To know her is to love her

My mother deserves a whole months worth of blogging to describe. I don't feel like it, so heres the basics:

She enjoys wine, and young boys. To much wine sometimes and that often ends with to young boys, fresh mens with curious eyes and jersey sweaters.
She does not show affection, I'm not sure she likes me at all. But she does call me darling, Belle-darling, almost like it's my full name. And she disappeard the day before I started blogging to seek an endless summer in Australia with a lover of hers, and has not returned yet although he died from heartfailure ( you know this, right?)

That's all I know. And that she smelles of Chanel no 5, wears nothing but Jimmy Choos and does not speak fondly of my father. But he askes about her all the time. So I stole his lap top and climed up to the attic. All the company I want right now is you dear readers and the girl with dark bangs from the photos. And the bottle of wine I so cleverly hid in my lugage. I haven't had wine in forever and I'm sure it'll feel very Proustian, sort of like remembrances of guilty pleasures past.

Speaking of penpales

French whores Miris mother yelled, well nonetheless one of my favorit girls is Chloe and she sent me a letter the day before I fled the dirty streets of London and arrived here in the plastic fantastic world that is LA. Since privacy no longer exist due to blogs, twitter and facebook I've decided to go all the way here. I've proven that before, haven't I? So hear it is, sent with love. ( Darling, I hope you don't mind)

Bonjour chérie!
Un petit message pour le Saint Valentin. Tu me manques, ah les soirs ici à Paris.
Le vin rouge, les cigarettes, les nuits, la musique et nous, toi et moi..
Vous vous souvenez?

Dis Birkin, pourquoi t'as pas grossi en vieillissant t'es toujours aussi belle qu'avant?
C'est que je suis maline.
Dis Birkin, pourquoi tu te mets toujours à pleurer dès que quelqu'un est en danger?
C'est que je suis sensible.
Dis Birkin, pourquoi tu ne t'énerves jamais on dirait que tu fuis la colère?
C'est que je suis fragile.
Dis Birking, c'est quoi ces yeux qui regardent dans le vide on dirait que t'es dans la lune?
C'est parce que je m'ennuie..

Oh I just love that song. With you in the windowsill, I couldn't see anything 'cause there were
smoke all over, nothing but your lovely profile and the parisian night in the background.
And Jane sang for us, sang until we'd emptied my wine cellar and we fell softly into sleep
on the floor. Some nights we had company, some nights it was just us. I miss you love.
Please come and see me soon again. Paris waits for you.
Oh yes, I'd sent you a little something, I guess it will reach when you get back from LA..

Bisous, Chloè

Long lost penpale

When I first met her I was 11, well almost and we looked like ying and yang, different but still very much alike. At least on the inside.

Seeing Miri all these years later, drinking coffee at Intelli in the freakishly hot sun looking at each other trough Prada eyewear makes it all feels like yesterday. Deep inside, none of us really grown up do we?

An alien wearing Fendi heels

I find it quite ironic that I reckon this being the one place in the world were the girls are the most skinny and tanned, and yet I have never eaten more in my entire life. I think my dad tries to stuff the silence with bagels and frozen yoghurt. When I ordered black coffee he laughed Don't you want a smoothie or freshly squeezed juice with vitamins? I lit a cigarette and shruk my head. He talks a lot about work, and askeds some subtle questions about my mom. How is she, does she still like wine? I don't know, I don't know her.

He took me shopping, said something about me needing some colour in my life and forced me into a red Balenciaga dress. I can't help but smile, annoying and overcompansating - yes he most definitely is but also sweet and caring. Just like I remember him. He himself wears black, and in his ray ban wayfareers ( he must have had them before they were fashionable and wears them now when they aren't as well) he almost looks like an old and tierd James Dean. It's wierd but he's very handsome.

Found some incredible photos when I went through his stuff in the attic. I was looking for anything that could tell me more about my own mother. I know it's sad but nevertheless I have this feeling like I don't know her. He didn't have anything, but he did have ten or twelve photos of a young girl with darkbrown hair and a bang that made her eyes disappear under the curtain of hair. She was playing with a wodden horse and looked really happy. In the back it just said five years old. I guess it was something for the magazin that stuck with him. I stole on. Children with happy eyes makes me feel good.

LA X

Being on an airplane for this amount of time provides the mind with a lot of free time to fill with anxiety. Not about an accidental crash and no survivors, no that wouldn't be so bad, but about how in heavens name does one greet their father when not a single word have been exchanged for years. The only contact we've had has been through letters, father loves anything on paper. And photography of course, which he manages to make a living out of ( he's shooting for fashion magazines although the models aren't wearing anything at all except skin over their bones)

He picked me up, the sun forced my eyes to look like two slim lines and I just couldn't bare myself to hug him. But he hugged me.

Smoking I see, what does your mother think of that he asked and lights one of his own.
And there, in his old black car with rolled down ceiling we bond in some matter. We connect. And the few hours I've spent in LA hasn't been so bad yet, Echo park is quite lovely come to think of it. It beats London anyway. Weather or not that is due to boredom I don't know.

And I can't wait to se Miri

I was looking for a place to hide away

Picture borrowed from the lovely Novastyleblogg

Instead I lost the heart I gave away
Tell me how could love stand a chance?

When I got home after being kicked out of mathclass I feelt content, I was going to spend my afternoon with Charles and drink some more wine. Instead I found out that he was nowhere to be found. He doesn't even have the decensy to answer my fucking textmessages. So I tried to call my mother to get some motherly advice, some love.

No answer for several hours. Later; a voicemail where she spoke in vocals, laughing and saying Dear, I hope you're feeling well. I am busy, I'll call you later

So I did something I haven't done in ages. I dialed a number far far away, to a warmer place where everyone is tanned and the recever has grey strings in his hair and smelles of cigarres. My father has not been very precent in my life.I was 6 years oldwhen I first met him, where he was before I haven't got an answer to and then left again four years later ( this was at the same time as my mother started laughing louder and crying more often, a time when there was bottles of wine everywhere and her makeup wasn't used for long periods of time. I understand why he left, I just wish he hadn't)

-Come live with me for a while princess, I need some company and you need a father. Little girls do.

He doesn't know I'm not a kid anymore, I guess he still pictures me as a child with my hair in high ponytails, but I need the vacation. I'm going to LA tomorrow morning. Don't know when I'll come back. Don't know if I even will tell mother. It's not like she cares. And Charles.. well Charles can go to hell.

If I only could I would deal with God

This morning I practicly danced my way into mathclass while still wearing yesterdays choice of cloths. Charles and I went out for dinner, ended up drinking wine exclusivly and never really stopped.

My teacher told me to go home. It's the second time I've been asked to leave school this semester. To add insult to injury I lit a cigarette in the hallway and wawed to my fellow classmates through the glasdoor. Did I mention that I'm bored out of my mind?

Oh this town kills you when you are young

Pretty things, dirty hearts

Expensive things always manages to keep my mind of what ever makes me sad for a while, I buy shoes when my heart is aching and handbags when I feel lonely. Marc Jacobs is my theraphist, only difference is he only listens after I payed and brought one of his things home. Sure I can visit him at South Audley Street but I have to take him home to be open my heart and I often do. Charles laughs at my big bags of cloths and shoes but he doesn't understand. To feel beautiful is a way to escape panic. I don't think anyone can deny that although it may not be the whole truth.

I usually go shopping drunk and smelling like Old Raj gin. Never ever with company other than cigarettes.
I know I'm not alone in this, hiding my sadness in pretty things, and Ally sweet sweet Ally does agree with me.

Boys

And you tell me that its over
wake up lying in a patch of four leaf clovers
and your restless
and I'm naked
-Something corporate

He smelles perfect in the morning, almost so perfect that I don't want to light a cigarette close to him since it will ruin it. But only almost that perfect. There is something beautiful in the way boys smell after sleeping, it's warm and comforting.

Sound asleep, wide awake

I attended a dinnerparty at Amandas parents house this weekend, Charles did not want to come and I.. well I didn't want to argue so I dressed in silk and high heels and put a big smile on my face before leaving my apartment in his hands. I drank until the gin no longer tasted anything and a dark and beautiful man lit my cigarettes all night long but after that I went home where a sound asleep boy was waiting for me with candles burning. We are different (my heart beats faster and harder than his, but his sentences contains more words than I use during a whole day)