i can recall having visited this guy or girl’s apartment once before, but i don’t remember when. i think it was a party, which is natural to think as i rarely visit people i don’t know except for parties. and because it was a strangers party (we assume it was a party and that the guy or girl who owns this place is someone i don’t know. would be so embarrassing to forget about a person that i know. i’ve done it before, i forgot about a person i went on vacation with one summer. we were in italy, maybe five people in total, but i have always thought it was four, including myself, since i never include myself in the memories of trips to the beaches and all the meals and walks, i only watch four people around me and conclude we are four. i don’t have any photos of the five of us together – i would never ask a stranger to take my photo. it embarrass me just as much as asking people to pose for a photo, so most of the photographs from that summer capture people’s backs – either walking or sun bathing – or myself in the mirror at the bathroom, naked. i would notice if the photos were taken after or before a shower: with a towel wrapped around my head and my body shiny from the sunscreen or body oil, or with straight and dry hair and dry skin. in the morning, before i take a shower or put on moisturizer or whatever, my skin is dry, but still so smooth and even, like some kind of expensive paper. i love to lay my cheek at my bare shoulder and just stroke it. it feels good and smells good – especially in italy, when my skin smells like sun in the morning. i don’t notice it though the day, as i probably get so used to it or get too knocked out by it. i tend to become angry at the sun during the day when i’m in italy, for instance, because it is too hot to move and i love to go for walks in the daytime when people are having their siestas. do they have siestas in italy as well as in spain? do they call it something else or the same? it’s a bit like walking in the night time, just that it is in the day time. i was just so shocked when someone mentioned this person to me a little while ago, the one i really just remembered as someone else’s ex, and as someone i never really knew or spent any time with. i assume i didn’t knew her well enough in italy to take a lot of obvious pictures of her) i assume i was quite drunk, but you can’t always tell or recall whether you were drunk or not. however, i used to be good at it -i had a specific sign that i always would try to take into consideration – whenever i made spelling mistakes, i had to stop. unfortunately, this became a bad habit and started to happen as soon as i was in a new crowd (including alcohol ofc) and i felt a little nervous. i would take one sip and start to klutz.
yet it was nice to be back in this apartment, because it was a nice apartment and the smell was nice and i felt a little at home as i remembered the different rooms and remembered hanging around and going to the bathroom with different girls and one boy i didn’t know. unfortunately, i don’t remember faces or names, so i can’t look them up and ask them or ask them about this apartment if we happen to run into each other again. i remember the people dressing really cool, but this was quite a while ago and now those clothes are trendy and mainstream, so they would be impossible to spot based on their clothes. i thought i was one of those people who never forgot about things, especially people, and i would rather try not to think about being wrong.
the dinner yesterday was so nice. we talked and ate good food and watched pictures on the television. we talked about how many hours it takes to give birth to a child and book releases and blowjobs and the perfect temperature of red wine (which i think we concluded that should be below room temperature. personally i dont like the warmer red wine and i prefer cold champagne or prosecco and i like beer less than i used to do) and how expensive segways are and paris hilton being photographed by (one of my favorite photographers) torbjørn rødland for purple magazine. hadn’t really thought of paris hilton for a long time.
for a long time i’ve hated to admit that i find inspiration in fashion, and i probably haven’t allowed myself to take fashion seriously either. there has been a strong sense of irony associated to the word fashion, and i still agree there is so much more to the word style than fashion, as fashion excludes the personal approach to a large degree. however, i visit style.com every day at the moment (bcs of fw), and i am still fascinated by the concept of making something new for every season, which should both reflect the designers image, the season, the earlier seasons and whatever inspires the designer. and although i hate the thought of changing something every season bcs of something as stupid as a trend and claim it’s personal – the fact that clothing is something you actually use. it is available to everyone.
even though fashion mostly is associated with designers and fashion week etc, i am curious why some things become so appealing and popular, and how the mainstream (if just within a certain group or society) develops. there must be some reason why i suddenly feel such an urge for a certain garment or that i like some clothes just bcs i like the designer and hate some clothes just bcs i hate the designer. and i am rarely able to tell why it is like that. yesterday i borrowed my bf’s jeans, which i’ve never thought of as particularly nice, but they had such a nice cut above my ankles. i don’t know if they are trendy, but i guess that would change my view about how nice i felt last night (both physically and mental and social while i had a hangover).
this morning i found a lot of nice photos from barbara casasola’s ss 15-show and i think i just got a new favorite designer.
i’ve noticed i like the same rap songs i liked when i was 16
i don’t know whether that means i am the same person, or at least that i haven’t developed my taste in music the last years, or if the songs are really good
or if my years listening to rap were really good
at least that rap songs nowdays are really bad compared to the ones released when i was 16
i spent a lot of time at the fader
and i still remember the lyrics
i read the paper twice (now i get it)
this summer i went to new york to spend a month by myself. although i hung out with nice people much of the time, and was surrounded by people ALL the time, it was impossible not to feel alone. but the word ‘alone’ makes it sound like a bad thing, but it wasn’t. even though i was alone, i rarely felt lonely. i enjoyed being by myself: whether i walked 25 blocks down one street , just to turn around and walk back the parallel street, just to see the changes in areas, or if i tried to locate myself in a new area, trying to find someplace or someone or simply because i was too warm to function. apart from walking, i kept myself in company by looking for nice cafes to sit down to read ( i brought my struggle 2 by knausgård and bought autobiography of red by carson and too much happiness by munro and telegraph avenue by an author i can’t remember the name of and apartemento and ny times. i enjoyed each of the books except for telegraph avenue which i found annoying and exhausting and gave up after fifty pages) or write. in general, i wrote a lot while i was in new york. not just in cafes, but in waiting rooms, in parks, at subways and in bed as well. tried to avoid writing while i ate dinner out alone, not to seem to lonely. but i really enjoyed it. writing turned out to be my way of socializing with myself. so i wrote a lot of letters and emails, and as so much were happening and i didn’t bother to repeat myself in every single letter, i told different stories and points of view and thoughts to each person. after i’d written several emails and letters, i started to refer to things written in previous emails, as it had been a conversation. and irl too – as i spent more time by myself than with other people, i rather referred to things written in letters when speaking with people, than the opposite. naturally, i think i would go crazy if i kept on writing letters (in other words: writing to myself) all the time. however, i got to write about everything i experienced and saw and thought in long monologues. i didn’t need to care about the other part of the conversation interrupting of affecting what i said. i could just keep on talking, or writing, making myself feel very important. everything i wrote was put in to so many words and descriptions, and made all things sound exiting and meaningful. and it is a nice feeling. when walking around in new york, where you are surrounded by people wearing business suits or celine suits or generally something more important or noticeable than my white shirts and blue shorts (a couple of people actually commented upon my puma shoes), it is such a nice feeling being the protagonist of the new york story that i just wrote down. i put on my bf’s mixtapes and walked faster than the other tourists up and down a couple of avenues, thinking about how to put this situation and all belonging emotions into words for the next letter.
i dag våknet jeg helt uten stemme. på en måte så jeg det komme, siden jeg har sittet ute om kveldene og blitt kald, men valgt å ignorere det. siden jeg nesten ikke har vært i norge denne sommeren, har jeg tenkt ‘dette er min komprimerte oslosommer, og da skal simpelthen alt bare være deilig og skjønt’. sånn sett har det vært greit – jeg har ikke blitt forkjølet, føler meg ikke dårlig, det er bare stemmen min som virkelig ikke fungerer. det verste jeg vet er lammelsen av å være syk, hvor rastløs jeg blir når jeg vet at jeg kan gjøre minimalt – alt stillesittende og rolig. jeg blir så rastløs av det. nå kan jeg gjøre alt på et normalt vis, bortsett fra å prate, og på en måte er det værre enn å ikke kunne bevege seg. det lammer meg sånn sosialt, og jeg har så behov for å uttrykke meg muntlig, på norsk, ha lange samtaler, etter å ha vært en måned i usa og bare snakket engelsk. jeg er jo passe god i engelsk, og gjør meg forstått, men det er likevel veldig befriende å komme hjem til norge, hvor jeg ikke har språket og formuleringene som “et lag” i samtalene til en hver tid. det er sikkert også kulturelle faktorer som gjør at jeg plutselig har en trang til å snakke masse hele tiden. jeg deler en viss oppfatning av omgivelsene og referanser med folk med samme morsmål, og som bare gjør samtalene til noe annet enn med folk av andre kulturer. misforstå meg rett, jeg har hatt så mye fine samtaler i sommer, nettopp fordi jeg har trengt å tenke meg om en ekstra gang før jeg sier noe, og hva jeg ender opp å si er tenkt gjennom på en litt annen måte. men jeg har stått litt mer alene i alt jeg har sagt, ved å uttrykke meg via et språk jeg er ganske, men ikke 100%, trygg på. i tillegg til at jeg har vært fysisk alene, som har gitt meg så mye rom til å tenke – mer enn hva jeg har mulighet til å gi utløp for i en samtale. det har vært interessant, og veldig godt for meg, men nå føles det så frustrerende å nettopp ikke kunne uttrykke meg slik jeg har sett frem til. nå har jeg et nytt lag som preger samtalen.
jeg avlyste en av mine flere kaffeavtaler i dag, før jeg kom til å tenke på hvordan dette kan prege samtalen på et positivt vis, og ikke bare være irriterende og et hinder. møtes man for en kaffe, er kaffen et påskudd til å se hverandre, og samtalen et godt tidsfordriv – det man ser på som den “innholdsrike” delen av et møte. men til syvende og sist møtes man jo for å være med hverandre, man bare forbinder all annen form for sosialisering enn praten som klein eller ubehagelig eller upassende. i hvert fall ved et kafebord. så kanskje er jeg nå grunnlaget for masse kleine situasjoner jeg simpelthen ikke kan gjøre noe med (annet enn å avlyse men ehh), men jeg tenker det også er noe fint med denne usosiale sosialiseringen. om det blir til at kun én snakker – litt eller hele tiden – legge omstendighetene opp til at man kan være stille i hverandres nærvær, og det på en behagelig måte. jeg husker en gang mamma og jeg spiste middag sammen på litteraturhuset, og i steden for å snakke sammen, ble vi sittende å høre på samtalen på bordet ved siden av. det var mye morsommere å høre på noen andre enn hverandre. selv om vi prøvde å holde en samtale, endte vi hele tiden med å lytte til nabobordet. det var to damer som betrodde seg til hverandre om alle familieproblemene de hadde – barn og barnebarn og deres psykologer, og hvordan de følte de burde ta del i resten av familiens liv. om de funket best som passive eller aktive deltagere, både med tanke på seg selv, og de andre.
fight one fight two fight three fight four
i’ve developed a bad association to a love for possessions, as we live in a world where mass production is synonymous with cheap labour, harming the environment, and most of all, the “illness” of happiness through objects rather than friends and family. as i am too conscious with my money, i have never been a shopper myself, and it terrifies me to be in a store, like h&m for instance, and see how people are able to fill several bags with clothes. just in one shop. BUT i think it is important to differ between the different sides of love for objects. accidentally, i have come across several articles and texts during the last week, which discuss people’s relationship to their possessions. the furniture collector joel cheng consider all his collection borrowed, as hi sells and trades, as well as he won’t live forever, and someone else will take care of his things when he dies. one thing is to say this about luxury objects, yet it is not quite the same with seasonal and cheap objects – still, it isn’t necessarily the price that matters. so is it the purpose or the quality of the objects that categorizes you as a good or a bad consumer? it is hard for me to define an inner line or indication for what i considered a good relation to consumption. my love for furniture and home decorating, and the enthusiasm this sometimes brings, makes me wonder if i suffer from consuming, but legitimizes it because i am aware of the phenomenon. that is just stupid, but at the same time, probably occurs more frequently, as we are exposed for all kinds of theories and points of view because of the internet and bla bla. it is the saying that you shouldn’t look up symptoms, because suddenly you have all thinkable kinds of illness. i also legitimate my love for interior because i choose to think it is the feeling and the comfort a room can give that is my fascination, not the objects themselves. but would it be able to have the same connection and the same feelings to space (and the people we share the space with) without the objects?
getting rid of almost all your possessions, somebody would probably say clean up does something to a person. cleaning out of my closet or throw away old paper often makes me feel better than to buy a new thing. although, i think throwing away things makes room for the things we own that actually matter. having a close relationship to the things i own matters a lot to me, and to be honest – i could not live without things. not just because of their practical purposes, but because knowing they are mine and constitute a collection which is a part of me, and this makes me happy to think about. virginia woolf loved to write about objects, and she used the objects to describe people, especially in their absence, as a constant reminder of someone. as cliché as it might sound, to be surrounded by my own things probably allows me to spend some time with myself, from a point of view that i otherwise would not be able to.