Tuesday, 31 October 2017

the theory of the young girl

October 31, 2017 0 Comments

I'm looking for someone who understands what it means to be a girl. Who understands the way we think and breathe and dream and love and prosper in all our beauty and youth. Who understands the way we are imprisoned by our own idealism and naivete. How we learn to suffer through a numbing silence when we are told to shut up and stay static.  How we can never truly know who we are, because in order to be a safe shot you would need to have your fate decided by a million other people. The way we learn to care by giving our all, and having to ask for nothing in return. The way our minds can explode into this tipping point of certainty to repressive doubt. Most especially, the way we are taught to love when we only want to love ourselves. 

I'm looking for someone who understand that there is no such thing as the mystery of the young girl.  That maybe you think of us as this cosmic enigma, when all we really learn to be are sirens simply at sea waiting to become an emotional baggage. It's hard to be a young girl, because you can't escape the fact that young girls are brought up to be a lost cause. We want to be heard. We want to be spoken to. We want to be someone else's focus of attention. We want all these things at once in order to survive, and the only cure to sustaining our enigmatic state is to know less about the way the world works. The more you know, the more you realize that a young girl should be her own object of desire.

Monday, 30 October 2017

you bring in the worst in me

October 30, 2017 0 Comments

These are words inspired by the beatnik adventures of Jack Kerouac, and the brooding nymphet tales of Vladimir Nabokov. An assuming vision of love written in 2015. 
He should’ve seen from the look in my eyes what was missing, because the only thing that could set me free was the existence of his madness. His brilliant, burning madness that pushed me straight into a nomadic tipping point and spiraled into a frenzy of unconscious wandering.

If one day he felt that Brooklyn had nothing left for him – unsurprised by the ironic kitsch – he’d flee to Nevada in an instant. I’d follow him. I’d follow him to the farthest horizon reaching Michigan. I’d follow him from Michigan to Iowa and he’d tell me that I had gone too far this time. Too far from home, and too far from reality. Take me home. He’d cry to take me home, but I’d always respond by telling him that there was nothing to look back to because we had nothing much to lose, and maybe he’d respond by telling me that I was right and he was wrong. Elias never admitted he was wrong. Though when he did, I could remember falling in love with everything he had to say faster than reading the memoirs of road dogs and degenerates from the past. The failed, homeless poets, who never made a penny in and out of their existence, who had to forget about fading away into obscurity because there was nothing obscure to fade into in the first place. He was an embodiment of the many romantic souls before him, but he was no forgettable presence like the rest of them. Everything I did was for Elias. Everything I loved was for Elias.

Sunday, 29 October 2017

five reasons why i love jane birkin

October 29, 2017 0 Comments

1. "My mother was right: When you've got nothing left, all you can do is get into silk underwear and start reading Proust." 

I've never read anything written by Proust, so who am I to even allude to this? In my defense however, I can relate to using the mysterious powers of literature to alleviate the emptiness in your heart. Jane Birkin is right to state the importance of reading when you're in an unknown position in life. 

2. Mixing the masculine and the feminine as a means of staying true to yourself while kick starting a style revolution .  

Alexa Chung totally got it right. Jane Birkin pioneered this tomboy aesthetic that we currently refer to as the Parisian Chic style where as a woman dressing like a boy and acting like a girl - as Chung put it bluntly - is suddenly the definition of cool. Who says that comfort can't be stylish?

3. She has the quintessential designer bag named after her. Grace Kelly may have one too, but name me a "brand-whore" who has never aspired to own a Birkin bag of her own.

The birth of the Birkin bag is one of the most poetic and serendipitous moments of Birkin's biography. If you don't know this story, search it up.

4. "But who wants an easy life? It's boring!"

Everything good in this life is all hard work. We spend most of our youth wasted on trying to look happy, as it is much easier than actually trying to be happy. Jane Birkin understands that you lose more tying to play it safe, and that you earn more trying to take a risk. As my boomer dad often says, "This generation is soft, and somebody got to do something about it!".

5. There's a beautiful soul behind a beautiful face. She's a woman who chooses to be more than her youthful looks. 

I'm always let down by the fact that at one point in my life, I will never look as fresh as I did in between the ages of eighteen and twenty-seven. I admit defeat. I have succumbed to the superficial. Looks matter to me as they do to everyone else. I just need someone to tell me that feeling this way is inevitable, as I'm often told that youth overestimate the hours of their prime more often than they underestimate the timeline of their invincibility. But Jane Birkin shows me another side of looking at life, where you have many more years to set yourself apart from everyone else than just in your youth. Abandon the live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse motto. 

Saturday, 28 October 2017

drowning in a sea of responsibilities

October 28, 2017 0 Comments

Growing up is overrated. The foolish, dishonest and disturbed can't see it, but we will never be any of those things. We are simply a lost cause of hustle and grind for nothing. We are stuck in the past while looking forward to a scarcely promising future. In all our self-loathing and self-loving, we hurt and tear the ones we love the most in the name of adolescence. Growing up brings in the worst of you, and it's a pity that everyone in life goes through it. When I have cheated, and lied and taken more than I can give. When I have struggled to see beyond myself. When you count together everything I have done to make this world a less better place, do I still deserve the sympathy of others? Name me a human who hasn't been a nuisance to someone else.

I'm sure it hurts when sharp words are thrown against you. I'm sure it hurts when you're in a victimizing position, and all of your defenses have left you, but nothing hurts more than knowing you are the cause of any pain, any suffering, any doubt, anything to make someone else silently endure the trauma from your lack of benevolent reciprocation. We are all tyrants of this seemingly candid form of oppression at moments when we are least self-aware, and for that I am in no position to judge others when their intentions were never genuinely malicious in the first place; however, we can't continue to dismiss our faults over and over again. What's living without any form of growth? Is existence even possible without individual autonomy? Is it possible to move forward without taking responsibility for anything and anyone?

I don't know the answers. I don't know how much I want to, as much as I don't know how capable I am of finding those answers, and if there's even such thing as a empirical, fixed response to the question, or if it's the sort of curiosity that will lead you to an endless plethora of options. The only thing I can say is that it's just as normal to hurt others, just as it is to have been hurt once by someone else. We can guilt ourselves all we want, but what's the point of dwelling on our sick ways if we refuse to learn through them, if we refuse to revert and remodel our actions so as to avoid repeating the past? I can't see my future clearly, but I'll get closer to it by constantly admitting that I'll never know anything, despite the fact that I want to. I have to admit that because I don't know how to properly treat myself, I can never know how to properly treat others. I'm going to take responsibility for that now.

Friday, 27 October 2017

why falling in love with the past sucks

October 27, 2017 0 Comments

Anyone can think of the one thing they want but can't have, that itching thought in the back of their mind that has been pushed away by the compromises of reality. In my case, I've been caught under the allure of the sixties dream. The worst form of idealization - the impossible. The thought of replicating roadtrip novel cliches, and letting the art you love define you. Finding myself inspired by a generation I may not even understand, and the desire to look for something meaningful from the past has left me nowhere but daydreaming in dismal directions, letting my mind wonder when the time will come that I can have my sixties Parisian it-girl moment and become Jane Birkin 2.0 in the making. 

In the 21st century, there's madness behind the idealization of the unattainable. It's pitiful. Absolutely pitiful to want what you can't have. I guess everything comes down to living in an era fixated on the instantaneous consumption of everything. The modern era is all about taking and taking and no more giving and giving. When you're surrounded by so many options in your everyday life, it'll come to the point where you'll just keep wanting more of what you can't have. All because of this stupid mentality of the moment. Not living in the moment, but rather wanting everything all at once in the moment. Doesn't it suck to have a million options, when you can't even get what you want? When you have been fed the lie that you can do anything in life only to be led to the disappointment that is imagination. Which in other words, imagination is what keeps you alive from the truth. Imagination transcends the indulgences of reality, but imagination directs you towards the idle road.