Wednesday, 14 December 2011 slump day!

The body is abused, very abused today. It is feeling the aftershocks of last night's consumption of four pints of beer, 6 shots of Jameson and no food in the stomach. The heart is doing much worse. Yes, this is a diary entry and a sappy one and I just do not know how else do we learn about things if not through experiences of our own? I'm a bit too self-consumed though. Anyway, let me finish about last night.

I went out. I finally convinced my two Albanian girlfriends to come out with me with the promise that I would hook them up with my new group of Canadian boys who have become my partners-in-party lately. One of them I met in a bar and became friends with the rest of his group, all boys. All Canadian boys....
Well, let me tell ya about Canadian boys. They are polite and politically correct, but only up till the moment they no longer need you. They are good friends, generally. They are good men, good bros, and perhaps good lovers. They could even be good boyfriends but obviously am generalizing...

I got drunk. Pretty drunk. Stupidly so, since I had not planned to be. But as usual, to quiet the screams of pain, I chugged and chugged beer. It sounds depressing and self-mutilating this behaviour, no? Well, let me tell ya, I have turned it into an art of socializing and so-called-living-the-life. I stumble into people violently, demand interesting conversation with my insightful and shameless questions, break open their shyness with distinct fervour for I want a human connection. I am not interested in anything but human connections.

This year has been my debauchery year. But debauchery is my means of humanist experimentalism, digging of human psyche, my own specifically.

I am the cosmos and the others are me. I feel all this while I am listening to live music in a bar full of people.

Lonely is today...but only today!


“Someway, baby, it’s part of me, apart from me.”
you’re laying waste to Halloween
you fucked it friend, it’s on it’s head, it struck the street
you’re in Milwaukee, off your feet

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
strayed above the highway aisle
(jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

3rd and Lake it burnt away, the hallway
was where we learned to celebrate
automatic bought the years you’d talk for me
that night you played me ╩╗Lip Parade╩╝
not the needle, nor the thread, the lost decree
saying nothing, that’s enough for me

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
hulled far from the highway aisle
(jagged, vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

Christmas night, it clutched the light, the hallow bright
above my brother, I and tangled spines
we smoked the screen to make it what it was to be
now to know it in my memory:

…and at once I knew I was not magnificent
high above the highway aisle
(jagged vacance, thick with ice)
I could see for miles, miles, miles

Thursday, 8 December 2011

I fell asleep and awoke to a passionate kiss. He took advantage of my trust and entered my consciousness as I lay sleeping. I welcomed it, embraced it, loved it, pushed it away. I wasn't going to allow him to touch me. No, no dear sir, you cannot go down there, nor can you go up there. Keep your hands to yourself but give me free reign to your lips.

I wanted it. And yet rejected it. Could not accept the offer, for I would have lost the game.
In the war between bodies, the woman is always walking on eggshells. She needs to keep her focus, her balance, watch her steps carefully or she could be lost and crush herself under her own steps.

And then we kissed...and I loved it. And we kissed some more, and my resolve began to melt. And then he touched me some more, and I almost conceded. But I did not give in. I did not give in to my own temptations, neither to those of my body, neither to those of my heart. I just simply enjoyed the cleansing and satisfying process of being thoroughly, beautifully, passionately kissed.

Ah, how I want him! Ah, how I wish I did not want him. What a tragic war of emotions, this spark, this game of who seems to care less...

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

The countdown is on. Age 27 is already here and is no longer a number, but a state of mind; a culturally perceived last frontier of bachelorhood and more importantly, the first steps into old spinsterhood. Yes, yes....27 is too low a number to be saying these things, I know the North American cultural perception of this age. However, I am not North American (although have absorbed some its qualities) but a confused, deeply convoluted Albanian with a mix of values that seem to not know where they belong or where they would like to belong. At this current state, I am more of an amalgamation of compromised morals, muddled ideals, rejected and recycled superstitions and a new full set of decadent habits that I find incredibly essential to increasing my huma

nity and interestingness in life.

I am an odd one, inside of me. Outside, I seem a cheery, loving, party-animal babe that loves to flirt and make friends. I am the tactless jokes girl, full of life and energy. I am the speak-your-mind-first-think-later girl, the one with too many she's-ugly comments, the one with too much love for humans, too much tolerance, too much judgements, too much of everything. I am a mess of everything. And I am NOT the only one!

You are too, inexistent reader! We are all messes of everything, tangled balls of emotions, regrets, etc, etc, etc. Life is a string of etceteras.

Now go drink a delicious cold beer and don't pay any attention to my string of cliches.