Thieves and ghosts

Moët for the people, heartache for me.

At the crossroads between academia and something completely different. I would call London a miserable detour but maybe it was the best thing that could ever have happened to me - 1,5 years left in the capital and I know barely a handful of souls that want to stay there indefinitely.

I finally bought one of those extortionately expensive courses at that art school in London that everyone used to love but now more often than not look at with nonchalant indifference. I'll be starting a short course in February and spending every Saturday from 10 to 5 escaping the things that surround me.

I returned to the city I was born in for a few weeks - my mother now thinks I have an eating disorder and insists on calling the people whom I kiss under the cover of darkness friends. I guess I am to blame for that - not wanting to confine to the norms of traditional romantic relationships but at the same time suffering tremendously of an indecisive nature that won't let me make my mind up. On one hand I feel like yelling GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, on the other I can see beautiful vacations and endless Summers. And while I do believe him when he's telling me about a creative break he needs to take after four years filled with success and failure, all I can hear is end end end and I am not blaming myself for not being able to turn this into a comprehensible story with a beginning, a middle and an end.

Otherwise it's all gold plated rings and art from 1995 but then again not all that's plated with gold will stay golden and art from 9 years back is still as shit as it was then.

No comments:

Post a Comment