three pictures, three descriptions

After finishing this book I realized how I really shouldn't just read whatever. It was funny and witty and the whole thing was quite clever. But the translation was horrifying and the book didn't really do much more than entertain me for a few hours. I learnt some history, that was nice. Otherwise I'm not sure I would recommend it.

The pencil of all pencils. The grip plus 0.7 by faber castell. I doubt there's a better pencil out there.

Mom half asleep half watching some stupid show on tv.

Thats it, three completely different pictures of three completely different things.
My days have reached a perfect flow, they truly have.



we're all fucked up in the head

the fact that i've got keys to a warm safe house

the fact that nothing fucking happens

the fact that i have my life

the fact that i can type and interpret these thoughts

/fucking tired of this shit


The task

It is actually a lot more difficult than one may think. Writing, I mean.
So here I sit, with a thousand thoughts in my head, trying to figure out what to actually write. 
I could write something to do with the color of the cover of the Chinese audio-book laying on my dinner table or perhaps the way his hair  was incredibly soft, or maybe even the feeling you get when you get accepted into one more university. It's quite a hard task, sometimes.

So many thoughts and feelings all at the same time. Good feelings and less great feelings, all mixed together with a slight stomach ache. But then the moment comes, that moment when the first few words become written sentences, every letter immediately appearing on this very laptop screen. My thoughts suddenly become clearer, easier to cope with, and it's just so wonderful, however irrelevant the paragraphs I write may be. 



S i c k

Sick of the same fucking thoughts.
Sick of those ridiculous facebook videos of people drinking beer like it's somehow the most entertaining thing ever, although most are underage and are possibly promoting younger kids to drink.
Sick of this cough.
Sick of something I knew I would write and forgot.
Sick of this upper-back pain.
Sick of my boots.
Sick of not having clean clothes.
Sick of  well...

...not that much actually.

I honestly sat here for a second and thought: "well, actually, I'm not that sick of that many things."
My days are usually very nice. Such a peaceful life I live. It's ridiculous. But not as ridiculous as those bloody beer drinking videos, legit counted over 10 of them on my current news feed. I should delete facebook. Its only useful one tenth of the times, really.

(Definitely not sick of bananas)
(Love bananas)




At the moment I'm a little obsessed with the aesthetics of food. This was my breakfast on Sunday morning: chocolate oatmeal topped with all the fruits I could find at home.



Lady sheets

Three pictures that describe this morning. Woke up a little before 10, still with this weird cold. I looked at my bare body in the mirror, I had strange red marks all over it. The sheets had left marks all over my chest.

Then I made breakfast and ate as I listened to "The Lady is a Tramp".

Have a happy Saturday.




I just made lunch.
Vegan lentils plus not-so-vegan piece of bread with cheese.