back to bracken and the fucking barracks

Soundtrack: Cat Power - "The Covers Record". Naked, naked if I want to, listening to Powerful Cat; what I most definitely do. Beautiful, thought-provoking, heartbreakingly power-full (...) stuff. And I seriously adore that woman. Not only is she amazingly attractive and stylish and charming and eccentric and - fucking hot! - most recently, she's also emerged as a spokesperson and model for Levi's 501 jeans, my favourite fashion brand and favourite fashion garnment in the whole wide world, in a 70's inspired campaign featuring loads of flowers and very little retouching, meaning - my favouriet time period and decorations too; well, of course she would. No great elements of surprise there, favourite things being as connected as they are, in my life. And, did I mention, I really love that? Little things, very important, it's all in the details. Might I just mention - and emphasize on - that.

So: WTF's been going on lately?! - you might care to inquire. And most righteously so. Scara's gone and done the whole disappearing for a week, without tellin' why or how-act, all over again, and it seems I haven't actually performed any (more or less) sensible internet activity for a great number of days, a whole week in fact. Which, most certainly, is bit odd. Downright scary, blimey. However! The apparent and arguably utmost weirdness of this situation, doesn't mean I haven't been writing or scribbling or doing stuff, at all, throughout this entire period. Truth be told, what's happened is, I've been very busy (again), very absorbed in my exam preparations, school business, other ... things - and, what else, I've been taken slightly ill, in a very peculiar way; I've suffered (from) a severe, and painful catarrh which affected all my bronchiae sections, nostrils, throat, ears, as well as my eyes; the latter resulting in my not being advised, or able, to spend long consecutive hours before a computer screen, like I normally do, because it would tire my eyeballs and make them a lot worse; a lot more sore, red-rimmed and festered. Actually, it still does, so I'm keeping a very intense, very finger-exhausting tempo on my writing at the moment, keeping my word-per-minute frequency on a disturbingly high level. I have to allow myself longer lasting breaks from the computer work, and spend most of my days doing other things than being online, which is quire hard and demanding and generally annoying for a geeky fangirl blogger such as yours truly. I love sitting in front of my screen(s) just staring at some bizarre youtube-videos, reading papers and poems, skimming celebrity gossip columns, providing response in fandom communities, contributing comments to random discussion sites, writing stuff, all this which - ironically - might have been what caused the eye catarrh in the first place; that I've spent too many hours here, working on my laptop, not giving myself enough pauses, off-screen time, and healthy fresh air. Like I said, not easy being a geekish person, and not too easily done, avoiding internet surfing; it once more proves our attachment and addiction to the whole phenomena, and I'm most willingly admit I have a strong inclination to spend most of the day looking at moving items on a square frame of LCD. I love my telly, I love my HP, I love me a bit of yahoo! news. Don't love the news itself as much, though, and I really dread the swine flu, recession, depression and wherever-earth quakes, but that's a different story. Point is, the only thing I've been keeping myself up-to-date on is just that; which means I've had a terrible overdose and need a well-earnt break from that, at the moment, whereas I've been avoiding the sites where I usually spend longer-lasting, more lingering amounts of time, like the communities, the fashion departments, Photoshop, and - this little universe. My Beloved Blog. Well, today I decided my eyes could take a bit of toll and suffering and emerged for a limitied, but eventual - certainly long-awaited - return to the aforementioned activity, and it feels goddamn brilliant. My eyeballs hurt like shit, already, but hey! gotta sacrifice a little for the sake of That Most Important Thing dans mon vie, pour la vie, which - naturally, still - seems to be expressing one's strange and deviating ideas throught strange and very deviant words. Which, in it's own right, is fascinating. And I've been somewhat philosophicaly inclined, or interested, or even obsessed, lately - maybe as a compensation, in lact of other ... things, in any case: I've been absorbed in deep lanes & far-travelling trains of thoughts. Hence, I've been dealing with loads and tons of philosophical, existential, literary, personal, poetical, universal - and furthermore relevant - issues, which have had my brain(s) all beaming and glowing and overly excited, all geared up and overheated, and myself a bit - sleepyheaded. Now, that all being explored, and exploited in superlatives and synonyms and needless accentuations - let me return to the basic essence of this story, which is what I've been doing instead of what I could've been doing, which I normally would have been doing, which I - as formerly explained - couldn't do, which is: post fucking writings here. And watch more dvd's. Sacrifices, sacrifices. Let me repeat, return, the post is here and I have employed some of the existence-oriented musing and experiments and brief glimpses and epiphany, in order to get / have gotten down on paper some of the thoughts and whims I've been undergoing, otherwise: I'm just - below, above, everywhere - spreading the luscious, lush (!?) words I've been pinning down today, and most recently, in the past few hours, which means I'm reciting somewhat un-edited stuff, completely non-concentrated, but: all the more fresh-from-the-soul and new and consequently, confusing as hell, even to me. Love that. I've been watching numerous Eddie Izzard clips on youtube (so much, my eyes started running) and I've learnt a lot, become very inspired, and adopted a very gruffy scruffy British accent which I'm not sure suits me, but which I enjoy immensely and do hope follows the "standard conentions", that is: the normal dialect procedures, so I avoid sounding like some Frenchie trying to be cool for school (?!). Anyways. I like French. I like French people, they're good at making movies. Julie Delpy is my personal female god. But: there was a case in point that had something to do with poesy and collected prose and updates to make amends for an entire week of absence. In addition to all above: now, let's get the party started - back on track! Back to those fucking FUN barracks of my inner brains and cores of heart, here goes:

Most and first and in between of all, Happy 1st of May, Labour(er)'s day and people dancing in the streets. Or maybe not. Giving speeches and spreading the collective word, at least. I was eating ice cream in a park. Let me just say, that can be very nice too. Don't need to be political to be a fulfill one's duty as a human being. I'm not very polititian-ish, myself, I prefer criticizing them and keeping a sensible, dismissive distance. They're all bleeding mad. They're cynical, lying hypocrites who pretend they care and make rubbish promises they can't keep and have as much control over the countries they govern as an elephant in a china store. Right. But they're in charge and I do believe they attempt to try and I wouldn't be doing their job for all the money in the world - or maybe I would. Being a broke and confused poet, et cetera, et al. But, what I'm trying (really hard) to express here, is this; I didn't actually celebrate the 1st of may. I'm feeling kinda bad about it. And I'm making up for it by bad-mouthing the people that were acually doing something related to the purpose of the entire celebration while celebrating it. Makes sense not even to moi. But the ice cream tasted really swell and the weather was behaving accordingly, most of the time, and I heard the parties in town - and the speeches - were quite okey, if not entirely stellar. In the evening, I was watching said Julie Delpy give Ethan Hawke a good squeeze sometime "Before Sunset", so I'm not that well-informed on the events taking place in the Bergen city centre. Great film, though. And great for my sore throat, watery eyes and exhausted head. Since it caused my eyes to fill with water, my throat to croak, and my head to enter into a very dark cloud of melancholy wonder, I mean. Whoohey. What else to tell? I'm reading a lot, obviously, study-related and else, and I'm very much into E.E. Cummings - still - which is something I'll get back to. I'm hanging around, doing less than I should, whilst doing more than I ought to, contemplating whatever it is that a woman of my disposition(s) may be contemplating (...), eating sorts of food that may not do my vitamine values any good, but works wonders for my mental satisfaction, and I'm reclaiming focus where it otherise tends to stray, and I'm keeping my temper in check, where it elseway would choke itself to death in heavy frustration mode. I'm "doing alright", as Freddie would sing, and trying my best to recover. In multiple ways. Let me get back to you with some proper poetry. Which basically means, if this is the latest post you're reading, wait for more, if this is the last post you're reading, skim the archives. Massive as they fortunately may be. Cheerio and say cheese and let me eat cake, I said.