a quiet inner contentment

On age. On age this time. I am now at that stage of life where you mess up your age a bit when you are asked to answer; i.e.: am I 32? 30? 34? 330 B.C.? Were dinosaurs still around? Well, I owned several walkmans and I used to watch The Rugrats and Seinfeld on t.v., so I suppose my real age  might be near the jurassic age.
But even though that happens, I feel quite happy and at ease with myself at this very stage, at this very age. There is a quiet inner contentment about feeling at ease with myself; with my errors, with my achievements, with my scrawny body, with my bluntness, with my noncynical but witty remarks, with my polished/ rude girl manner, with my nasty smoking habit, with my love for trousers and everything anti-girlie and a love for everything intellectual, 90s hip hop, my every morning palo santo burning grounding ritual, my genderless minimal style, practicing meditation while communtig, weekly indulging on luxe face masks, psych rock and my niche perfumes. Because they are part of who I am and part of what I have grown and experienced so far.
Sometimes I hear intrusive voices across neighbouring tables, while I'm minding my very own espresso thoughts, asking to one another: would you like to be 20 again? And my silent answer is hell no! No way. Not to mention my teens. Both options sound absolutely ghastly to me. From what I can recall from those times, I was a slave to peer pressure and to pleasing others. The others. I suppose that is a burden that comes with the young and the beautiful: to please the supposedly love of your life, your family, your friends, your peers. You need to fit no matter what and you need to get it right, like others do. Well, flash news, they don't get it right. At all. So you better start to be yourself and doing things your way.
At this very age I feel at ease with my character, with my skills, with my faults, with my acquired taste. You can say "no", refuse, disappear to a spiritual/detox retreat in the desert if you want to. You don't own anything. You can have a baby, raise a family, marry the second love your life (which turns out to be the real thing after all). You can have no baby and no man around. You can flirt around if you feel like. You can change your job and start from scratch all over again. You can do whatever you want. You own that power. That's the gift of life. You can nod your head in disapproval to girls in their early 20s when they are getting down and acting like Lil' Kim at the club, flirting with random guys who sport a random fashionable hairstyle. You can now be yourself and have a solid sense of self-respect and inner knowledge. Tell them how it is, hot stepper, while you're wearing your 90s Manolo mules.

karaoke wednesday | fat white family

Boredom strikes again.We are against yuppies, ties and suits.We are against fake.We are against the common and the hyprocrite.We are against the neo bourgeois.We are left wing but we always sleep on our right side.We are absurd.We are against the shallow.We are against. We are anti everything We don't like sweet, we like bitter.We are against electro club music.We smoke cigarettes, oh yes we do.Because we are against. We are against.Because we are anti everything.

monday favorites

As if anger could be a kind of vocation for some women.   
It is a chilly thought.
The heart is dead since infancy.   
Unwept for let the body go. (...)

 “The Glass Essay” extract from Glass, Irony, and God. 
1994 by Anne Carson. 

Anne Carson. Chair  from the extra rare Comme des Garçons furniture catalogue (1987). Make up and hair at Christophe Lemiare FW 2015.Belgian actress Els Dottermans.Woman by Common Projects Cadet Derby shoes. Vintage mockneck sweater (both via La Garçonne)Julius Adams Stratton brutalist building, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge,Massachusetts.

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