Saturday, November 9

blood on white sheets


When the sun came up and with murder in mind drowned the porch with golden mist I remember him leaving me out there. Wobbling inside alone. Returning to the dark lonely hiding place I first found him in. Whores and pills. Tramadol works better after one has orgasmed. 

My steps where shaky and my dress ripped, but I made my way inside without ending up in the pool. With a lit cigarette in one hand and the bible in the other, I stood by his bed until he woke up. Father figure Frank smiled

-Happy halloween my darlingbelle

Thursday, November 7

and Maslov didn't even listen

Father figure Frank held my hand as we walked up the hill, there's great places ahead he promised. My red soles, the ones my mother allegedly wore when she had her third abortion, kept falling of since she had monstrous feet but I had been wearing them for ten days and I wasn't about to give them up just because that hippie asshole wanted to go hiking.

I've been running up and down Maslows stairs all day darling, I can't do this I said and fell down.

The organza I'd wrapped my burning body with earlier was now sticking to my skin and I could feel the stench of semen, blood and weed catching up with us. I don't smoke anything but Benson & Hedge, but he wasn't as picky. Frank took three big gulps of gin and handed me the bottle.

What are we, animals? 
Ice is an illusion, if you're thirsty drink water!

I never really understood what we where doing there, with the awful sign in the background yelling at us that this is the fucking city of dreams. Father figure Frank knows I hate it. But then again, when did that ever stop him.

He asked about Dubai, about where all my cloths had gone and how I got home. I finished the bottle and later woke up on the terrace with the sudden urge to drown myself in the pool.


Friday, November 18

Ive been to hell and back so many times



Sometimes you all scare me. Because there are so many of you now.

In my mind though, you're a small grou of ten or possibly twelve out there reading. I feel as though we could all fit around one or two tables in a bar. That we all know each other and speak in low voices about our secrets and troubles. This is how I feel until I hit that "stats" button. Then you all scare the shit out of me. And when I'm afraid, I run.




Wednesday, September 28

Rules of attraction





Been down and out for a while now. My fever still runs high, and my mind is almost starting to get used to this overheated state. I try to fight it by dressing up, pretending to have plans that require dresses and high heels. Last night I almost made it to the front door before I passed out.

Luckily, I was dressed in a very suitable way.
Jil Sander really do make the perfect dresses for corpses.

Wednesday, September 21

What I have been up to





Fever sweats and strong pain killers
I've spent the last couple of days in bed. Half awake, half asleep.

I dreamt about Patrick Bateman carefully removing my teeth with a hammer. One by one.
Someone once told me that dreams about loosing teeth means you're worried about being forgotten. Spot on, Id say.

It was in the deepest of sleep Ive been in ages.

Thursday, September 15

Abandon all hope ye who enter here



Another sleepless night passed. Autumn, you used to be my hero.
My savior from the torture of summer heath. The passion in august makes me sick.

With half closed eyes I stood on my balcony, overlooking this burning city for hours. Cursing the stars and spitting t'wards the moon. The cold breeze I used to think of as my equivalent to holy water passed me without it's once vibrating solicitude.

(Original sin, unable to wash off
Insomnia, one of my nine circles of hell)

The red wine dripped down on my chest, painting my white nightgown blood red.

Tim Burton, can't you please direct my life? Im sick of the Polanski taste I never seem able to spit out.



Wednesday, September 14

Remembrances of guilty pleasures past






Remember Chloè?

I saw a crow this morning and it made my heart stop. Black eyes, dead feathers.
When he lifted off and flew away, I felt as though I was watching her leave all over again.
I might as well had swallowed a thousand nails.

Read more about her here, and here, and here

Tuesday, September 13

SONG FOR CLAY



Feasting on sleeping pills and camel blue's (Self pity wont save you, Eva said with a troubled look on her face)

Self pity can be the most beautiful thing, if executed properly
- Matching underwear
- Red wine or bourbon
-if you throw up, do it with your hair covering your face. Use it like a veil


And it's also less sad if done in the company of beautiful girls. In a bed.