Dark red corduroy with embroidered pheasants
I don’t want to always strive to be comprehensible.
And. The fog gets so dense I can’t see past the buildings across the narrow street.
What’s the difference between fog and mist?
I keep sneezing, someone make me a tea. I consider buying a soft hair brush. I want it to be summer so I can read all my new books tumbling around the flat, so I can sit in the sun and.
This is meant to be an extension of my journals so be it. I don’t want to always strive to be comprehensible. I used to aim for the opposite. It’s about the feeling that arises when a coma appears in the wrong. place
How will the pandemic be written about in history textbooks, and will it be different in every country? We can barely remember it already, a haze of a long covid brain fog devouring the glimpses, facemasks found in spring jacket’s pockets, so this really did happen.
My headphones broke last week, nothing could make me more vulnerable. Spliced together with electrical tape, having a sound engineer boyfriend has many advantages.
How did I get myself into watching film submissions for two events at the same time? Piles of books and notebooks, incense dust scattered on the table, fine, no extraordinary forces awaken in the empty flat to bring me tea, so I get up to make it myself.
A reply to a gas complaint, a rejection from a commissioning body, maybe that’s fine, I’ll make the film anyway - probably won’t even have time to start it until the summer. The eclipse season, I’m facing my fear of red clothes by buying a huge dark corduroy jacket with embroidered pheasants, it feels incredibly comfortable, and will encourage me to wear more yellow, orange, brown, and green, why not. I could spend all my life wearing pink and purple, sure, but enrichment comes in unexpected forms - what would new colours bring into my life? I used to be scared of red and still wouldn’t wear most shades of it, but the pheasants seemed like a sign - seen so many of them during the train journeys this week.
Newton Abbot, Exeter, Bristol, all in one week, I remember someone said that change is as good as rest, I often think about it and still haven’t decided if it’s true for me. Forgot about my earl grey but that’s ok, I like strong tea, with only a tiny drop of milk, I often hesitate when making tea for other people in case they have a very particular way they take theirs. Would it make me feel better to put all my books in one pile? It would make me feel better to be able to watch few hundred films in one day, so the lingering feeling at the back of my head could go away. I tick my to-do lists every day to keep myself sane by fair distribution of dopamine. Meetings, emails, editing, watching, but also shopping or laundry, or phoning my mum. Nothing is too little to get a square and a tick.
A red woodlouse spider crawled out from under the cutlery holder and then disappeared into nothingness. I failed to catch a glimpse of its allegedly massive jaws used to pierce through woodlice. I googled it, my fingers carefully avoid touching the screen in places where the pictures are, while I’m scrolling through the text.
Apparently I was too busy to write on a Sunday, so the posts started slipping into Mondays, and now into a Tuesday. That’s ok. I like to think there is no such thing as a writer’s block - nothing can be the same all the time, that’s all. I better get back to watching films, our Alternative Experimental is in less than a month.