“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.”

from Love in the Time of Cholera.

“To him she see…


Ride. Lana del Rey

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer – not a very popular one,
I once had a dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events some of those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I’d been living, they asked me why – but there’s no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people – for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean…
And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying…
Because I was born to be the other woman.
I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

I’ve been out on that open road
You can be my full time, daddy
White and gold
Singing blues has been getting old
You can be my full time, baby
Hot or cold

Don’t break me down
I’ve been travelin’ too long
I’ve been trying too hard
With one pretty song

I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast
I am alone in the night
Been tryin’ hard not to get into trouble, but I
I’ve got a war in my mind
So, I just ride
Just ride, I just ride, I just ride

Dying young and I’m playing hard
That’s the way my father made his life an art
Drink all day and we talk ’til dark
That’s the way the road dogs do it, ride ’til dark.

Don’t leave me now
Don’t say good bye
Don’t turn around
Leave me high and dry

I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast
I am alone in the night
Been tryin’ hard not to get into trouble, but I
I’ve got a war in my mind
I just ride
Just ride, I just ride, I just ride

I’m tired of feeling like I’m fucking crazy
I’m tired of driving ’til I see stars in my eyes
It’s all I’ve got to keep myself sane, baby
So I just ride, I just ride

I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast
I am alone in the night
Been tryin’ hard not to get into trouble, but I
I’ve got a war in my mind
I just ride
Just ride, I just ride, I just ride

[Music video spoken ending:]
Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people, and finally I did on the open road.
We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art.
Live fast. Die young. Be wild. And have fun.
I believe in the country America used to be.
I believe in the person I want to become.
I believe in the freedom of the open road.
And my motto is the same as ever:
“I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself I ride, I just ride.”
Who are you?
Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?
I have. I am fucking crazy.
But I am free.


My own saviour

Because I hated it when my ex said that I was hurt/damaged/scarred and he would help heal/treat/save me. Dafuq? No. I can fight my own battles, I just need someone to stand by me whilst I do it.


My own saviour


Teacher’s Dark Childhood Memory

Today, I was hit yet again with the tsunami of emotions as my English teacher recalled a story from his youth that left me breathless and proudly teary.

He remembers back to the day when his father, a strict pastor with 45 years of service in the church, watched his mother be killed. His father watched his mother be hit by a raging truck, watched her lift momentarily into the air, and be discarded under the roaring wheels as it sped off, away from the catastrophe of his design.

That night, his father walked into his room, and told my teacher, then a young boy, to wear long sleeves and quietly walk out with him. They got into their car, and the boy waited in cold, anticipating dread, because he knew in that moment that that man was not the father that he knew. They drove on into the darkness, with his father glimpsing from time to time at the address that was written on the paper that was gripped in his hand. They drove into a township, and they parked across a shodden house. And they waited, in dead silence and bore a gloom that hung above their heads and muted their breaths.

 A man walked out of the house, opening the door, stepping outside and walking down the stairs. His father opened the pouch before him in the car, grasped one of his hunting guns, and stepped out of the car, watching the movement of the walking man with the same eyes that bore pitch dark hatred. He cocked his gun, and continued to watch him walk …         and returned back to the car. He had brought my teacher, his son with him, because in that moment, he knew he had to decide if the sin he was about to commit was worth his son watching. They returned home, and never spoke of it again.

Many years later, the family went on a surprisingly fancy restaurant, a luxury that blinded my teacher with happiness. Happy with the upcoming menu, he eagerly asked his father what the special occasion was. His father raised a toast-  and together, they feasted in celebration of the death of his mother’s murderer.



Yeah. Drove me to tears.