the faller

Is it possible to slip and fall six times a day?

Is it possible to fall in love with everybody that passes by?

Apparently yes.
I'm gonna keep falling.

Don't believe in much

Went for a long walk very early in the morning. Once again.

I walked a lot and rode a lot of buses and a lot of trams and the metro. I did some weird crap (not literally). I even sang a little bit when I walked through a train station. I did get some weird looks, but who cares; in 2 hours most of them wouldn't remember me at all, in 2 days some would remember just a little man with large flat feet and a small moustache.

No, wait. That's not me. That's Charlie Chaplin.





Anyway.

Riding a bus to the sunrise is one of the best things in life (at least for someone who doesn't have an actual life). It's one of those things of painful beauty. Things that fill your head with too many ideas. Ideas such as the one I got today: "Because I'm weak, Oscar Blom." And then I realized I was still in love with the things I'd thought I'd forgotten.

Ugh. Smack me in the face, please.

Fingers - amazing things: with them you can write legendary lives and exciting souls, stroke clitorises, infuriate people, even start wars.


I hope I never lose my fingers. I hope I never lose my war.

So long

I'm a poet. It works now. You'll remember my name. I just don't know which one yet.

The person I used to be is standing two steps behind me. And he doesn't recognize me at all. Neither do the people I used to go to school with. Some time ago, I went and wandered the hallways of a building that used to be my school. I saw a lot of people that I used to know, but they didn't even look at me. The ones who did look at me, didn't know it was me. I've changed a lot, and I had a hood over my head. I stared at all those people, thinking, remember when you talked to me once? remember when I almost smiled with you once? remember when you imitated me maliciously? remember when you shoved me against the wall without even noticing that you'd shoved be against the wall? remember when we were teenage atheists together for that one lesson?

The only person who saw me that day was the only one in that school who ever was loyal to me. There used to be all these people that I wanted to like me, but they never liked the person I was, because I never showed them who I was. And all that time I treated this girl like shit, because I thought she was a loser, and being a loser was the thing I feared more than anything else.

But this time I hugged her. I hope she understood all the things I couldn't bring myself to say.

I'm so sorry. I wish you luck. Maybe we'll meet again.








When I die, I want a tombstone that says So long.

I have sexual perversions but I don't want to talk about them.

I spent the whole day lying in my bed and dreaming extremely disturbing dreams. Does this have something to do with the fact that I bought my dog 50 Shades of Grey for Christmas?


...


I'm a goth.


No I'm not. Don't know why I said that.

Fuck.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKcCKKCCKK!!!!!

And after all I knew nothing about you. And now, when I look at what you actually are, I don't recognize you at all. Who were you? I didn't know you were a literature freak. Remember when you kissed me through the train window?

Who are these people? Who was I?







At the moment I have an unbearable feeling that I'm not as good as I'd like to be. Fucking fuck. I... gotta... change... everything.


I gotta change Tommi X

But then again. I like to bluster about killing certain people, but would I really do that? Would I actually kill anyone?

Usually not. But sometimes yes.

Like for instance that Antonio. I really hated that person. We never even spoke to each other, but every time I heard him open his mouth, it was clear that he was a cowardly little bully. His life's only pursuit was to make others suffer.

But then again. Let's be honest. I know absolutely nothing about him. He was nothing but a slightly unpleasant character. Why would I hate him? And if I got the chance, why would I kill him? It makes no fucking sense.

Ok. I only dislike the person a little bit. I didn't even remember his existence before I started to dig through my slimy memory.

I'm not very reliable, am I? I try not to be.

Just kidding! I always speak the truth.

Not always.

But anyway.

I guess my role on this Earth is to help. Not to kill.

I'm doomed to flip fingers.

I’d like to murder Lady GaGa. But I’m afraid that’s never going to happen. If I really got to meet her, I’d probably just flip my middle finger and run away laughing like a freak. (No, Lady Gaga, you’re not a freak. You’re a pretty millionaire with 50 mansions and a huge factory producing throwaway hits.)


Cause people like you
Make me feel so tired
When will you die?
When will you die?
When will you die?
When will you die?
When will you die?

And people like you
Make me feel so old inside
Please die

According to some sources, Adam Lanza was a vegan.

Ok. So we had a lot in common.

The question is: dude, why did you go nuts? You clearly had a moral backbone. What the hell happened to you? Who hurt you?

What happened the night before you decided to kill those kids? How did you spend that night? What was going on in your head? I mean come on, children and animals are basically the same thing. They're innocent. They aren't that intelligent but they can feel pain and horror.

I wish I'd been there to talk to you. I wish you'd been there to talk to me. Would it have changed things? For either of us?

Oh well. We'll never know. RIP.

Howls

Why do wolves howl? I don't know. But it breaks my heart. My dog is like a wolf. My dog is a wolf. I love her to death. I would die for her.

And suddenly it's morning again and it's snowing.

Man hasn't been on the moon for 40 years.

WRITE, WRITE, WRITE. Ignore everything else for a while and just write.

Lose your mind. Create worlds. Create people. Fall in love.

Yes, I'm talking to you.

Do it. Start now. Don't stop. You can do it. Be something that literature has never seen before.

We, my friend, will take this world and turn it around.

Genitalia are excruciatingly disgusting. Penises are disgusting, vaginas are disgusting, everything in between is disgusting. I think people - including myself - are interested in genitalia for the same reason we are interested in farts and holes and exploding pimples; it's all just so sensously revolting.





My god. I'm going to be remembered as a slobbery little freak. Sounds good to me.

Hello,




this is my message to You.

Unfortunately, in the following years I am going to steal Your thunder.

I hope You do something about it.



Yours sincerely,

Q

I aim for this



and ultimately this




I have to start doing something important right now.

Whatever.

This is Adwaita. (I mean the turtle, not the guy.) He was born in 1790 and died in 2006. WHAT THE HELL? So amazing. I respect that turtle more than I respect all humans combined.




Btw, if there are any Asian pornstars dying to find out what my sense of humour is like, then here you go. This is stuff that I can't stop laughing at:

Jesus fucking Christ I can't breathe. AHAHAHAHAAhjkshaKJdks

This is how I've chosen to spend my night.

So, this is my youth. This is what it's like.

Maybe I should do something about it. Maybe I should become a sailor. Like my dad. He used to be a sailor, he saw New York.

Do I look anything like James Dean?

I was never young. This idea of fun: cars, girls, saturday night, bottle of wine... to me, these things are morbid. I was always attracted to people with the same problems as me. It doesn't help when most of them are dead.

- Morrissey

Btw; I am Morrissey. I really am. There is no difference. Except hair colour.

Mentioned something about my plans to my parents.

They looked at me, and after 10 seconds my dad opened his mouth:

"You do realize that you're insane?"

I LOOK SO GOOD

AT THE MOMENT I LOVE LOVE LOVE MYSELF



BALLS, BALLS, BALLS, FUCKERS




Edit (two days later): When did I write this? Was it really me? What the shit?

Spending the night watching porn

It's funny that I actually know James Dean personally. I just spent 2 hours and 5 pages with him. He couldn't believe when I told him he was dead. Maybe he isn't.


To those who've heard about my death: it's not true. It never will be. I'm standing by your side. Just open the book.

Hello

Life is strange.

I'm figuring things out. It's all clear now.

My neck hurts.

I don't know. My nose is incredibly cute.

MÄ ALOIN DEITTIÄ TUIJOTTAA EI TULE TEEVEESTÄ MUUTAKAAN. Oh Gimmel. Oh 2002. Oh childhood.

Strange people (my mother's friends) entered our house and had dinner with us. It was very difficult for me to concentrate on the eating event, so at some point I noticed that I hadn't used my fork at all. I'd been eating like a pig all the time. Then I just kept it up, cause, well, why not?

It's interesting how little my parents tell about me to their acquaintances. They ask me "Do you have any hobbies?" and my mother says "No." It's almost like I'm some kind of family secret or something. I guess it's understandable. I mean there isn't that much to say about me. My parents don't even know how I spend my nights. They have no idea what I'm doing. I like that.

I'm eating vegan kebab at the moment. I fucking love eating. I love drinking too. Someday I'll buy a motorbike.

I'm still living the way I lived as an 11-year-old. I guess I'll never move out of this house.



Literature needs BALLS. Literature needs YOUTH.

So, if you have these things, start writing. Don't wait till you're 35 and "more mature" - ugh.

I've posted this one before (actually just 3 days ago) but I gotta do it again.


Because when I talk about revolution, this is what I mean:

BE a bisexual vegetarian weirdo with weird clothes and a strikingly red hair! FUCK YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


A lesson I learned five years ago. A lesson I'll never forget.

My future is bright.

Considering the fact that I have zero friends, zero lovers and zero phone numbers, no job and no education, I am actually very happy.

Just wait for me. Just wait.

On books and guns

I'm quickly becoming the protagonist of my third novel. (I actually think it's going to be the first one that I get published.) The name of the novel is... um... The Bodies. Or The Dead or something like that. The other two are called Flesh and The Losers. I started writing Flesh almost two years ago. I've had a crush on all the characters ever since. I don't know why, but when it comes to fictional individuals, I'm strangely (and proudly) bisexual.

(^ That song is fucking good, listen to it right now.)

I stopped writing Flesh four months ago. I needed a break. It's an extremely difficult book to write. It's a bit like Atlas Shrugged but it's for and about the good guys. It's so political and weird that I just really need to have fun for a while and write about simpler things like Marilyn Monroe and vaginas and guns and punk rocking 15-year-old girls.


The loser book is another headache. I don't know how to carry it out... It needs to be perfect. The idea is perfect. The plans are perfect. I just have great trouble trying to figure out how to actually write it.


All I know is I really love the people I've created. To me, they are real. They exist. They are my friends, I think about them almost 24/7.


The hero of Bodies is... me, I guess. All my protagonists are angry young men, but this guy is me. (His name is Tommi, or Tommyboy as James Dean calls him, while my name is      .) His life is only a bit different from mine. And now I see myself becoming him, starting to make plans, starting to think about maybe living in a flat exactly like his, doing exactly what he's doing and so on. So that maybe, maybe one night I might just go out for a walk and stumble upon Marilyn Monroe and James Dean.



(James Dean's face is perfect. Or was. Now it's just bones under the ground or I don't know.)

For my future fans reading this right now (your now) in 2018: I will write a book in English some day. I already know the name of it: Letters to Kip Kinkel.

Kip Kinkel: killed his parents, spent the night listening to a movie soundtrack and then went and shot 2 kids at his school. Failed to kill himself. (I'd do that too, but I like my parents.)

To be honest, I've planned out pretty much everything. I have a file in the depths of my computer called notes.docx. At the moment it contains drafts for 16 books. Not all of them are going to actually become books - I'm going to take the best of the ideas and turn them into international bestsellers.



I should go to bed. But it's so difficult. I have too much to do, too much to think about.




Lately humans have been more pleasant than usually. And when people are pleasant, I don't hate this species as deeply as normally, and when I don't hate this species, I am able to be relatively happy.



I've almost written 3 fucking books and I haven't even lost my virginity yet. In fact, I haven't even kissed anyone. I've just sat in my room with a radio, and a guitar that I have no idea how to play. + ridden public transportation sometimes.


I'm a very extraordinary 18-year-old. Most 18-year-olds are boring. I just wanna go and strangle them and eat them.

Not really. Or...?



Stop touching yourself.




By the way: this particular blog has zero comments. Yet I know you're there. So...




THIS is your moment.





Leave your comment below.

Life is a disappointment, I want my money back

Society... I am declaring war

The truth is, I rather get high alone than go down with you. Suck this, fuckers.

And the voice says: KILL

Dear friend,

I crown myself the greatest living mindfuck.

What a dull sentence. I'm tired of dull 'trendy' sentences - they are everywhere. Places like Tumbrl (or Tumblr, who knows, who cares) are made of those sentences, and hipsters EAT them to live.

I'm tired of hipsters. I'm tired of a lot of things.

I should sleep.

Yesterday, I was on a bus, dreaming, and then I noticed a girl sitting in front of me. I liked her neck. I wish I could have bitten it.

I wish someone bit my neck. I'm sure it would feel funny, and probably kind of orgastic as well.

Love always,
Garlie

I like Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban because it doesn't contain all that boring Voldemort crap. The Prisoner of Azkaban is about Remus Lupin, which means that it's about sex and homosexuality. And Snape is raging, which is erotic too.

Went out and rode my bike in furious rain. I've heard that you shouldn't bicycle under a thunderstorm - lightnings are interested in bikes and I am a man of implausible odds. But luckily I'm not that into safety or other useless stuff. So I just biked around and listened to Fleet Foxes and felt wet, numb, and nearly happy.

Nearly.

I wish I was socially capable. I wish I knew how to laugh at jokes that aren't funny. I wish I always knew what to say when people tell me things that don't mean a thing to me. I wish I was witty when my neighbours tell me trivial details about other neighbours.

When I talk to people, I very rarely have anything to say. It's simply because people are so incredibly boring. School, work, relationships - I just really don't care. I'm not interested in those things. I don't think that those things are important, usually. Pain is important. The universe is important. Cows are important, existence is important, love is important, death is important, war is important, anger is important, future is important, thinking is important, music is important. I wish people had something to say about things that matter.

Thankfully I don't usually have to talk to people at all.


('Important' - it starts to look and sound weird when you repeat it. Important. Important. Im-portant. Im-port-ant. Import-ant. Ant.)



There are over 10,000 species of ants. Fascinating. I like ants.

People are food not friends

Lifeguard, save me from life.

People, kiss me or die.

I was right. I'm taking a break from all this.

To thrive in death

This is not my generation.
This generation is a generation that has lived only in the era of selfishness. In the 60’s and 70’s young people were demanding freedom, justice, love and answers – all this generation demands is the right to download music for free. This is the generation that just simply doesn’t care. This is the Dead Generation.
To this society nothing is sacred. This society isn’t looking for something beautiful, something pure, something good, something intelligent, something sacred – all this society is looking for is a joke to put on the internet and laugh at for ten seconds.
This world has lost all rules, except one: everything must be killed. Everyone must have the right to touch and kill everything. This is the only human right this humanity truly believes in, so:
Jesus Christ is dead. Kindness is dead. Humanity is dead. Literature is dead. Compassion is dead. Bravery is dead. The planet is dead. People are dead.
These are facts that I need to accept; I need to accept them, but not completely – I need to accept them for now in order to fight them and change them. If I want to change this world I have to become a person who thrives in places full of death. Surrounded by death, I have to be able to stand up straight and turn darkness into light, bring the dying to life – first: literature, then: kindness, humanity, compassion, bravery, and then people and the planet, and possibly Jesus Christ if he wants to – one by one, I want to wake up the ones that deserve to be woken up, I want to open beautiful eyes and fill them with furious wisdom.
I may be losing my battles, and we may lose the fight we fight tomorrow, we may lose the fight we fight the day after tomorrow, but we are losers only for now. Someday, we will win.
What is dead will not be dead forever.





First, I really need to get drunk.

Bigcrotch strikes again

I'm so full of youth and wrath and inspiration, so full of zeal and lust and frustration, but for the moment all I can do is sit and walk and wait and ride public transportation.

One new exciting thing I've noticed is that now I'm constantly looking for a fight. I'm very aggressive. I stare at rude and annoying people. It's strange because I'm not an 'aggressive person'. Or am I? Maybe I've always been quite aggressive. I've always been aggressive but, at the same time, I've seemed extremely passive to other people. I don't know, the point is that I'm very hungry at the moment.

I should really take a break from all this. I should go and do normal things.

One night I was sitting on a swing in the darkness of this lovely little park and then I saw a girl. She was a paperboy, although she was a girl - anyway she had a cart full of newspapers. She didn't see me, and I thought that if I wasn't like this, I would go and talk to her and help her. I don't really like talking because I'm like this so unfortunately I can't just go and disturb working people.

Does the title have anything to do with this writing? No.

Thorn

And when you want to live
How do you start?
Where do you go?
Who do you need to know?

Boy least likely to

Waiting.

Thinking, walking, doing good things without anyone saying THANK YOU.

...

DEATH TO THE WITCH.

...

If I seem a little strange well that's because I am.

...

I want to be sexy.

I want you to look at me. I want you to want me. I want you to see my face.

But it's not the time yet.

The truth is that nobody knows my name. I don't exist in this society or in this neighbourhood. Nobody knows who I am or remembers me (except my mother). Or who knows - maybe someone remembers me? Maybe that strange girl who didn't talk at all but to whom I said three words and who made me want to become an old lesbian woman? Maybe that girl? Maybe not. But she was strange and beautiful. I loved her nearly two years ago. She had a peculiar voice, I loved her. I wish she'd understood, oh god, I loved her.

We are nameless faceless bastards before we become legends. Becoming a legend is easy if you have the face. I'm gonna hide mine, I have to, but just for a moment, you must wait for me, wait for me.

(I'm hungry all the time. So I'm eating night and day. [Night and day taste so good.] I love eating so so much. GOD I love eating. I - LOVE - EATING. It's my favourite pastime. Good night.)

In love with Jeanne

I have a strange song for you (who is the 'you'?) - it's strange because it kind of sounds like The Smiths but it's not - but anyway, you must listen to it while you read this little writing. Okay?

Okay so let's go:

I'm in love again.

I entered this elegant cinema today, this place called Orion, because I'm desperately trying to steal Morrissey's (and Antti Nylén's) elegant youth, and I saw this film called The Trial of Joan of Arc, and, well, there I was, sitting in the dark again, looking at the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, thinking:

Oh my god. Here we go again.

This is not the first time this happened to me. Actually, the exact same thing happened to me three years and three months ago. In the dark of a movie theatre I realized that the most beautiful of faces had suddenly turned everything around.

Three years ago the face looked like this and made me lose my mind for almost 18 months:

And now, three years later, the face looks like this:

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THAT? IS THIS LOVE??????????
I CAN LIVE AGAIN.
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So what I'm trying to say is that I'm in love with Jeanne d'Arc. I'm madly in love with her. I love everything that she was and everything that she did. This is crazy, but she was crazy too - she's the girl that I want, and now I found her, and I can breathe again.

Father,
Son,
and Jeanne of Arc.

I identify with her. I have my reasons.

I like this YouTube comment

bookshopaddict:

Peter Hook's story in "How Not To Run A Club" sums up Morrissey vs Joy Division. Rob Gretton said to Morrissey, "The trouble with you, Morrissey, is that you've never had the guts to kill yourself like Ian. You're f*cking jealous." Apparently Morrissey stormed off after Gretton said that.

18

I hate my life but I also kind of love it. The love/hate balance changes every day. I hate my life when I hate the world, this world in which my life happens, so when I see a vulgar hamburger commercial, or a YouTube commenter telling little singing girls to kill themselves, I sink and everything becomes black and grey and I lose my ability to breathe, and then I sleep for 10 hours and, perhaps, suddenly, the new day is something completely different, something breathtakingly beautiful, and suddenly I’m full of hope and excitement, full of trust – suddenly I know that my dreams will come true, I know it, I know it, and for that one day I love hating my life, but at the same time I know that the day will end, and sooner or later I see a hamburger commercial and I find myself in that huge disgusting arsehole again and then there’s absolutely nothing to love about hating my life.

The night comes and the night goes and it comes and it goes, comes and goes, comes and goes, please stop torturing me.

Being alone all the time isn’t healthy. It’s actually very dangerous. When you’re completely alone with your brutal ideas and unbearable lust, your brutal ideas can actually become something real – that’s what happened to all those kids who decided to kill their peers, that’s what happened to me. This is my brutal idea. I – have – no – plan – B. This room and these words are all that I have, and if this dream dies, I will die with it.

But it’s so difficult. I want to die.

No, no, no, I don’t want to die, I just want to be loved, I want someone to love me, I want someone to look at me, I want to give hope, hope, hope, I want to be important to someone, I want to cry, I want to laugh, I want to fly, but I need someone, I NEED A PARTNER IN CRIME, a partner in crime who understands me, who understands WHAT I COULD BE and nods with burning eyes when I tell them WHAT I WANT TO BE, I want you to follow me wherever I go, I want you to burn with me, I want to be something crucial to you, I want to be crucial, I want to live after death, I want to be the one to START A REBELLION, I want to reach all the clumsy depressed losers and weirdos in their dark rooms, I want to reach them and WAKE them and give them HOPE, I want to give them TRUST, I want to set them on FIRE, I want them to know that in the end the day will beat the night, that in the end the day wins, that in the end all the losers and weirdos and hopeless bitter unruly girls and hopeless bitter unruly boys, and suffering cows, and girls that are too loud and boys that are too quiet, and whales, and angry crazy people who dance alone in the dark wearing ugly clothes will win – that in the end WE will win.

So stop now. I give you this fire. I give you my hand, now grab it and never let go. We will win.