I am grateful that, in this lifetime, I have discovered colors.
Always trapped, going back and forth between black and white, until I suddenly discovered silver.
I painted my nails in three lines today, of black, red and gloss and I like them because they make me think of candy. Sweet candy, the glossy kind, of an almost pearl-like shimmer.
Waking up in the morning with bleached blond hair and putting on my red-rimmed glasses and it almost feels like I don-t have to face the world: the world has to get ready in the morning to face me.

I discovered I like red. Crimson. Deep red with no highlights.It makes me think of a piece of satin cloth I caressed once, I don-t remember when or where, but red doesn-t make me think of violent things, but of plush, tender and soft things.
I don-t have brown eyes, they-re a shade of milk chocolate. My hair is not blond, it-s the same shade of very light yellow the sun throws on the sand in very warm summer afternoon, when the sky is as clear as it will ever get.

Discovering colors slowly, patiently, was/still is, an experience I wouldn-t change for anything because in so many subtle ways, just like discovering smells/perfumes, fabrics and textures, the sense of touch, small things both the morbid and the baroque-ish/ rococo-ish side of me enjoy to envelop themselves in, the world receives more touch of small moments of magic only I can understand. It-s a small thing, true, but I wouldn-t exchange it anymore, for any other grand and majestic happening of sorts.
A while ago I discovered color.
I like color.


B.

Since I don-t have anything better to do now that my internet is gone, I started to read all the chapters from Hitman Reborn I currently got in my computer, I-m somehwere around Vol. 21 and I started to read them sometime around 7 in the morning and by 9 I could barely contain myself from screaming and cheering.
Seriously, I don-t know if I should continue containing myself or keep myself the hell away from it ! XD
I mean, you-d think I reached an age where the last people I should cheer for would be Akane Tachibana, Hitonari Hiiragi and Sasagawa Ryohei !!
....................but seriously, the way Hibari broke down the whole god damn wall to save Yamamoto was pretty damn impressive...
I suppose the artist in you never dies. All my life, the first dream I ever had has been to be a comic book artist and to cheer and suffer for your characters always came in the package, whether they are my characters or someone else-s and there is little hope I will feel any different when I-ll be 40 or beyond either.

I wonder, as I get older, would I still feel like this? Dum-dum-dum, the heart beating in an unsteady pace in anticipation, as the events unfold? As I sketch the events in my life with some invisible pen and they come to fall into happening in ways I can only guess?

I have been down with a bitch of a cold these days and yesterday when I went to Florence for my delivery, I was shaking all over but when you gotta do things, you gotta do things and I am not the type not to repay a favor. It was for my mother-s boyfriend, as always, and it doesn-t matter he-s a prick, money-s always been money for me and I am not the kind not to repay someone when they helped me out, regardless of my feelings for them. Besides, in the end, it-s almost like getting paid for doing that stuff I do for him, so...
I think I got around the cold a tad bit so tomorrow morning I-ll try to go out for a run. Get something on my head and wrap my neck in a scarf and troddle along as I can, until I-ll sweat it out and munch down some aspirin and I should be back on track.
Running kills me and I can-t tell you how much I hate-love it. I think anyone who manages to run 3km, afterwards just wants to run even more, and more, and more, and it-s like a drug that you can never really give up on. It hurts you but you like the pain because you like the rush and you like the rush because it gives some sort of painful pleasure that builds you up and you like the strain because it makes you stronger.

I suppose? Hehehe...

On Monday I got Tarja-s concert and won-t mention the headache it is. I shouldn-t have bought the ticket, leaving aside the fact that my mother and her boyfriend will hold it against me forever and go: remember when you wasted the money to go to that concert - thing on me with the first chance they get. But it-s probably the first and last time I will ever have the chance to see Tarja live.
Ah, if it wasn-t for them, I might actually enjoy living in this city. I can enjoy living anywhere where no one from my family can reach.
But soon enough, soon enough....one day I-ll be gone so far away everyone will lose all trace of me.

I can-t afford a hotel room if I want to save up some cash for December when CJ will be coming here, so I-ll just have to wait around in the train station for the morning, when the first train back home will come. Not my idea of fun considering how unsafe that area is but we do what we gotta do. Maybe I-ll pull my hoodie up and go for an all night stroll around the city, last time I was there I found a Pizza shop opened late in the night, might as well try and find it again and have a midnight dinner, then walk around until daylight. Maybe I-ll even find a nice place to watch the sunrise from.
As soon as I manage to find such a moment, five minutes of sunrise, I fill up with energy.

I used to like sunsets, they announced the night, the moment when I am most comfortable, but since a while ago, I came to love sunrises too. I suppose it says a lot about my change in attitude, doesn-t it?

To watch the sunrise from a coffee shop in Bucharest. From the HaPenny Bridge in Dublin, as the sky flares up in bright red and half of the night sky is still present over the harbour area. From the stronghold walls in Arezzo, Italy. The sun flaring up over the Black Sea in ribbons of yellow and orange. Blinding you on the highway through Austria or piercing through the snowflakes of an early London morning as you travel by the tube from the airport.
I don-t really have a purpose or a well defined goal, ever searching, searching, searching, with each morning in some odd new place, I never know where it will take me or if I-ll have a change of pace or a change of heart so the plans for the day are in a blur, there-s rarely a predefined pattern. So, I suppose as the sunrise comes and the hours unfold, I draw my own days.










As you draw your days it means that whatever you make of them depends solely on you and your abilities. The things you-ll see, the things you-ll achieve, how far you-ll run, how strong your punch will be, how high your kick.
Go forward.
Depend solely on yourself.
Believe in yourself.
Become better.
Faster.
Stronger.
Work harder.
The ability and strength to draw my days. I-m grateful for that.











B.

I have always and will continue to dislike mathematics with all my heart and I still have trouble putting 2 and 2 together so don't take me seriously, it's just a doodle that came around and I wanted to write it down until I will be able to look back on it from another point of view.

(...) that would still reduce philosophy and this theory of truth to mathematical numbers, thus making it, once, again silent, unspeakable, mute, to us all.
Though in suggesting that the matter is approached by the number Pi is to assume numbers/mathematics exist in nature/the spiritual world/etc , which would argue with our conception of reality. Maybe we feel good about numbers and logic because we can forsee it and want to insist that what sorrounds us is not just simple chance, but a well verified equation because it makes us feel safe.

What is really funny about this whole thing is that, whereas we are speaking of numbers, we're actually seeing them, analyzing the problem, from a philosphical point of view. Call it dark humor if you wish, but still, we are talking about mathematical logics, and they make us mute, though we use a philosophical language to explain it.



B.

I ate too many sweets today. I got some in the morning because I just felt tempted and if there's anything I won't say no to, that is chocolate. Then some at lunch. Some in the late afternoon when I went out for a walk and I watched the hills and the city from the park up on a hill.

I sat on the edge of the stronghold's wall and ate that piece of chocolate with coconut with a cup of take away coffee and I drew some lines in my notebook ( I was drawing some impression of Gaia ) while watching the clouds. Big dark grey clouds, announcing the rain.

Then I walked down on the main street in the old town and I saw an opened door and it said Tea Room. It took me a bit to decide if I should go in or not because of my finances but I really missed going into a real Tea Room so I just decided to go for it and climbed up the stairs inside the old building, suddenly being sorrounded by the silence, that certain calm old buildings sometimes have, as if they suck you in.
I was greeted by an old Japanese man and a younger woman who, I guessed, was his daughter.
The rooms had wooden tables with marble fillings and the furniture was neo-classic and there were paintings on the walls, a blend of childish paintings of tea-related images, bedouins and Japanese gardens while in the background you could hear Frank Sinatra.
Sinatra, neo-classic furniture, nice people and tea all in one place ? You must be kidding me !
But there I was, in an empty Tea Room, drinking down a bitter Japanese tea ( no sugar ) and eating chocolates ( yes, sweets again ! ) and I was calm and happy because I found it now, in this city I dislike, where there are one too many people I dislike, I finally found a little sanctuary I can come back to.

I like Tea Rooms because, if you learn the pattern, you will know when is the best time to come because there are few customers. You want to go there when it's quieter because of the atmosphere itself. I never found, in a Tea Room, someone who worked there to be unkind or impolite, you greet them with a smile, they smile back at you too. The music is always nice and in a Tea Room you always find a certain warmth, like the room is shrouded in a thin veil of yellow and orange. Tea Rooms always make me think of books, leaf cigarettes, the kind of shy laughter when someone puts their hand or fingers to their mouth, dark wood and biscuits.

I couldn't eat more sweets by now so I picked up the small chocolates from the plate and put them in my pocket. Not because they were too tasty to be left behind, but because I wanted to carry something I could taste from there, to eat them maybe tomorrow while watching the rain and feel that calm again. Like a piece of a moment you can taste.

I walked out of there about an hour or so later, walked down the street in silence, as always, inhaling the smell of the city.
Each city I was in had its own smell, though, if you inhale strong enough, sometimes it might remember you of another city, wether you've been there or not has no importance, it's the resonance, maybe cities clash together, like people do on the street and for a while you can smell their perfume.
This evening the street smelled like antiques from the shop, of dusty cobblestones and future rain.


I went in the smaller park closer to my home and I sat in a swing, all the time while watching the clouds above the city, turning darker and darker.When I left I picked up a small white flower from my run, then put it in the button hole of my black trenchcoat and I thought it was the nicest thing.

So, today, I smoked two cigarettes, I drank a coffee watching the rainclouds on the edge of a stronghold's wall. I saw two pigeons and I thought that if I was to be giving birth to a flower I think it would be a white Lotus one.
I saw two boys playing football and I wondered if they had the slightest clue I saw them in the same place one year ago and that they've grown taller and as evening crawled across the street I had a pocket full of sweets, I picked up a small flower and wore it on the collar of my trenchcoat.

I don't mind if people think I'm strange or that I do strange things because I was so happy today, in that moment. Maybe not happy but...ok. Yeah, I was ok today, just because I was in a swing, there were rainclouds covering the city and I had small chocolates in my pocket. So while I was swinging back and forth, looking at the clouds only, feeling a bit lightheaded, I was thinking " Let me be like this. Let me be like this forever."





B.

Author:B.
Name: B.
Nationality: I don't stay for long enough anywhere to belong somewhere.
Interests: coffee, cigarettes, writing, reading, graphic art, living/being alive, traveling, how things work/function, history, music.
I Love: coffee, cigarettes, tea, big cities, the sea, the ocean, seashells, cherry tomatoes, rain, rain clouds, rice, sand, kashmere, a big city's noise at night, city lights by night, learning, listening, being alone, dead leaves, silence, 5 a.m's, music.
I Hate: lies and liars, prejudice.
I believe in: not much.
This journal:is the place I write just like I dance - like no one is watching. This is why everything I write is like a monologue to me. I don't care who is reading, my thoughts flow like this and this is how they will be written down.
These are my thoughts, my opinions, not my friends', not my country's, not your mother's and not your dog's.

; g o s s i p m a n !

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