In a city full of people, I step on my shoelaces and stare at the multitude pass me by.
It's just another day and the same things seem to change, faces and bodies but not the lights.
They give me migraines, I hate the way they stare.
I bend to my knees and I'm crying in the middle of the street, but no-one cares.
No-one cares anymore.

I used to be different. I used to take it all in. There wasn’t anything I hadn’t tried.
(light a cigarette).
I had so much fun. (exhale) I was so careless. I did so many things without thought; every night was something completely new.
I was her. You know, that girl that always smiled and no matter what happened, never worried. I was never the type to frown, worry, cry. I was always dancing.
I didn’t know who sang the song I danced to. It didn’t matter. It didn’t affect me. (pause) Nothing did. I was ice.
It was like I jumped into the rabbit hole every night and into wonderland, my very own wonderland. I chased the rabbit, that little white rabbit. (laugh)
I don’t think I have to say what he gave me when I caught him.


All entertainers are just clowns in the end.

Beat. Bass. Shove. Fall. Get up. Drink. Beat. Bass. Smoke. Snogg. Drink. Fall. Beat. Bass. Beat. Bass.


The Morning After.



She gets up. Well, she stirs. Opens her eyes slowly, very slowly...and finds her face to be burried in a pillow. The couch pillow, she could tell, by the ruff material and ugly orange colours. She lifted her head and flicked her hair out of her face and starts searching for her phone and cigarettes. When she found them, she lit a cigarette and looked at the time.
4 p.m.
"Shit."
It was about time for coffee. Sitting on the kitchen table and fiddling with the spoon, she looked around. Her house was clean and tidy, nothing was broken, except a bottle of wine next to her couch, but she already knew how that had happened.
The rest of the night was a blur.

Exactly what she wanted, things to be blurry.
But she could still remember the stupid words she said, the hits, the falls, the story.

She exhaled smoke. And breathed in smoke again. Exhaled it, breathed i

Empieza a llover. Las estrechas calles se mojan, las personas huyen, buscan refugio. Los pequeños pubs se llenan, y las calles mueren. El sonido de la lluvia es precioso. Siento la humedad, huelo la lluvia. Me entra un escalofrío curioso, y le doy otra calada a mi cigarrillo. Estoy en un portal, capucha puesta, zapatos semi-mojados. Mis pies están cansados de arrastrarse. Me doy cuenta de que estoy esperando a que llegue a su fin esta deliciosa lluvia. Y me doy cuenta, lentamente, que la lluvia parará. Que la echaré de menos, que ni siquiera había llegado a bailar con ella. No había llegado a sentir su cuerpo, no había llegado a escuchar sus susurros. En ese momento, di un paso, y rompieron esas cadenas que te atan a la lógica. Mi capucha cayó, mi cigarrillo se apagó. La lluvia caía, susurraba, me acariciaba. Al tocar el suelo, marcaba un ritmo perfecto que yo seguía sin pensar. En ningún momento se me ocurrió preguntarme ¿Y si me ve alguien? Ni ¿Y si me pongo mala? La lluvia seguía cayendo, cada vez más fuerte, y yo seguía bailando, cada vez más rápido. Seguí bailando, y mientras lo hacía, recorría la vacía ciudad.
Y entonces, paró. Las lágrimas me abandonaron, y ahí me quedé, sin aliento, en medio de una plaza. Sentí como pesaba mi pelo, mi cuerpo. De mi mano cayó el cigarrillo, todavía mojado. Poco a poco me di cuenta de que estaba rodeada de personas que susurraban y me apuntaban. Todos eran iguales, los mismos trajes, las mismas caras. Una pequeña niña tiró de mi sudadera. “¿Por qué eres taaan extraña?” me dijo. Intenté contestar pero me había quedado muda. El sol había salido y estas personas se dispersaban, sonriendo. Corrí hacia la sombra, buscando una nube, una gota de lluvia. Quería que volviese mi tristeza, quería bailar de nuevo con la soledad, pero lentamente, mis zapatos se secaron, y pues yo, como todos, me recogí el pelo y sonreí.

How was school honey? (ask's the mother to her child).
I want to die. (says the girl to her mom).





She'll hide in the bathroom, maybe she'll
come out some day. She probably wont go to homeroom, she probably
wont smile at all.
But maybe by the end of the day, she'll go home
and have a lot of things to say to her parents, right? Maybe she had fun sitting in the classroom drawings silly things and maybe she really wanted to be alone. Right?
Well school isnt fun and games anyway. We're supposed to be working hard, not having a laugh. So maybe she's just really concentrating and doesn't want to be part of everything.

Maybe.


dedicated to...Maya Torres.

Doy vueltas, sigo, y sigo.
Me das vueltas, sigues y sigues.
Estamos bailando, esta lloviendo, me levantas, no me dejas caer. ¿Seran las drogas?
Te ríes de mi, siempre te estás riendo de mi. Sonrio, pues ya me he acostumbrado.
Quisiera besarte, pero no me atrevo todavia, no quiero romper, no quiero dejar de dar vueltas.
No tenemos musica, no tenemos letras, simplemente el ruido de la lluvia y el distante sonido de las olas.
Si pudiese, no me despertaria jamas, si pudiese quedarme aqui contigo.

…y me dices que nunca lo hare.
Seguiré como siempre, viviré en ese cuarto que es mi santuario, sin salir a oler el mar y sin ganas de hacerlo. No buscaré respuestas y no cambiaré mi rutina. De vez en cuando, vendrá alguna amiga a buscarme, me sacará y inyectará alcohol en mis venas, me besará y tendré drogas en mis pulmones. Estas noches serán mi salvación, y tú serás mi entretenimiento.

Pero resulta que te equivocaste, miseria mia.

Mi amigo Roberto.

Tengo un amigo, es italiano, y como buen italiano, come mucho y despacha (su manera de decir que vende) drogas.
Roberto es muy chistoso, pues dice muchas tonterias. Roberto es bajito y moreno, tiene una sonrisa parecida a la el Joker (muy grande), y casi siempre tiene los ojos rojos.
Conoci a mi gran amigo Roberto en el instituto, no me acuerdo bien, algo de una piedra y 6 puntos en la cabeza, un "ayy, illa" y su mano pasandome un porro. Desde ese dia, supe que habria una gran conexion entre los dos, pues el era el tipo de tio que a mi me caia bien.
Pase a ser su amante en zero coma, pues fui a cenar a su casa, y sus hermanas, o primas, o familiares italianas, hicieron una cena buenisima, y el se bebio el vino que habia en mi copa, la suya, y la de mi amiga.
Y el resto de la cartona tambien.
Si, Roberto es un personaje. Su generosidad no tiene limites, ni su gran amor por la marihuana y el hassis, tanto que va por la calle chillando "pooooooostuuuurones! 10 euros!", con la escusa de que, pues es su trabajo y se tiene que ganar la vida.
Una cosa de mi amigo tambien, es su impresionable manera de conseguir dinero. Supongo que al mes gana 2000 euros o algo asi, lo cual todo lo gasta en el Litlle Amsterdam comprando bongs, pipas, grinders y demas, pero casi siempre son regalos que obsequia a las personas que quiere.
Roberto, al principio, crei que era como cualquier muchacho joven que fuma y se viste con cadenitas...vamos, tonto.
Pero es todo lo contrario, uno de los tios mas listos que conozco, y aunque sea joven, aun menor de edad, es muy maduro.
Roberto, te dedico esta actualizacion...

Pues porque te quiero, tio.

Es curioso esto de estar muerta.


Estoy sola, no es agradable, ni desagradable. No hace ni calor ni frio, no me siento bien ni mal. Pero si me tiemblan las manos cuando estoy fumando.
Esta anocheciendose, esto es importante. Estos pocos minutos entre el dia y la noche, son muy importantes para mi. Todos los dias bajo a la playa con un paquete de tabacco y algo para escuchar musica, y observo este cambio en la naturaleza.
Pero hoy no la he visto. Hoy me he quedado mirando a un grupo de amigos.
Se rien mucho, y hablan con tanta emocion que me saltan las lagrimas de celos.
Cuando naci creo que se equivocaron, porque sali al reves. No siento esa emocion, para mi todo es lo cotidiano, y lo cotidiano no me interesa.
Ya no se lo que quiero, ya no se lo que me propongo.
Le doy una calada a i cigarrillo y miro hacia el sol, pero es tarde. Ya ha bajado y el cielo azul esta sangrando dejando un sucio rojo expandido por el cielo.
Parece un asesinato.
Mis manos tiemblan incontroladamente, pero mi corazon no late mas deprisa ni siento ansiedad, aunque se que deberia sentirlo. Estar sola no es algo que la gente accepta, pero yo llegue a un acuerdo con el diablo hace mucho tiempo, y, poco a poco, el se llevo mi corazon, limandolo y desgastandolo poco a poco, me libero de ser herida.
Deje de actuar, ese dia, fue un dia como este. Estaba en la playa, viendo la puesta de sol, y ellos se reian y hablaban con tanta emocion que yo no sentia...hablaban de sensaciones, viajes, drogas, putadas de la vida y risas del pasado.
Y no se porque, ese dia deje de reirme. Olvide olvidar.
Supuse que suponer no era lo correcto. Me canse de estar en el escenario de extra en una pelicula mediocre en el que carecia importancia.
Me vi morir.
...me parecio algo bastante curioso.

just existing.

So lately I feel like this.
I'm just existing. No calls, no parties, no friends coming over, nothing.
No, "why haven't you been to school?"
No, "it looks like you've been crying".
No nothing. It's not like I seek atencion, but sometimes, people need it when they're not feeling good. And I'm not feeling good. Actually, people always need atencion. Just to be part of a group of friends or something.
And I'm not a part of anything. I'm just here, sitting infront of the computer and quitting school, no one lifts an eyebrow. I haven't been out of my house for about a couple of months, and no one has called me or anything.
I don't like being ignored, and don't think I've done anything. Maybe I'm selfish. Maybe that's it.
Or maybe I just don't like being alone. Because nobody likes to be alone, and even less when they usually aren't.
I don't want to just exist if I don't have a reason to.

So I keep dreaming about his ex girlfriend
what does this mean, oh what can it be?
she's so pretty, she has long brown hair
from a foreign country, I can hardly compare

he says he loves, he says he loves me
it's not my looks, must be my personality

my body's not the best and and I'm not funnest girl
I'm saying I'm obsessed, I'm a little bit frail



I wish I was better, I swear I'll be better
I promise not to shout, you won't hear a sound
even if I can't keep up, I'll pretend to be fun
promise not to hurt me, promise to understand



every night i dream, such wonderfull things
but she pops up in my mind
she laughs and talks and she's so real
she has nothing to hide
confidence isnt something i have mastered yet
but you'll see, i promise
not to be, that boring girl i've grown into
please just dont hurt me...

Extremista.




O blanco o negro.
Por ser como eres, piensas que no necesitas colores. Que desperdicio de ojos, y eso que son tan preciosos.
O bueno o malo.
Nada es regular para ti. Esa mente tan inteligente se va a la mierda...

I used to be different. I used to take it all in. There wasn’t anything I hadn’t tried.
(light a cigarette).
I had so much fun. (exhale) I was so careless. I did so many things without thought; every night was something completely new.
I was her. You know, that girl that always smiled and no matter what happened, never worried. I was never the type to frown, worry, cry. I was always dancing.
I didn’t know who sang the song I danced to. It didn’t matter. It didn’t affect me. (pause) Nothing did. I was ice.
It was like I jumped into the rabbit hole every night and into wonderland, my very own wonderland. I chased the rabbit, that little white rabbit. (laugh)
I don’t think I have to say what he gave me when I caught him.


All entertainers are just clowns in the end.

I'd swim the ocean for you, the ocean for you.




we'll travel the world together...

imagining.

Girls who survive on cigarettes and chewing gum.

Conocia a una chica que sobrevivia a abse de tabacco, chicles, alcohol y cafe.
No tenia nombre, que nombre va a tener alguien que existe en mi imaginacion? Pues cualquiera que me guste, en realidad. Pero no quiero hacerla real.
Ella era como la flaca, sabeis cual digo? La que duerme de dia y sale a bailar de noche...y yo daria cualquier cosa por solo un beso suyo. La flaca.Se notaba que estaba agusto en su piel, aunque aveces se arranyaba la carne, aunque aveces intentaba arrancarse los ojos. Veras, ella era diferente a todas las flacas, las chicas que solo inhalan humo y beben alcohol.
Ella no lloraba por las noches porque no se amaba, ella no tenia problemas familiares ni amorosos, ella lloraba porque le daba pena las personas. Se moria de asco por dentro y no sabia reaccionar a la crueldad. Nadie la veia llorar, nunca, la Flaca no se acostumbraba a dejar a alguien verla asi de debil. Pero un dia, yo la vi.
La vi arrancarse el pelo y la vi llorar hasta sangrarle los ojos, pegarle a la pared hasta doblar su fragil, debil, y pequenya munyeca. Y entonces, dejo de llorar, miro su munyeca y dolorida, cogio un cigarrillo. Se pinto los labios de rojo, se tumbo en el suelo y empezo a fumar. Me miraba fijamente, y yo, avergonzada, mire hacia otro lado.
"Quiereme." Me susurro, al oido, y beso mi mejilla, dejando la marca de sus labios, congelandome con su piel. La quise abrazar, pero siendo parte de mi, mi mente, no pude, y ella me sonrio con una pizca de tristeza. Sus mejillas estaban igual de rojos que sus labios, gotas aun cayendo, manchandola.
"Esto no se lo contaras a nadie." No era una pregunta. Yo seguia mirando hacia otro lado. Me dijo que a mirase. Lo hize.
"No puedo mas..." Y enfadada, apago su cigarrillo en mi brazo.Yo tampoco...pense. Y la borre de mi imaginacion, queriendo olvidarlo todo.

A-Z

...sentirlo, sentirlo, sentirlo con mis manos, con mi boca, con mi lengua y con mis caderas, buscarlo. Buscarlo con mi sentido del olfato, del tacto, del oido, de la vista, del gusto. Y joder, que gusto.



Quererte.

Edith Smith will be a fotografer.

good enough.

Idon't know what's wrong with me today.
Well it's been going on for a few days. I have a knot in my stomach and it won't go away.
It seems silly but it's just a downer I get once in a while, where I don't feel good enough for anything...or anyone.
I am not creative enough.
I can't draw.
I really can't write.
I don't sing.
I don't dance.
I'm not smart, I couldn't even finish school.
I'm not artistic.

I'm not anything, and today it's caught up with me. I was born with the need to be diferent than everyone else and now I know that I am not, because, well, I'm just like anyone else. There's nothing special about me.
...today I don't feel good enough for him.

Alice in Wonderland.

Actually, no. It's just called Alice, by Jan Svankmajer.
Just a few things to say about the film. Don't watch it. It might seem like a new thing, or just a diferent stylem but truthfully, it is just shite.
So yah.

kitty.

Gatita, gatita, eres mala.
Desde cuando van las chicas malas al cielo?
Tu no estas en el cielo.Tu estas entre el hielo y el fuego, lo que pasa es que el fuego arde tanto que te sientes congelada, el hielo esta tan frio que piensas que ardes.
Miaaaauuuo...
Gatita?
...miauuuw.
Otra vez tu mente se ha perdido.

good morning.

She wore a hoodie, grey. She liked grey, neutral. Her jeans were baggy and hung loose on her hips. She was smiling, her Ipod playing, soft music flowing in her brain. She carried a thick, blue marker, and when she saw a white wall, she attacked. She wrote small stories, lyrics of her favorite songs, and cute frases. Sometimes a stranger would walk by and she'd hide behind a car, laughing to herself. She was a ghost in a night, just something you can imagine walking by. Nobody saw her, maybe just a glance, but next morning, they all knew she had been walking around town that night.
One lady was walking to work and on a wall she saw "mornin' missus" written on a wall. She automatically smiled.
A girl was going to school and written on it was her favorite song. It would make her smile every morning for the rest of the school year. People all around town started doing little things to make others happy. It didn't alst long, but for a week, they girl in the grey hoodie laughed at life.

posh.

So I've been spending a couple of days in Marbella with a couple of friends at my aunts house.
Poppy, Samantha and Sergio. It's amazing here, there's a pool and a sauna, tennnis court and we have a floor to ourselves.
So we've been spending ourtimes makig ourselves usefull. So far, we've...




-used the swimming pool,
-had lunch at TGI Fridays,
-slept all day,
-stayed up all night talking,
-...and watched movies.

So Sergio found something intresting upstairs in my aunts bedroom, and now he is sitting here on the couch next to me, high. He tends to have two reactions to weed, one is to be terribly annoying, the other to be the sweetest thing. Today he has decided to be a mixture of both, singing stupid songs but also cleaning the plates.
So I forgive.

Today is nice, sunny but fresh, not like yesterday, when we went to the pool. I havn't had so much fun in such a long time. The water was so refreshing I kind of died with pleasure when I dipped in.
But today, today it's a movie marathon.
We've already watched 12 monkeys. fight club, Ocean's 11 and 300. Now we're on to Scareface, as Poppy hasn't seen it.

I love Scareface. The way Al Pacino plays the perfect character that disgusts you and still leaves room for pity, the beginning, already exciting, and ofcourse, all the guns and drugs.
Poppy looks unintrested, but she looks that way most of the time when we watch movies. She just made fun of a scene, another typical thing. Sergio is singing.

Well, to wherever it was I was getting.
Marbella. Oh, Marbella.
Palm trees, nice beaches, the restaurants are great. It's all amazing, really. I would have an amazing time, living here.
If I were a milionare.
I walk by Luis Vuitton. Agent Provocature looks about as big as my house, and it doesn't even have anything in it. Just frilly carpets and suede cloth hanging from the ceiling.
I go into Juicy Cotoure. I see a horrible yellow dress that no one would ever buy. I check the price, curiously. 890 Euros.
My dad takes us out to lunch. Since we're not very hundry, we share. I look at the bill as we leave. 115 Euros. My mouth hangs open and I want to grab the 15 euro tip he's left.

I don't understand how so many people can live here. And it's not like there's a mix, poor, rich and middle class. They are all rich. Every person I see in Puerto Banus is wearing Dolce Gabana or Betty Blue heels, it kills me. Kills me.
I mean, how can someone in their right mind use 600 euros on a pair of leopard printed heels?
That's my rent. That is my bloody rent, and sometimes my mother can't pay for it.
Another thing that bothers me. So fine, you're filthy rich, you buy yourself expensive clothes, whatever.
But you do not have to look down on me. I am not stupid because I havn't been to a fancy school.
My jeans are not broken because I don't have money to buy new ones. I don't wear gold because I do not like it. My head is shevd at the sides because I like it, not because I have cancer.

I don't like stuck up, in any way possible.

...

I need coca-cola.
It's not my fault that I drink too much of it.

I'm addicted.

spilt milk.

It’s like a morgue in here
She’s crying in the corner you’re in silent tears
I didn’t kill her, I just watched
I know enough to know love
You ruined me, you made me keen
Kept me on a line, kept me on time
Now push her to the corner, let her puke again
She’s puking hate, she’s puking hurt
She’s puking all your filthy dirt.

All you gave her was dirt
Once you are you are
And you are scum

There’s a place in the shade
That makes it okay
There’s a place through the maze
Where the sun never comes up

I made a left turn when I turned to you
It was the right way to say where I put my trust into
Give me a cigarette, just make it nice again
I locked her up, so you cant pretend
Now we know the sun has to come up
I fucking know there’s not a lot to stop
Her from crying, over spilt milk.
She wont stop crying over the spilt milk.

All you gave her was dirt
Once you are you are
And you’re not worth it

There’s a place in the shade
That makes it okay
There’s a place through the maze
Where the sun never comes up

And I keep on crying over spilt milk
I keep on crying over spilt milk.

beggining.

The start of a relationship.
I usually love these, watching my friends fail choosing guys or gals, or watching them screw wonderful realtionships up in a matter of weeks.
I've always been a good shoulder to cry on, even though it just for my own entertainment. I'm a good listener, a good adviser. But I also enjoy other people's humiliation, pain and problems.
To sum up, Gossip. Yes, with a capital G.
So this new start of a relationship is especially exciting, and I'll tell you why. It's mine. Barely a week has gone by, and me and my boyfriend, well, we've already had several fights and I've shed several tears. All of these fights, of course, my fault. I have the idiotic habbit of messing things up, and well he, he is a more demanding person than me.
I don't have much to give. I'm bossy, envious and I like being alone. Not alone as single, alone as in, I like reading and writting, watching movies and drinking tea. I'm a smoker, but then he is too.
Except, I'm the kind of smoker who get's stressed out and needs a fag.
He smokes something slighty diferent than cigarettes, something more, let's say, relaxing. This diferences us slighty, me being kind of jumpy and stressful, him being slow, or just plain lazy.
Don't think I'm not lazy. It's another one of my things that disapoint. It would never ocour to me to actually run somewhere if I'm alte, I would never get up to change the channel and it's in impossible task to clean my room.
But he already knows all of this. See, we've been living together for a couple of months now, fooling around. And then it got serious, and honestly, I couldn't be more thrilled. I love him.
The thing is, how, being as messed up a person as I am, is it going to work?
I know that I will mess it up, it's just something I instictively do when anything good happens to me.
The nerves are horrible, the butterfly's are boring holes through my stomach, and the anxiety give's me headaches.
I swear I will never, ever, enjoy another persons suffering at the start of a relationship.


Well, maybe just a little.