Future

Some days I wake up and I truly wonder where I'm going. Although generally I believe in living in the moment, as long as it doesn't jeopardise my future, today I realised I need to come up with something. I need to come up with an approximate idea of what I want to do.

For a few months I've been toying with the idea of graduating, moving to Amsterdam and working for a year, and then going to study architecture in England. Which is all fine and dandy since I love architecture. But then I wonder why I want to do it- and I already know the reason.

Let me tell you something.
I've always wanted to be an artist. Or a writer. But I know that in today's society if I were to be successfull as a writer I would have to write in a way that well... SUCKS. When I say successfull I obviously mean "I can pay the rent."
So my dad convinced me that architecture combines both art and a comfortable living. Yet there's the problem. That one little word there that freaks me the fuck out. COMFORTABLE.


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The world is wasted on us.

The future is surely scowling down on us, knowing we're going to arrive some day soon and not looking forward to it. Future is probably hiding all the best wine, scotch and the expensive Danish biscuits so that when we come all we'll be offered is the cheap beer and old waffles.

I'm sure when we called future and said we're coming, future delightedly said "Oh yes, so looking forward to your arrival!" then angrily put the phone down, a hand to her head and said "It's best I hide the silver now, they might be coming early."

Future knows we'll be taking the silver. Future knows we'll be scouring the cupboards in search of her best wine and scotch and Danish biscuits. The worst part is we think we're so careful, so stealthy and clever, all the while she's staring at our hunched backs with our bottoms sticking up as we look under her cupboards and tables and sofas.

www.thecoolhunter.net

Worm

Worm crawled out of the wet, soft earth whenever it began to rain. He poked his head, or his arse (for they look the same to any me or any you, and thus it is hard to tell) out of the ground and shook it around to rid himself of any loose pieces of sand that were stuck to his slimy, pale skin. He stretched himself to the max, and with great effort finally pulled out of the tiny pathway he'd created for himself under the grass. 

Each raindrop was the same thickness as his body, and each one created an electrifying ring and momentary headache, or arseache, as it hit. He slithered and slimed through the blades of grass as the thundering noise of falling droplets shook the earth and blocked the little ear holes somewhere on his long body (somewhere, since any I, or any you can't see them from such a distance). 

Worm finally reached the end of the pasture, having travelled a mind blowing 15cm. He sighed to himself, feeling on top of the world as he slowly but surely dropped down from the dirty surroundings of the uncivilised beetles, ants and other worms, reaching for something he knew was out there but had never seen. The rough asphalt scraped his tummy, or his back (for they look the same to any me or any you, and thus it is hard to tell). The raindrops no long quaked the earth, or the asphalt. Instead a much louder sound was audible. No the soft chirruping of those bastard birds in the early morning, or the distant bark bark bark woof woof woof of some hairy slobbering creature trapped in a life of obedience. 

Worm turned his head or his arse to look to the left and to the right, trying to decipher the origin of this terrifying rumble. Two bright lights and gust of unnatural wind later, worm was dead.

The child with the pink shoes and dirty fingers wobbled up to worm, poked him and licked her fingers.

Lena Palladina

When I left America I left behind a couple of things. I left behind lots of pennies. I think there was about $3 worth of pennies scattered around my floor. I left a bar of soap, and half a bottle of shampoo. It was herbal essences. I paid a lot for that.
I left a bloody good pair of shoes in the trash behind my house. I left a pink dustbin also. In fact, I left a white tub of paint and a lot of hairpins.

I left my AP History course, and Physics. I'm glad about that though, since both were kicking my arse. I left all them teachers.
I also left a lot people. I left people I wish I knew better. I left people I'd never met but wish I had. I didn't leave much memories because I didn't really live in America. I left people I was familiar with, or people I could call friends.
But there's one person I left behind who wasn't just a friend. It's like we both watched each other morph into what we are today, or what we were 4 months ago. It took a year and a half and we both started as the 2 new foreign girls with short hair, weird clothes and random conversations. We were shy and both scared and excited to be at Eastlake, a huge school with not-so-good of a rep among the other schools.
It worked.
I can safely say I've learned more about myself with this girl in these one and a half years than I have in my whole life.
We went through the clingy friendships with third wheels, whom we managed to dump on the side of the road as we speeded by. We went through the guys, those who were hot, those who were nice, those who were dicks, and those who were gay... or bi, should I say?

I miss the Wednesdays.
And I miss your sporadic hating and loving of my family. I even miss our fucking mood swings. I miss your mum. And Kaisa. Or is it Kaysa? Kajsa? You Russians spell things funny.
I miss ridiculous random fits of laughter, and I miss praying to the virgin mary and looking at a field of cunts.
I fucking miss you.

Please come visit. I promise I'll introduce you to all the cute guys.
Love you.


CHECK OUT HER TUMBLR, IT'S THE BEST:
http://indiechildren.tumblr.com/

Day 1

It's now been one day since I decided to change things around a bit. So far I haven't had a single cigarette, absolutely no weed whatsoever (not that it would be normal for me anyway) and almost saying what I think.

It's fucking difficult, this impulse business.