I had a sex dream with Freja

I have been having teacher training all week. I am not good at teaching things. All my life I thought I was good at explaining and showing. But, apparently, grammatical concepts evade me: I freeze and babble and assume... It's not pretty. I am also becoming more and more deficient vis-à-vis my attention ever single day. I can't concentrate for more than fifteen minutes, after which I just *tune out*, even when I am actively trying to listen. I need medication... ohbutwait you don't have health insurance yayyyyy.

give me them pills!

My notebook is one huge scribbledoodle. My fingers are died in icky blue ink, I leave smudgy fingerprints in every available surface. But! Thanks to my ever dwindling attention span, I discovered that the notebook I am using for this class is also the same notebook I used to use as a part-time journal in France. FWANCE! 


I used to have another blog back then, and much of its content I drew from this and other notebooks. I lost everything I ever wrote for that blog because I am extremely intelligent and mistakenly deleted all my backed-up copies. BUT LOOK HERE, I found some golden phrases that reminded me of my year in Paris:
"Is it weird that I write by startin at the last page and keep going back?"
"You know what's weird? People with no chins."
"I want to do queer-latino cinema, but that's like... expected."
"I hate girls who are ashamed of watching porn."

terry richardson

All of them gems. I also wrote something by the name of "anti-solipsism". I vaguely remember coming up with this and thinking it would be something like believing everyone else thought you up, that you only live in other people's mind which is crazy. 

But it's a pretty fun exercise to go over the stuff I wrote and make up new stuff with it (that's called being unoriginal and lazy). I have some poems there I just discovered: poems about a girl who doesn't want me anymore. I feel even shittier than I did five minutes ago.  

BUTWHATEVER right now I am listening to that new Rihanna song, Man Down (have you seen that video? it's craycray) which led me to think about the fist time I heard it, which was in San Francisco with my friend, Banana. Her real name is not Banana. 
Banana and I are meant to live in the same city and go to the same parties and do the same drugs together. She is just one of those people your soul knows it needs around all the time. But Banana lives in San Francisco and I don't. Her apartment and assortment of roommates and friends hit me over the head with a bottle of awesome and I was drunk/dazed with all their goodness. Everyone was so interesting and cool and they all smoked cigarettes! Inside!! I was floored. 

San Francisco was amazingly awesome I have no words. But I don't think it would have been as awesome if it wasn't for the people I met/chilled with. San Franciscans are super friendly but kind of assholes in the way New Yorkers are assholes: because they can. I'm the same way (slash, I'm probably really mean and bitchy, but this is what I tell myself). Because people from SF are so cool they can afford to make snarky comments and criticize my fashion sense. I mean, they live in SF and I don't, they must be doing something better than I am. 

maybe that's it

In SF I stayed with Banana and with Lucy before that. Lucy is not her real name. Lucy's house was actually the most beautiful house I have ever seen. It was small, had two floors. It was in one of those really steep streets in SF, just like the movies. The living/dining room was super spacious and had huge windows that looked onto the street, gazing over the greenest trees ever. If you sat on the couch you thought you were in a very awesome tree house. I took pictures with my Diana, but they didn't come out right and I am sad sad sad about it.

Lucy had two cats, both of them acted like dogs, and one of them was HUGELY FAT and so adorable. It was scared of me. Lucy has problems with a third cat who comes in and eats her cats' food. The cat was names Bruce. Lucy is one of those people who is so chill and interesting and intelligent and wise beyond her years that you don't know where the hell they came from. Like, how is this possible? Her smile could melt ice cubes. I wish I had her around every time I felt sad, she can make a bad mood disappear.

Reading over this I realize all I have talked about is how amazing my friends are and youknowwhat I DONT CARE they totally are and I miss them. The cold makes me all shitty and tired and nostalgic. I am reading over all my love poems and I am getting angrier by the second. To myself, mostly. Today I woke up late and took a nap about an hour and half after I did. I can't stop notsleeping/sleeping. I think about school, about the states, about "her" you know the elusive thing you think you find but then you don't but might you meet her again maybe at a club maybe never, but mostly I wonder how I'm going to fail. I am so scared because I am not taking my medication and I am not feeling well and I can feel it, the spiral I'm right there, and nothing is there to catch me. 

But then I take a sleeping pill and go to sleep.

also, today i had a sex dream involving this individual:
freja beha



*the fuck* is wrong with me??? i just -don't- go to bed for some reason. someone must knock me out. the later it is, the more nervous i get about it. and i don't want to wake up at noon again. JESUS I SUCK. 

the end. 


long delayed - promise of more (sorry for the typos)

Long ago, I found a cure for my depression: writing. Uninevitably, as I never listen to myself, I stopped doing this for the better part of last year. Partly because I didn't want everyone to know all the dark twisty things (because, obviously, the only way to write is to blog) inside of my head. People had found out about all of my broodiness before, and catastorphic consequences ensued (not really). I often lie in bed thinking of good sentences that just come to me and I am too lazy playing mahjong to write them down. Sometimes I think of a good line of a poem while half asleep. Again, too lazy. Every single thing I write down on the notebook that I carry around with me feels daily-journal-y... describing bus passangers, events of the day, a little fly on a window pane, it all seems like counting calories (and that shit is for boring anos)

cry ano bitch cry

But, luckily for my muse, I recently had my heart broken and now I don't give a shit. I want to let it out again because most of my friends are far away and the ones that are here are busy and don't live next door as my college friends did.

(via april27th)

It's very cold and windy here, my skin is very dry and chapped, even the skin on my legs. I notice how old I'm getting. Grey hairs, scarred skin, weird spots. When I watch movies or TV shows, I usually half-cry most of the running time: Santana and Brittany kissed TEAR, a father loses his child TEAR, a child loses his father TEAR, Zach Galafinakis (sp?) is fat TEAR, etc.

will die will die

My heart is a little bomb, that I know will explode one of these days. It will be the familiar routine, more pills, therapy, warm weather, happy again. Except probably not.
I am greatful that despite of this shitstorm I am still able to work and stuff. I just don't think much. I haven't read anything since I landed. I mostly spend sleepless nights whispering regrets under my breath.
Living with my family again also ain't easy. It's not that I don't have room for my stuff (I don't), I don't have room for me. ME ME ME. I expanded and stretched all over the place when living in college, even when I was in Paris. I need space and I need silence, and there's none of that here. And it's not my mum's fault... It's mine, for failing to get a job in the States, for not performing better in college, for being ugly, for not foreseeing this, saving up for rent somewhere here, but 8000 pesos will get you nowhere. And I'm smothered by my own house.

(via letgooftheredballoons)

Lots of things have happened since I came back to Uruguay. A girl I was very excited to see and kiss and hold hands with told me she didn't want to do all those things with me. This had repercussions on a lot of other relationships for me and I am held in an uncertainty limbo right now. I had a terrible cold, I kept coughing. In my hypochondriac mind I thought I might cough up blood any second. But then it went away (edit: immediately after I posted this I spent 2 hours coughing. I woke everyone up). I haven't stopped smoking like I said I was going to. But there's time for a serious health scare, no?

bitch please

So, in order to get out of my funk – or at least make it productive, I must: read more, write more, see my friends more often, not spend so much fucking time on the internet, take pictures, draw, and probably smile more often.
I spent a month traveling the States. That is my next writing mission: a portrait of each of the cities I visited and their people. Could be sort of a delayed short-term travel blog. Are you interested?

as excited as this baby was when being held by david bowie




hola padre
i miss you, daddy

today it's father's day and you're still not here. 

i will never forgive you, i'm afraid. 



post-grad blues/thoughts

My life has come to a point right now where I receive constant Facebook invitations to things I really want to go to but they happen in the other side of the world, and that makes me infinitely sad. However, I was able to RSVP to Pride in Uruguay already, which is nice. Oh, the perils of being internationally known...

Right now I am lying on a comfy bed in Port Townsend, WA, at a friend's house. I graduated some 2 and a half weeks ago. I am traveling the west coast before I have to leave for Uruguay. I have 60 days after graduation; the United States apparently thinks a foreigner can find a stable job in two months. Indeed, it is impossible (specially with *my* GPA), so I am kicking it in the coast of Tupac and Kurt and all those beautiful dead people. Next up: Seattle, Portland, OR, and San Francisco. And Miami, but whocaresaboutthat, right?

I fucking wish Dexter was there for real. 

I have not posted in a while, because I was experiencing trauma. Goodbyes have never been easy for me. This was the worst, for some reason. It was everyone at the same time. When I left Uruguay I thought (maybe arrogantly) that everyone would be there when I came back. When I said goodbye to my grandpa for the last time, it was only him. This time, it's my friends, but also my schooling, college, the States, the lifestyle. I was and am heartbroken.

via tumblr

I have been feeling very self-deprecating. I see a bright future for all my friends but not me. I don't know why. I think I need to up my medication? hahalulzno. Maybe. My therapist suggested I have ADD which would explain a lot about my personality/the way I have been functioning the last couple of years. Will that increase my self-confidence? Will it make me more productive? That's all I want to be! Productive.

And Rich.

die antwoord - rich bitch (right click for download)

I have been watching Misfits. Must the British do EVERYTHING better than the Americans? Come on, people! Get it together, and produce a show for teenagers that doesn't insult their intelligence. (In other words, bring Whedon back and let him use cuss words on his shows). I have also watched Smiles of a Summer Night and Ponyo.

I *made* this last one

Watching these movies, I got depressed at how uninspired I am, and much I know I will never create something worthwhile or even... finished or complete. How can some people just come up with these stories? And, If I do come up with one, will I spend my whole life trying to produce it and then when I do, people will laugh, like one of those Z list movies. Will my life's product be a Z list movie? I might as well not try.