hey? I haven't had any chance to create a blog when it was accurate so I am trying to catch up

 N+89 :  I sense my bitterness. Super happy as I am I don’t hear my other anymore. Call it as you want as you like: inner child, selfish I, dictator of my affects and guardian of my secrets. That is the other I am talking about, the real one, the only that matters, the one that is yourself, the parts of you you don’t even know, ever will or can acknowledge. This one you cannot bury ever, or it’s somehow your death you will provoke. Later that day : Is finding peace about having only one voice that decides? Come back inner me, I liked it so much when we used to fight. In times of conflict, I feel alive.  

N+88:   I lost track. In a good way? I am not sure who is taking the lead from now on.   Peace has been done. Giggling and gambling, eating a plate of potato or empty dumpling on the highest street of redemption. Out of balance. They are not coming back. The silence is dreadful. Without the other I am nothing, the only thing that matter right now is to know if I can learn to fly. Always have fancied Peter Pan, maybe because he rescues Windy.  

 Day N+86 :  I must confess I have been noticing a change a big bright change. Is it due to this new silence, eh oh? eh oh? I someone there? Can you hear me? Or even better read me?   Panic is growing, crawling up along my neck.   Am I dead? Or are you dead?   I cannot tell the difference. It is always so painful when something appears and disappears.   It remains me when my last lover left me or is it their departure that recalls the   sad   sad death   of   so   so   many.  

  Day N+ 83 Back on track, to dig into me, myself and I. Myself was on a little road trip to hell. We didn’t have time to catch up for a considerable among of time. There is so much to say, to consider, to take away or into account and to tell. They don’t seem to agree. Fine. The only voice you might hear from now on is mine. Everyone knows that is the only one that matters, the voice that comes out of a body, through high pich or low tone.  

  N+ 72 : New year, New beginning  We could assert that the year ended on an intense note. But what’s an end if it hasn’t just a sweet little taste of drama. I always tell the people I am a drama queen. It’s not very true but not very wrong. It’s a good way to process without being judged. It’s like announcing before I even raised my voice that I will be intense. With this, I claim the intensity of the self and sneak my oversized emotionality in the play without you noticing.   There could be so much more to sneak in. More words for examples? Yes! really! Even more words, so you can be stuck with them while I throw some very wild ideas in your heads.   It’s me fooling you.  

N+65: the very end of the year  It’s the very end of the year. We faced so much. This and this. Progress and regress. I still hate my reflection in your eyes, but I love myself more than I used to. Thanks to you, thanks to us, thanks to the world that surrounds me, the ones that are still here, there.   Voices have risen. What does mainstream mean? What is the very good taste, how to keep a healthy way of living? Stretch your finger up to the moon. Answers will flourish, be patient, yeah, yeah, always and forever. It’s a singing voice running on a screen. I was told, again and again, I shall practice to be good, to be better, to be great, greater than I am and ever was. As those words appear the very truth comes into matter, you are enough my dear, stop pursuing some silly ideal you don’t even hold. What you have is enough, to please yourself and to please the other.   I hate critic so much, I would prefer to die than to show my work (not even evoking myself). You are use...

N + 63 : it's almost the end of the year  It is the end of the year. I eat crisps while I try to remember the shape of your body. It has been a while since I have kissed you. I miss it, I miss you. We will probably never kiss again and it makes me sad. Just a little bit.   But it is enough talking about you. Let’s change the topic, switch the meaning or the subtitles. I want to talk about myself. Me, myself and I. I should be the centre of the stage. Not you. It is weird, isn’t it? We are taught to learn not to see the world only as rotating around ourselves.  But now I want you to unlearn that and re-learn how to put oneself (myself so) into the spotlight. It is not about showing yourself. I am aware that there is some introvert among us.   What I mean is just that you have to be your own spectator. Value yourself, love yourself, send yourself flowers and treat yourself as you would treat a lover. Clap your hands, make noises, envy it and feel it. Those days we hear...

     Day N+14:  I am bored of boredom. Many times I have been told, that boredom does not exist.  For my My grand-mother it exists. She told me the feeling of boringness is a good one. It will permit you to create.      Later on the same day:   The boredom that leads to creation. Yes, why not, not bad. I am okay with this idea. What about you? What are your thoughts on the matter? It is only a matter of time until you experience it. This naughty feeling of being flesh and blood and not knowing what to do, where to look, and when to cross the river, or even not recognizing your right from your left. In order to exist. I try to provoke my writing. To fight against the boredom, I do not feel yet. Maybe if I write when I am not bored yet, it will provide me from getting bored later. Do you follow my mind on this complex topic?        Even later almost on (still the same day): I had few thoughts about boredom (again). With P we...

       Day N+1: As you can see I am confused with weekdays I always mix Tuesday and Thursday and I cannot write Wednesday properly. Time flies, and I feel trapped. I am free though, I cannot complain, I can do whatever I want to do. But the only thing I can think about is the fact that I am trapped. Locked down. Tighten up. To a future, I didn’t even choose already. I am the cork of myself, waiting to be popped. It tastes so nice, but the bottle is ugly and simple. I want to be shacked in every direction in every corner of the room. The room of my existence, I require and more or the less impose, implore for exposure, pleasure and brief breathing. Doubting? Promptly, maybe, a little bit or a bite.  A tiny piece,  a tiny slice, a patch of remembering, a piece of oneself.       later that day: It’s all about duration, about how to enjoy the present moment. But it’s not enough, I want more or less. I want it all, all on in, all together. T...

Birth of the self?   day 0/ an intro :  It’s early morning. Early, early for a Sunday, I am running late, I have to produce something that is worth it. For my class, for my living, for the purpose of my existence. Now that I choose a direction, a topic, a path, I re-ask, I doubt, a lot, always. Maybe it’s because I am still a little bit small, I will gain confidence when I grow. Very soon so.  How to do better? How to not always write the same endless non-sense. The same topics that turn around in my head. My mom offered me a pencil case when I was little, on it was written “Me, myself, and I”. Shock. Maybe it’s on her, that I am obsessed with who I am and why I am and for what I am. It’s all about this pencil case. Luckily the case is lost, imagine how it would have become if I still had it? Maybe I would have become an even more egocentric, egoistic, ego-everything type of person.