JULIA # 5 - I hate New York

I hate New York.

I hate New York because it is this black hole of supposed freedom
and let loose creativity
and on these premises drags the brightest of up coming stars and eats of their glow until they die die die.
Because New York freedom means having nothing to lose,
means drugs and a life as a sans papier and the only help you get is from the Pakistani in the bodega on the corner, he who also has a law degree and loves to point that out
and doesn't even notice when you steal a big pack of Oreos, as long as you pretend to listen to his useless unfulfilling shit.
I hate New York for it's Potemkin culiss that promises solutions to beautiful souls that are not suppose to find the balance in their lives and never will.

Not even in New York.

Ida #4 Voy a mi casa estaré alli por si quieres ir.

God one hate I hate about Mexicans is that they are so fucking unreliable. It is all about "I love you" but for real they do not give a fuck. SIGH.

Anyway I just wanted to say that I am at the airport in Mexico City and I look like shit due to the fact that 2 days ago I had a little party with my mexican lover (ex-lover now, I guess), which of course included wearing cowboy-hats (like in this very fine picture of me) and singing quiero que me quieras while drinking snaps with fanta (clazzy_girl_in_town) and last night I travelled to the airport, so yeah I have slept next to nothing and I am wearing sort of a jungle-outfit because my schampoo leaked out in my bag leaving all my clothes slimy and wet.

Anyway, a truly beautiful man comes up in front of me. I stare and stare. I can tell that he is really short but honestly, after all this time in Mexico I don´t care, I´ve hooked up with a guy who is 165 and I am 178 so, really, it doesnt matter to me (except from that it is nice if the penis actually reaches down to where is is supposed to be without the man having his head somewhere around your bellybutton). This guy. He is sitting i front of me now. Right in this moment. He is so fucking nicelooking, you can see that he never smells bad or farts or anything. Oh fuck 2 seconds ago his girlfriend comes. She is petite and really beautiful, pretty much like him actually. I try to hide because I feel like Shrek. Now I will go and smoke a cigarette and think about cancer. Later Alligatorz.

/ Confused girl with smelly jungle-trousers and frizzy hair



PS. OH just saw that he wears really ugly socks. Now I feel better.

PS2. I miss Miguel

Aleksandra # 4 - Dédicace

jag hatar att sakna, det är så okonstruktivt och skämmigt när personerna jag saknar är på semester, besöker ditt och datt, unnar sig och inte ägnar mig en endaste tanke för de har kul! jag unnar mig ingenting för jag är pank och har en massa saker jag borde göra, tid jag borde förvalta väl under en sommar i stan där ingenting händer för alla är på semester och hit kommer inga turister. I ställer tar kort jag kort på vår stad till er jag saknar, ett omvänt vykort, från hon som stannade till er som åkte.

Ida # 3 Jag kan dansa också.

I have a thing for guys who are emotionally unavialable. I don’t know why, God knows I just wanna be loved, like everyone else, but the guys are I fall in love with are always emotional fuckups, or married, or people in bands with a drug-and-prostitute-addiction. And I fall in love and I cry and I wonder why, but really, I am the one with the problem. Show me a guy that cannot love me back, and I will adore him. Sometimes nice guys fall in love with me and they tell me I am so wonderful, and I am like “ok” and forget them straight away. Because I seem to seek the unhappy love, seem to love being sad and cry. I don’t know why. Guess I am a fuckup too. The minute that bad guy start to talk about a future together, that he is gonna leave his wife or stop being an asshole, I stop loving them. Again, gotta love being me. / nicelife.com

PS. as I copypasted this post from my folder with potential blogposts, I am being stared at by the local hippieguy. He is in his 50s, about the height of an apple, brown and wrinkly like a raisin, with weird hair, looks like a broom sort of, and he has clearly been smoking weed non-stop for the past 1800 years. All the time he is, I dont know how to express it in english, wiggling his eyebrows at me? For five minutes now, his eyebrows has been doing this strange dance at me. I am scared.

PS2. I leave Mexico for 2 months of Europe-holidays, in 9 days. Said goodbye to my driver today with vodka and cigarretes on my sunroof. It was nice and we had a "moment" and then someone started to scream hysterically in the house nextdoor. We looked down on the street and an old woman is sitting, howling like a wolf, outside the house. I still dont know why but there is a sect operating in that house so I suspect some sort of demon had possessed her. I love Mexico.

MARIA #4 - NATURE IS SATANS CHURCH

So as you all have guessed I just got home from watching Antichrist. The film that no longer needs any introduction. It was beautiful and scary and uncomfortable and horrible and fascinating. I am left with a feeling of emptyness and a wonder if I am in fact a psychopath for sortof understanding the woman in the film. Not that I would ever want to hurt anyone nor myself. But I still understand.

There lies something dark in all of us. We have all done things we are not proud of. These things for me are very interesting.

I think morbid thought sometimes, sure. And I have had so much rage and dispair in me that I would be able to physically hurt someone but at that moment decided to instead pound my fist in a concrete wall until I couldn't feel anything but the blood pounding in my hand and hear a ringing in my ear. It was because someone I loved deliberately hurt me. I was crying and drinking and my hand didn't work properly for a year, which I also damned him for. And myself.

See this is the kind of feelings that Antichrist awakes in me for some reason. It also makes me not wanting to be a victim any more. Because sometimes I act like I am, and that is not a good thing. I am strong and I think most people are if we choose too. So I will choose to be in the future. I am not going to talk to anyone who hurts me nor put myself in a situation that hurts just for a moment of pleasure or stimulation or to be polite.

People that leave and betray me are no longer people I should confide in. It is better to keep things to myself than to display my weaknesses for people who does not give a shit and this is what I have realized tonight.

Human nature scares me too, it is a scary and fascinating thing. I really enjoy reading about serial killers and murders, what does that say about me? I am not sure I want to know the answer to that question. People are filled with evil, weather we want to or not.

Ida # 2 Freak_Girl_85@mail.com

First thing: Last week I ended up on a AA-meeting. I live in a small Mexican town called Catemaco, where I am doing my research (I am a biologist) and, well, my friend Miriam has a boyfriend who is in the AA and I went with her to pick up her 3-year-old (who was at the meeting with her father). As we came to the AA-house, Miriam said “come on lets get in!” and I was like “With the alcoholics? Really?” (always thought that the AA-meeting was kinda private). There were around 10 people there, only 1 woman. I was a little bit nervous, but they gave me a cigarette and we started to talk, I was talking fast and moved my hands a lot, I talked about my investigation, about the monkeys I am studying, about being Swedish in Mexico, about being Swedish in Sweden. Finally I asked politely: so why did you end up in Catemaco? The guy I am talking to, Manuel, smiles at me, takes a deep breath, and:
“I was an alcoholic.”
“….”
I can feel how my heart is sinking a little bit. I have problems handling private confessions, don’t like other peoples feelings, and here is a stranger who feels like sharing addiction-secrets? Please God, save me.
But there is nothing to do but to smile and ask him more, I mean, what kind of person would I be if I was not there for a lamb that got lost from the big herd but now has returned? Shaken, but with a growing interest, I listen to his stories about being homeless in San Fransisco, going to jail, loosing his family.
“Alcohol made that to me”, he explains. We are silent for a while, there is no need for words.
Then he asks me if I like to dance.
“Yeah! But only when I am drunk!”
(No need to further explain the weird silence that followed on this statement. I left not long after that.)

Second thing: I am invited to a wedding. Miguel who invited me is the cousin of the guy getting married, and I really like Miguel, so I was trying to look cute and make a good impression. After the food we go up to the newly-weds. Miguel introduces me and the groom grabs my hand and makes a little attempt to kiss me on the cheek. However, I hate being kissed on the cheek and I am never able to make a smooth move towards the other persons cheek because I feel so uncomfortable, I tend to do a rapid attack-movement instead, scaring the other person, or ending up at the ear or the nose. So with the groom, I chose not to kiss him, leaving him mid-air with his cheek waiting for my lips. The second I decide to kiss him anyway, he of course have already turned around, making this introduction a stupid little dance of short robot-movements. Anyway, he smiles, just married, he is so happy and proud of his wife. “We are so glad that you could be here with us”, he says. Ida, “freakgirl”, smiles at him, and then says in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like me “yeahyeahthanksandthefoodwasawesome” and then… rub my stomach, and then…. take off. My only chance of talking to the couple, and I manage to be Rob Schneider rather than Blair Waldorf.

Third thing: after the wedding we go to a sort-of-party in Miguels aunts house and I am gonna say goodbye to parts of the family before going home and happily walks in front of the fan. My dress blows up and shows my underwear to everyone. Since it takes me like 3 seconds to react, everyone gets a good look as well.

Sum-up of the week:
1. making a fool out of myself at an AA-meeting
2. acting like a homeless brute at the wedding instead of oozing finesse.
3. Giving Miguels family a full-frontal view of my knickers.

Gotta love being me.

Aleksandra # 3 - Sztuka, która nie porusza / Konst som inte berör någon / L'art qui ne touche personne

Here are some things I find really ugly, which I found at biennals, fancy galleries and ornamenting our streets. However, I would listen carefully and open-mindedly if someone would like to explain the point.
> You can click on all pictures to enlarge!

I found it in Brussels so it may be sponsored by the maize association.

Children never make good art.

Okay, these bunny slippers are a bit cute.

I don't find this all that ugly, but nobody cares about it. European art is still to be invented.

This one is particularly hideous.

I actually do know somebody that likes this.

And these guys, they really like l'art libertine (do you see the gallery logo?).

MARIA #3 - PANTONE 292

Tomorrow I am going to paint the crooked walls of my room, yes my walls are crooked. It is physicly impossible to align my bed with two two walls at the same time. I am not so fond of my room. Yet. But tomorrow my walls will become either "mosque blue" or "chasm". I am leaning towards "mosque blue" since I love kitch. I think your room says more or less everything about your personality (except in the case of my exboyfriend and others alike, who hates decorating). My rooms over the time have pretty much looked all the same;

•small with clothes covering the floor

• a lot of pictures, drawing and polaroids (and the occational cock-print after a drunken painting party) covering the walls

•at least one piece of furniture found on the street

•a selection of weird sheets (my favourite ones have a big picture of the phantom, yes the comic)

At one point during living in Prague I even possesed a working gas oven in my room. It came in quite handy at times since we didn't have any heating.

I hate that we are renting a furnished apartment, I want to throw out all my trash furniture (fake wood) and replace them with trash furniture I find on the street or at my neighbours, the christan charity shop (real wood).

I hate fake wood, it makes any room look like a cheap motel, in  a bad way. See it's hard to explain since I wouldn't mind my room looking like a cheap motel but in a good way.

JULIA # 4 CRAZY SUICIDAL HEART

Min stora Parisförälskade.
Han dumpade mig,
jag var ledsen, jag var kär, jag grät, jag jobbade på det, jag kom över det.

Men en kväll,
månader senare.
Vi fick en andra chans.
Han gav mig en andra chans.
Vi gick hem.
Vi hade sex.
Jag kärleksfullt, han styrd av sina behov.

Han vaknade sent på eftermiddagen dagen därpå.
Mötte min blick.
Han höll om mig.
Ville ha sex igen.
Jag satte mig på sidan av sängen, med armarna runt benen.

Kommer vi att ses igen?

Jag vet inte.

Men om du måste säga.

Nej. Om jag måste säga så är det ett nej.

Gå nu. Gå direkt.

Han reser sig, klär på sig.
Jag rullar en cigg.
Bryter min rökfria vecka.
Röker den i fönstret.

Han står i hallen,
redo att gå.
Han frågar om jag har sett hans glasögon.
Jag skakar på huvudet.
Han letar. Letar på. Blindar runt. Någon ringer.

Jag ser glasögonen.

Jag gömmer dem.

Jag har vunnit lite tid.
Han inte kommer att bli kär i mig de kommande tjugo minuterna.
Men i mitt huvud finns ingen annan lösning.
Jag greppar i de tunnaste av halmstrån.
Han fortsätter leta, jag gör ett soundtrack till hans sökande,
letar fin okänd musik på youtube.
Skrattar lite hysteriskt.
Vår sista stund.
Han pratar om att detta är ett straff,
för att han har behandlat mig illa.
Dålig karma.
Jag ler och säger neeeeej då, så är inte.
Jag skriver allt det här, frågar honom efter en titel.

Qu'est-ce que tu penses de crazy sucidal heart?

Ca fait un peu emo.

Jag kan väl vara emo då.
Tårarna pockar, lika som hans irritation.
Glasögonen ligger på ett säkert ställe.
Han kommer aldrig att hitta dem utan min hjälp.
Jag låtsas att hjälpa till att leta.

Till slut säger han att han måste gå.
Jag tar hans nummer igen, min telefon blev stulen igår.
Jag skriver prydligt ner det på en smutssida i en kopia av Brott och Straff.

Vi reser oss båda.
Går ut i hallen.

Ciao ciao säger jag,
gör peacetecken över ögat,
stänger ytterdörren bara lite för hårt
och känner tårarna komma.

Aleksandra # 2 - Four problems and one solution

Four types of Chinese industrial waste

Photos by Canadian photographer Edward Burtynsky, Asia showed me Jennifer Baichwal's great film "Manufactured Landscaped" about Burtynsky's observations-through-the-lense of industrial changes to nature, thank you Asiu. And thank you Ed and Jennifer, now that I gave you some free publicity please don't sue me.

Ukrainian recycling

This was my view from the kitchen window in Kyiv, Ukraine. Every morning and some nights, I watched the ever-changing scenary over cups of non-arabic coffee. People leave what they no longer need anywhere on the court yard so that their neighbourgs can help themselves, and then on Sundays somebody puts a fire on the dumpster and lets it burn for 24h (but the smoke does not stop the children from playing at the lovely playground situated just behind) until a babushka in an official fluo suit comes with a hose and puts the fire out.

JULIA # 3 - MAD ONES

The only people for me are the mad ones.
Too mad to live alongside with taxes, regular meals and waiting for weekends to live
too mad to waste time on enough sleep, on diets and detox,
too mad to care about money, enough money, always having money,
too mad to put their boyfriends in front of friends,
too mad to abstain from making life into the greatest performance, to live the art, too mad to stand in and corner and flirt in the normal way but either dance dance dance with themselves or go straight up to the Desire and kiss his beautiful lips,
too mad to listen to their bodies rather than their instincs, too mad to quit smoking too mad to quit drinking too mad to quit living because its monday, too mad to be polite without real reason,
too mad to ever believe in impossibilities, too mad to accept a "I m sorry" without sorting the problem out, too mad to doubt their own beauty intelligence and ability to learn,
too mad to fit in, too mad to even try, too mad to listen to any other voice than the one within,
too mad to forget what they dreamt last night, too mad to be consistent, too mad to let a single second pass by without making it special.
Too mad to live too mad to do anything else than just that.
And too mad to get stagefright from all this.

There is only one danger with the mad ones, with the people that no one can stop from running straight forward. Please please all beautiful mad ones, please take care of yourselves. Please be too mad to just disappear.

Aleksandra # 1 - Why do you cry, is there something in your eye?

- Nej, jag har bara inte hunnit supa mig själv medvetslös ännu. Jag har gjort det igen, jag var en hopplös, jävla optimist som gav dig en andra chans och nu vill jag skjuta mig i självförakt. Besvikelsen över att bli besviken igen, jag som bara vill vara god och glad och ta livet med en klackspark istället för blanda vin med vodka och förbanna dagen du föddes på.

Jag skyllde min smärta på kärlek, gav upp min frihet och självrespekt i kärlekens namn och såg inte det omöjliga. Jag jämförde oss med Carrie och Big. Jag led fastän du faktiskt aldrig bad mig om det och fastän kärlek inte kräver sådana uppoffringar, men jag hade sett för många tv-serier. Jag var dum. Mea culpa.

Men det är slut med sånt nu. Det finns begränsningar av vad man kan uppnå med ren viljekraft. Jag har insikstfullt beslutat mig för att inte höra av mig, för jag

a. vill inte vara kär i någon som inte bryr sig om mig.
b. hoppas att du gillar mig tillräckligt för att höra av dig så småningom.

Får inte ligga med varje kille som skriver dikter till min ära. En man som krossar mitt hjärta är inte nödvändigtvis en lovande poet.

Jag kanske borde åka bort. Ovanför molnen skiner alltid solen. Jag kommer inte tillbaka förrän jag vet varför jag grät. Kärleken vill inte att man gråter i dess namn.