Now where's the pink paint? Let's fuck this white canvas up a bit!

I like writing about things that have never happened to me. I like to imagine what it would be like to have them happening to me. I sometimes cry because I know that it is merely fiction that I write, and life isn’t really a fairytale. It is a tale, indeed, but I don’t know what kind of tale. I hate to admit it, but I think I’d have to agree on Macbeth’s phrases:

“Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing! Signifying… Nothing.”

Sometimes I wonder what I will be remembered as. The random girl? The girl that talked to strangers? The girl with the big nose and a space between her two front-teeth? The girl next door? The exception? The caring one? The jealous one? I don’t know. I don’t even know how I’d like to be remembered. Of course it is nice if you’re remembered for who you were, not for what you looked like. But is this realistic? People don’t really know you. I know that, because they don’t know me either,- and I don’t know anyone myself. Who we are, are little cities inside our minds. We are our own architects and we have, subconsciously, chosen to become who we are. External factors helped us in becoming who we are nowadays, but our actions are chosen by ourselves. Maybe the people around us helped us in designing the cities in our heads, but we built them ourselves. We changed what we wanted to change and we have chosen the colours we painted our walls with. Spectators do not know what our cities look like, they can only think they know. They see us walking through our own streets, living lives inside of ourselves. They have to guess what we are seeing: the colours, the shapes, the weather… Sometimes they may be right, most times they’re really not. Sometimes we try to explain, but never will they see. Never will they understand; never will they know.
This is one of the reasons why I like writing so much. Or why I used to like writing so much. It’s the feeling of being in total control of your life and to let people think they know you. When I write in the 1st person, people immediately think I am writing about myself, about something that has happened to me in real life. People think I am just re-telling a situation, whereas I am only building up the city in my head when I'm telling a story. I hardly ever write about myself. I have noticed that as soon as people start to think they know you, they couldn’t be more wrong. That is why Greg scared me with his words, telling me I’m a scared person. He is one of those exceptions you might only run into once. On the other hand, I might as well write about myself and publicise the stuff, because people get the wrong impression of me anyway.

Considering the fact I'm sick at home and didn't even go to school today (I always go to school), I might write another story. The first one this year. It's about time.

Let's finish with another piece of Pierre Balmain.
And one of the best dresses in history. And in the future. I wish I knew the guy. Where he gets his inspiration from.. Is a mystery. Although I must say that the city of Paris isn't that unusual when it comes to arousing inspiration and ideas for a reason....
Love Pierre.