The Lost People

How do you define yourself when you lose the people you care about? When you've spent a life shaping your self around other people, around their thoughts and wants and values and needs? How do you work out who you are when they go? When they die. When they're taken prematurely, or when it just seems that way. When you have so many friends that you have to run the risk of losing more than your fair share every year. This year there have been three, but one has made a larger impression. He was the most wonderful person, and he didn't deserve to go like that. His girlfriend of two-and-a-half years has been leaving comments on his Facebook profile. I've been looking at his profile every day; it's as if I feel that by staring at it and willing him back, he'll come home to us. 

And you can lose friends in other ways too. Sometimes it's harder to lose those who don't die: those who fade away, those who leave, those who disown you for leaving your religion or who stop speaking to you because they're jealous of your relationships. When you've spent your life shaping yourself around people who go away, what happens to the shaped parts of you? Do they leave with them? Do you gradually become stripped of your self, bit by bit, piece by piece, as the people who know, love and define you leave? 

/

I didn't know how terrified I was until the phone rang. 

My First Meme

1. Where is your cell phone? On a Persian rug

2. Your significant other? Exists

3. Your hair? Unnatural

4. Your mother? Once had braids

5. Your father? Travels frequently

6. Your favourite thing? Julie Andrews

7. Your dream last night? I'm not sure I had one. The night before I did. The night before, I had many.

8. Your favourite drink? Coffee

9. You're proud to be...? I cannot be proud of something that is not mine to be proud of. 

10. What Room you are in? The one with the colourful mattress.

11. Favorite food? Hoummous

12. Your fear? Empty shoes

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? There is no point in attempting to contemplate the future. 

14. Where were you last night? The same place I am in now.

15. Something that you aren't? Iranian

16. Something you want? I want for nothing. 

17. Wish list item? See above 

18. Where you grew up? I'm not sure I have

19. Last thing you did? Sat down

20. What are you wearing? A corset, a ripped skirt and a small top. 

21. Last thing you ate? Yoghurt

22. Your pets? I have none.

23. Your job? Work is worthless.

24. Your life? Is where you live. 

25. Your mood? Tired. Irritated. 

26. Missing someone? Never

27. Your car? Is still in the driveway of my old house. 

28. Something you're not wearing? Shoes

29. Your favorite color? Deep blue, like the bottom of a lake. 

30. Favorite item of clothing? Corset

31. Favorite person? My husband. My fiance. My life. 

32. Favorite Vacation? Vacations are even more worthless than work. 

33. When is the last time you laughed? Today 

34. Last time you cried? There are no tears in Bralingyr. 

35. Who will resend this? Not applicable. 

36. One place that I go to over and over? Outside

37. One person who emails me regularly? Maxx

39. One place I would like to go right now? Voodoo

40. One person I think will respond? Not applicable. 

41. One TV show I watch all the time? I have no need of television.

Latscho Drom

If you see a feather, 

Suis-le, suis-le. 

If you see a feather, 

Latscho drom. 

If you see a feather,

Suis-le loin de moi. 

If you see a feather, 

Latscho drom.

Te aves baxtulo, 

Suis-le, suis-le.

When you see a feather, 

Latscho drom. 

If you see a feather, 

Suis-le, suis-le. 

If you see a feather, 

Latscho drom. 

West End Final

The man shouting 'Evening Standard' is sounding like he's saying 'Free Light Sternum'.

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I sometimes wonder if my creative days are over; if the flame of inspiration has finally burned out. That's what they all used to say to me at Essjes; "You've got to slow down; you've got to stop, or you'll get burnout." Apart from the obvious grammatical issues, it always confused me. Or perhaps 'bemused' is a better word. Yes, I might die young. Probably will, in fact. But what's wrong with that? What is so terrible about living a short but fulfilling life, rather than dragging the whole sorry process out over decades? These days, I don't want to die. I feel like I've wasted two years, and I want to make them up: I want to re-become. 

I was nearly there, in Souten. I was nearly who I wanted to be. Or nearly on the way there. And then along came Arthur, and then Outilschmidt, and then marriage; and now look at me. Fat, dumpy, needy; and, worst of all, comfortable. I'd almost rather be working in Shooze; in a place further down the career ladder where I didn't ultimately give a shit about my job, but where I could be myself at the end of the day. And during the day, where I could be someone totally different from myself. 

The wind seems to believe I'm thinking in the right direction.

She must become herself again, or there will be no point in her continuing to live.

It's been so long since I did anything of any purpose in the world. I fucking hate myself, hate what I've become. A shell. A shell with no principles. I can understand why people turn to religion. When I was religious, even though I didn't believe the cuntwallop they spouted, I had a reason to act in a way befitting to a good religious girl. Quite what that reason was, I'm not sure I could say. Belief. So much of what we do depends on belief. I'm heading for the gate in the field because I don't believe I can jump the fence. But is that the only reason why I couldn't? As a kid, I tried all sorts of things, believing I could do them. And I rarely, if ever, failed. Now look at me. The confidant girl, full of belief, of faith - her own and others' - has switched these for love and trust, neither of which comes naturally to her. She has become Me, and that is someone I definitely do not like. 

IWANTTOFUCKINGKILLYOUKILLYOUKILLYOUKILLYOUALL

I am a raving psychopath and my name is Betty.