I think
Sorry if Im rambling this whole blog post feels like one of Britney Spears Instagram captions at this point….
Anyways. I saw a respected astrologer last summer and he told me its muy importante that I write. He didn’t explain why he just said it was important.. he didnt tell me to blog but i guess it counts.. very mysterious
He also told me that you could put me down anywhere in the world and that I would survive, like I would always land on my feet like a cat. It was a very nice thing to hear. But also I lowkey felt that it was completely true… So take it from me, a certified Survivor, to survive you have to keep your sense of wonder and belief and magic. Bye bye x
