det här är en av mina bästa låtar. iallafall när...

-man sitter  på golvet framför spegeln och sminkar sig

-när man tar på sig kvällens traaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaashtaaaajtasvaaaaaaaaarta kläder

-när man har fluffigt hawt hår


..och sen är Beck väldigt bra vid massa andra tillfällen också.


Will you be there if I fall apart?

I may be breaking bit by bit, drip by drip. I cry all the time. As soon as I’m alone, I cry. I cry, and I can’t stop. Tears are burning in my eyes, corroding on my cheeks.

But the rest of my life doesn’t see them. To them, I’m completely dry.

I may be losing my senses. Sometimes I sit for hours in front of the mirror and staring back at me is a monster. Not like, I think I’m ugly, but a real, enormous monster-face. And I can’t move because I’m so terrified.

My subconscious is now everywhere on the surface, out in the open. I hear all sorts of me yelling at me, throwing their fists on me.

I may be forgetting how to love somebody. All those people who know me, love me, care about me, regardlessely. I can’t say that I feel for them no more. They’re all a blur for me, nothing of substance or importance. It’s shameful, I know. But I’m being honest.

I may be fading in beauty.  I forget to color my hair all the time. My nails aren’t polished, they’re dirty. My skinny body is full of layers of fat. I don’t smell like new washed laundry anymore, I smell of nothing. I’ve faded into ugliness.

I may be distance to you. I may treat you like shit. I may think of you as nothing at all. I may make fun of you in front of people, and laugh at you in your face and not in a funny way. I may forget that you even exist. I may shut off my phone, lock my door and listen to you all night trying to get in, trying to reach me. I may say the worst things that someone ever said to another human being.  I may fight you off and hit you in the face when you’re desperately trying to hold me. I may say nothing at all for a week when we’re together. I may hate you.

But still.

Will you be there when I fall apart?"


här är en konstig lista över spotify-musik jag lyssnat på på senaste. jag kallar den vecka38 (tror det är det nu?).
den är njutningsbar, jag lovar.


jag ligger och röker i min säng och lyssnar på Ochrasy. det är trevligt det där, att röka i sängen. med puffigt vitt täcke och puffiga vita kuddar. och så har jag på mig min mormors gamla dyra nattlinne, som är ankellångt och rosa med vit spets. lyxsova, mm.
det är fint när dixgård sjunger "when I lived in my own land..". det låter härligt "eskapistiskt" och verklighetsflyktigt.


hihi i torsdags var jag och anja champagnefulla på samma gång. anja fyllde sina fickor med typ tolvtusen geisha på 7an. värt.



I had spent the night alone in my room. The late April heat pervaded, and stuck between the cracks in the hardwood floor. The blankets were too heavy, but stayed. I needed the weight of them. I slept in the morning; the aimlessness of this time of year required relishing. It was still fairly new, being so purposeless.

I finally got out of bed and rolled a cigarette; the loose tobacco stuck to my moist fingertips, an inadequacy of mine that revealed itself in the spring. Perhaps it was an inadequacy in the seasons that had nothing to do with me.
A week before I moved in, Scout had painted the walls. She thought of it as a nice surprise, and she had been looking for an occasion to paint them. Unfortunately among other remains, she left them here. The light blue bedroom, the mint green kitchen, the pink bathroom, and the fucking living room. Her fondness for pastels was an indication that in the end things would not turn out.
The living room walls were this goddamned yellow. Yellow was only appropriate at times, in small doses. The fact my living room was yellow amused me; it mocked me as I went from my bedroom to the bath everyday. Its irony imposed on my living. It wasn't so bad when the weather was tolerable, though on cloudy days, one would not find me lazing around on the sunken sofa. The yellow absorbed the sadness of the weather. For in contrast, the colour was weak. It was a continuous reminder that such a colour was happy. And on a dark day, it had no substance. Nothing could be more funereal than that.
I had vaguely considered painting over them, a notion that tired me at the thought. I almost enjoyed the malignity of Scout's presence in the rooms. The scent of potpourri and mothballs in every closet or the reoccurring appearance of lipstick tubes under the sofa or bed.
I ran the bath and took off my robe, and continued to roll another cigarette; I liked to keep several in line to chain smoke. I arranged them neatly on the soap dish. The only reason why I stuck around this place was for the claw footed bathtub. I poured a fair amount of rosemary bath salt into the hot water and lit one of seven cigarettes. I sunk into the bath with regulated pleasure; since school had finished I had been taking baths every day. I had moved the record player into the bathroom on Tuesday; its use in my bedroom was to inflict pain on my toes and obstruct my right of way. The acoustics in the bathroom made far more sense.
My collection of vinyl was a form of snobbery; I took pride in the worn covers, and the undisputed taste of each album. It amused me whenever Scout invited friends over who found themselves subject to a sneer when conversations of musical preference arose.
There was a knock on the apartment door.
“Why do you knock? You are fully aware it's open.” How unimpressive. I appreciated boldness.
The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar and I could see Hadley slowly come in and look around at the empty apartment. “Jonathan, it’s Hadley.”
“I'm in the bath.”
She placed her head in the space the bathroom door was ajar, “I knock because I wouldn't want to walk in on anything indecent. It's so foggy in here; did you forget we had lunch?”
“Don't pretend to be prudish, and yes, you're going to have to wait anyway, I just got in.”
“I don't know what you're talking about; I just wouldn't want to walk in on some kind of situation.” She came in the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath taking one of my cigarettes and lighting it. “I never really know what to expect whenever I come over here, one time I came over and some girl answered in barely anything, saying you were still asleep and asked me if I wanted to smoke some hash.”
“And did you?”
“Then don't bother knocking.”
“You're being snappy this afternoon.”
“No, I'm just annoyed because I just got in the fucking bath and you come in here, smoking my cigarettes, talking about indecency and forcing me to come to lunch.”
“I didn't know it was such a hassle to take your little sister to lunch.” Hadley raised an eyebrow and splashed the bath water around.
“Ugh, God you're such a pervert, get out, get out.”
“Fine, I'm going to go down to the market and get some groceries so we can make lunch here. You've made a shithole out of this place since Scout moved out...Oh, I was wondering if you wanted to come to Evan Michael's party tonight.” Hadley made it a point to continually mention Scout, as she knew it was the one thing that I was sensitive about.
“Who's going to be there? Your little friends, those girls from your school?”
“Well probably yeah, Esmé, Laurel, Everett.” Hadley leaned on the frame of the door.
“Ah, sounds like a bit of fun. Laurel seems introspective, it's an important quality to look for when pursuing girls, and personally it's the first thing I ask myself, 'Is this girl introspective enough?' Though, it never really matters if you simply want to fuck them. ”
“Shut up.”
“I hear she's fairly intrepid as well, who's she been with?”
“I'm not going to let you near her; anyway she would probably give you a run for your money. She has many a suitor.”
“Don't be archaic, even when you're joking. I'm just saying I'd be interested, if I were into girls your age. ”
“You're being insufferable; I'm leaving for the market. If you're not careful, you'll shrivel in your own decadence.” Hadley scoffed, eyeing the bath water; she walked out of the apartment, slamming the door.
Hadley had always got it easier from our parents; I broke all the rules before she even got her braces off. She had this tendency to try dominating conversations; it was clearly unbecoming. Our parents had decided after I turned eighteen, their presence was no longer necessary. They were to be on a permanent vacation. Along with our weekly allowance, on holidays we receive decorative cards attached with a package or two.
Typically, we hate most gifts our parents send us. They fail to impress us with their wayward charm. We imagined our parents to be eternally tanned, wrinkled with enjoyment, on a beach at all times. Of course, we knew better.
The unspoken reason for leaving us in New York was to urbanize us, to leave us raised with freedom and money. It was a fairly liberal theory. To leave us to grow, drawing our own conclusions on life. Of course, Hadley and I surpassed the intellects of our peers and remained under the umbrella of nihilism.
To me, the idea of my parents was irritating.  Their shadows lingering upon my ideals, restricting me from what I want and what I crave.



Marlowe Tatiana Granados



(jag älskar fan den här bruden, hon är typ sjutton, bor i new york men flyttar runt i storstäder över hela världen, har tro på sin ungdom och utsöndrar kreativitet. och just det, hon skriver helt fantastiskt.)


för ord fångat på bild är egentligen det vackraste av allt.





asså, åh. överhuvudtaget Killers. åh så jävla mycket

"You say it's hard enough to live
It's not so bad
It's not so bad"

"He's convinced himself right in his brain
That it helps to take away the pain"

"It was only a kiss
It was only a kiss"

"But my heart, it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to
And my eyes, they don't see you no more
And my lips, they don't kiss,
they don't kiss the way they used to
And my eyes don't recognize you at all"


skulle skriva någon slags konstig utvärdering av jenny was a friend of mine, aporpå att man inte bör koppla en låt för mycket till något i det förflutna, och den är en av få låtar som jag gjort det med. men det blev bara onödigt, så med det vill jag bara säga att "we took a walk that night, but it wasn't the same" är en av de mest fundamentala textraderna för mig. så perfekt i all sin enkelthet, särskilt bara det där "but it wasn't the same". några ord som alltid tycks spela stor rollv, som alltid kommer tillbaka. mitt eget fel är det.


om man plockar bort många många bitar och ytterligheter står man kvar med inte så mycket. frågan e hur man plockar bort dem där bitarna.


"BAKISHUD är när minsta lilla nagelscratch känns som ett jävla köttsår i huden som känns som tunn och genomskinlig men ändå fet och äcklig."
Anja Bergdahl


det är ju lite kul att leka blogg-bloggare. om jag var blogg-bloggare skulle mitt inlägg se ut såhär ungefär:

Godmorgon bloggen!
Gaah vad jobbigt det var att vakna idag, vissa morgnar vill man bara krypa ner under täcket och stanna där hela dan, eller hur? Äter frukost nu iallafall (Äntligen Subs, mm vad gott!) och ska snart ta vagnen till skolan. Har religion och sen en lååång håltimma och efter det en ny kurs som heter Rörlig Bild, kan bli kul! Det verkar bli en härlig sensommar dag idag, och vet ni vad det betyder..? Islatte :) Ikväll ska vi på två butiksmingel, först Topshop & Beyondretro som Nöjesguiden anordnar och sedan till Weekday. Att börja kl 13.25 på fredagar kan kanske bli lite farligt... Idag har jag på mig svarta udnerkläder, svarta byxor, svart tröja, svart jacka och en svart väska.
Kram på er, hörs snart! :D


hajjhajjhajj. kunde inte sova igårnatt, vaknade inte av väckarklockan och sen orka jag fan inte gå upp för min säng är bäst i världen. nu skolkar jag (åh älskar att skolka!) därav får jag inte cola eller cigg eller nåt sånt pga av min å anjas pakt, inte riktigt klara på reglerna ännu. mitt hår är SVINÄCKLIGT så jag gjorde en fläta och det ser helt cp ut. har inga kläder. allmänt ful. men det är solsol och då får man dricka islatte. fast har fan inga solglasögon och det kan bli ganska irriterande efter ett tag. jaja, ska åka strax till det där monstret som refereras som schillerska och ha religion med en dagsifröken sen ska jag lämna in blankett om projektarbetet och jag har fan ingen aning vad jag ska göra. sen har vi håltimme eftersom schillerska e efterblivet. sen har jag och anja rörlig bild i typ femton timmar det kommer säkert va aslamt och assvårt. men sen ska vi till topshop för där får man gratis smirnoff ice och budweiser (världens godaste drycker!) sen ska vi till weekday där man får gratis TT öl och champagne och gratis stiffaprettofashionfittor-sightseeing. likamed ska bli totally fucking wasteeed iallafall det vill jag, det vill jag bkli varje torsdag för på fredagar har vi knappt skola och alla vet ju att det e roligare att gå ut på torsdagar än fredagar. jaja. cigg på det. hadbrahej.



(ja gud va gulligt det var
när man hade storslagna drömmar och, helt ärligt, faktiskt inte var totalt pessimistiskt inställd till dem)


hejåhå jag har gjort en NY blogg där kommer följande läggas upp;
rolig musik
bra musik
genialisk musik
utdrag från fina texter
bilder på allt
bilder på inget

den heter LOLFFS, för bara LOL var upptaget och LOL är fan bäst i världen.



men när jag känner mig deprimerad brukar jag läsa blondinbellas blogg. blondinbella gör mig glad. hon har det så bra och trevligt.



HAHAHAH! *klockrent*

Lonesome Suzie never got the breaks  
She's always losing and so she sits and cries and shakes
It's hard just to watch her and if I touch her
Oh, poor Suzie, I'm wondering what to do

She just sits there hoping for a friend
I don't fit here but I may have a friend to lend
Maybe I mistook her but I can't overlook her
Must be someone who can pull her through

Anyone who's felt that bad could tell me what to say
Even if she just got mad she might be better off that way

And where is all the understanding?
Her problems can't be that demanding
Why is it she looks my way
Every time she starts to cry

Lonesome Suzie, I can't watch you cry no longer
If you can use me until you feel a little stronger
I guess just watching you has made me lonesome too

Why don't we get together, what else can we do?


lilla sussie är död


I v U

"- Precis vad jag menar, sade doktor Daneeka. Det är lite olja som får världen att gå runt. Den ena handen tvättar den andra. Ni förstår väl vad jag menar? Ni kliar mig på ryggen, så kliar jag er.
Yossarion förstod vad han menade.
- Så menade jag inte, sa doktor Daneeka när Yossarian började klia honom på ryggen."

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