Sound: Miyavi - Itoshi hito

Over the course of the past 3 days of being 23 and more drastically changed than ever during the course of the past 23 years...this one has made two new observations, but for what use is any of it in the end? I'm one of those people who'll put great things in writing and not find it in me to live by them. Perhaps it is a lack of self worth. Perhaps it is disillusionment.

Peanut butter and powder hot choclate does not taste like a Snicker bar.
Tanzanian nut-meg-and-other-spices tea tastes great :)

...no these are not the two observations I made, you foo'!

Yesterday I met this cool Argintinian jewlery maker in Camden Town. Today I bumped into him again while I was looking for something else, found out his name is Fabrizzio (Elest: Is that an Argentinian name? Fabrizzio: No, Italian!) and that his hands are all caloused and burnt coz he makes all his jewlery himself (Fabrizzio: look. -spreads out hands proudly). His English was rubbish but he told me that: "In Argentina we have no money, no work, no food... but we have korason -heart."

The universe might be telling me again, that I need to go somewhere where human passion hasn't died yet.

'Fantasies have to be unrealistic, because the moment, the second that you get what you seek, you don't, you can't want it any more. In order to continue to exist, desire must have it's objects perpetually absent. It's not the 'it' that you want it's the fantasy of 'it'. Desire supports crazy fantasies. This is what pascal means when he says that we are only truly happy when daydreaming about future happiness. That's why we say the hunt is sweeter than the kill, or be careful what you wish for, not because you'll get it but because you're doomed to not want it once you do. The lesson of Lacan is, living by your wants will never make you happy, what it means to be fully human is to strive to live by ideas and ideals, and not to measure your life in terms of your desires but those small moments of integrity, passion, rationality, even self sacrifice...because in the end, the only way that we can measure the significance of our own lives is by valuing the lives of others.'

-The Life of David Gale-

...Because it's relevant.

Wallpaper.
I don't have a gun.
In any case though, apparently women tend to leap to their deaths, when committing suicide (La Petite Soldat - Jean Luke Godard. (No offence to those who have a special place in their hearts for the razor blade. (Ah we just love flinching at the idea. (I dare you to visualise something graphic. (No I'm not a friggin masochist, I'm a writer, and I'm trying to shock you.) So a gun wouldn't be much use then...funny though, that someone should bring that up. 'Tis true that it is feminine, but I doubt the appeal has anything to do with cowardice personally...I think the act of leaping is defined by leaping away from and leaping to. Fleeing and seeking some 'measure of release and comfort from the receiving end of the leap. It's also more impulsive, urgent and poetic in its motion...then again I can suck meaning and melancholy out of a theme park ride. Sheer nonsense. Hence my fondness of cynical, railing characters like Jaques (As You Like It- The Bard.) He tha man!...Because he is an intellect and a miserable git. In fact, I must go home and extract some quotes from the play, specifically the one about sucking melancholy, and make them mine own.

Alex, Andreus and the other loud, funny, Norwegian dude just walked into the office, in very selfconciously sharp suits and have promptly started shedding jackets and ties... Ah that's better, they're back to their usual scruffy selves now... Andreus just winked at me. He's nice...but can someone please tell me what it means when men do that? Is it ok for me to continue idiotly smiling back, as I do? I'm not being paranoid, I'm just wondering if I'm being naive.

Woohoo! Amy asked if I'd help her out with something else after lunch! I'm free of the Wallpapers! (Al)

I leave you now, for I must be off to our Beenie-spotting lunch with Shakila, who txs me that she is dying of boredom.

Miyavi love, all around.
Over and out.

Elle est starts writing.
This is what happens when yours truely gets a Royal Holloway creative writing MA rejection.
Hoola hoops man: OI, ROYAL 'OLLOWAY! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
And yet, we care not...I quote Gordon:
'Hi Elest. Stupid Holloway. What do they know? Not much, clearly.'
Yes.
We'll show 'em when 'The Violinist and Alexis Jezeabel' wins the booker, white bread, and pulitzer in every field known to man, and becomes an international, nay intergalactical best seller for the next fifteen years (and 300 light years), after which it will turn into a modern classic and some hundered years later, a classic classic!
We'll show THEM, that Davinci man what can't write to save his life, and Hollywood, who I shant be selling my rights to, thank you! (Inshallah)
Ps. Zadie Smith can kiss my hiney.
The stupid five letter 'B' word.

I leave you with Samuel Beckett:
"Habit is a compromise effected between the individual and his environment, or between the individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the lightening-conductor of his existence. Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit. Breathing is habit. Life is habit."

Yesterday afternoon I was high on sheisha.
Last night I was high on bleach.
This morning I'm high on job searches.
I'm gonna go out for a bit to get high on that SunShiiiii-iiiiiine...looks mighty fiiii-iiiine, to meeeeee-eeee!

Why do flowers grow out of little cracks and crevices, in places where no one can even see them?
Because even though.
That's why.
...
Dance to 'be' in the act of dancing. Dance in the face of an oblivion of emptiness, loneliness, sadness and your futility... in a grey, drab, refuse.
Because you are not here to have to prove yourself to the world. You are here to 'be', for one who knows you even when you are hidden. Even when you know not yourself.

There's your sign.

SunShiiiii-iiiine! Over HeeeeREEE! (with a strong Egyptian accent)
...weeehaaee! So nice.

SHIKKKT! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE TEACHING TODAY! OH MY GOD, I'D FORGOT COMPLETELY!

The glorious pod of mainstream in all its mainstream glory and glorified mainstreamness is playing:
Something -Hajime Chitose

I'm reading and writing about all these successful designers with their well established companies etc. and I'm thinking it's all bull shiKt. (with a capital 'K')
For a moment I put myself in their places and think, Jane Gordon Clark of Ornamenta, launched when I was 3 years old...I do not want to end up like you! I don't want to spend half my life, working and struggling at the same game to stay afloat, only to achieve what you have: a state of being too financially comfortable and well established to stop working at the age of...yes, you look well over 50. No offence.
I don't want to have a big massive house in the South London suburbs, and two kids in private schools ...crap, this woman's got real flower petals pressed into her wallpapers! And they're textured! This changes everything...hang on a sec while I write this down...

...Now where was I before I was so rudely interrupted by wallpaper samples? Ah yes...my uncle. South London Suburbs house. Two kids in private schools. And a chain of old people's homes.
So, we've established what we DON'T want...what do we DO want?
I don't know.
I just hope that I don't end up like these people, ia, and my kids aren't brought up pre-conditioned to the notion of fitting a certain criteria. What do I mean? Think my uncle's kids. And then think the following scenario:

Uncle: you guys have actually done really well for yourselves, getting
into the universities you've gotten into. (and you know he's thinking:
considering you're from a broken marriage, grown up in
some crap North London area, and gone to rubbish schools coz your
father never took the responsibility to ensure otherwise.)
Elest: (very pissed off) Yeah, coz we're so messed up, right?
Uncle & Aunt: Oh No! No, we didn't mean that!

Piss off. I know what you meant. My mom did a hell of a fine job bringing us up on her own, and I'm glad I never got the life your kids are getting. Right now, I'm the happiest person in the world, because I can think outside your dumb box.
Wish I'd remember it more often.
Alhamdullah.

Conclusion: Down with Jane Gordon Clark. Up with Chocolate Trufle Aero!

Ps. The weather's amazing outside!

At FRIGGIN last!
Been trying to log onto blogger for the past half hour. And now that I'm on, I forgot what I needed to say. That's just smashing. Shame on u blog! I'm gonna go take a bath, and while I'm gone, u think very hard about what you've done!

Ps. We got our windows today and the kitchen is finaly complete, Alhamdullah...
WOOHOOOO!
Pps. The Tea Building is full of loads of arty farty design companies and publishers, and likewise, lots of arty farty peoples. We are in the midst of cool, once again...possibly cooler than Think Publishing. Our boss, however, is a Canadian guy with a very gay accent, who was having a huge row with some press person this afternoon, so that the entire office fell silent to listen intensely. After which everyone started gossiping about him.
With the boss asside though, I've spent my day writing about something which is so absurdly random in it's sheer mundane boringness, 'twill blow thy mind away...(drum roll) WALLPAPER! Tada!
Now, you're thinking said task is probably as interresting as a life support machine. You're thinking wrong... researching tea-total football heroes was worse. Not to mention, I get to look at lots of pretty pictures. :)
Ppss. My father is in London this weekend.
Pppss. I feel the need to dye my hair again. Red or Pink?

Last night while Elle est star gazer was moon gazing outside her flat, some black guy asked her if she was ok...
Elest: Yes, thanks.
Black guy: I thought you were crying.
Elest: No, I was looking at the moon.
Black guy: The moon. (looks up) oh. What do you call that, a half moon?
Elest: yeah. (thinks: you fool, it's a crescent!)
Black guy: Where are you from?
Elest: (thinks: it's a bit more complicated than that.) Turkey.
Black guy: In London people don't see the moon much.

Now, you think he said that coz he was thinking the only thing that can justify my sheer weirdness would have to be the utter ailenness of my ethnic background.
I like to think he said that coz he was trying to say something. ;)

Elest, are you worried about something?
Can you tell?
...
Does it matter? In the long run, against the bigger picture of things, does it bear any significance at all, when those close to you, can't even care?
We're so lonely. What does it matter if we were just that much lonelier?
I'm only saying all of this now to put off facing it. I swear I don't mean a word of it...yet.