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I tell daniel to do the washing while i'm gone, it's an order. This elates them in a perverse way only because it's far removed from how we usually act toward one another. we are larping a straight het couple whenever i work. i don't even care about having clean anything. but barking the order gives me a sense of agency as I take the U7 to yorkstrasse and change to the s1 to shonholz to work on sanding plaster moulds for 8 hours. ugly masks made of rich peoples faces from the art world i don't know or care about. my coffee gets covered in plaster. i drink it but throw away the last drop as if to convince my self i didn't drink all that plaster. I despise the work of the woman i work for, she has the tenacity to make it big in art with what I perceive as little personality that infuriates me. I'm sculpting, sanding and filling plaster moods that will become silicon abstract faces of rich art dealers and people buyers. It's shameful. her work doesn't critic the rich or even take the interesting twist to celebrate them. I refuse that reading because I came up with that theory and she isn't capable of affinities just vague conceptions. I finished the book, I didn’t want to go on another day without it’s conclusion. I had a hunger but tiredness was just as hungry. I decide a sandwich will satisfy me into a stronger sleep. It also felt like something the protagonist of a film would do. I run into Hanne and her father and share some light German conversation while making my butter and homous pepper brotchen. I expect the meal to satiate an estetic hunger I eat it too quickly so quick it disappoints me, it leaves me without a prop. I arch my back like a cat, allowing my pulling muscles to string my eyes into the destiny of new objectives. I have my tote at the foot of my bed, where I land my stretch. Where the hair is bare my tongue will go, a memory of Man’s voice jumps into my mind. My phone. I avoid you so strongly but clearly angels want us to return. I left my phone in the kitchen in my left jacket pocket. Now what, was it all in vain. My mind speaks to me like a novel and I forget that books are written through thought and I have so many of those in every which way. Mostly my thoughts are concise and abichorary like. My general speech is incongruous and mumbled. No one in this city understands my docile accent behind my insecure eyes. It’s common in terms of how I commnitate verbally. So now I’m catching the words instead of loosing them.
Hey how are you 2 going?

We’re still at the Tanya Leighton gallery. Do you want to meet us here or do you feel like having a drink somewhere? X
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i love the name Tanya
i confess i got dinner and i'm going home
lol
so tired
Yeah I want to hear her introduce herself
What a name
That’s cool let’s all have a drink soon then
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Did you finish the masks?
1:18 PM
def pls
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i did as much as i could witht he masks!!!

Haha so I’m guessing that’s a no
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hahaha
i left the final stage of casting them in silicone to the other techs
they may ask me back
im now spending the day desperately looking for a new sublet
Well that will be good as a side hustle

Damn if I hear of anything I will let you know
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3:32 PM

When do you need a place?
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from end of this month
thank you!
i might make a post now, but they generally dont go far
did u get a place

Taylor is away oct 10 - 31 and has just told me they want to fill their room
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oh tru!
that could be good but id need a palce to stay for 10 days in oct

I know it’s not long term and yeah it’s not the start of the month
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thanks for nothign Carrie!

I know. What a mole
haha
the biggest
was last night fun?
I was so tired, just ate some chips and went home
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Moving o/s is intense isn’t it

So many decisions!
so intense!
suddenly your the protagonist of this weird expat fanatsy
its exhausting
exciting tho
we are pupetually in barbaric times because the present is the past and the bast is barbaric always in the eyes of the future.
We sat adjacent eachother on the ubahn. I was entertaining dan with memories of a chinese fast food chain in melbourne China Town or maybe it was China City or China Bar when a man
i'm not funny unless there's a mic in my face
there always is and always something to know
they call me
patti smith
neu cause i'm a white androgynous enby asexual poet who fucks gay guys and says the n word... a lot
i got my visa. and staring into dan's glasses i cachet my own my reflection in their ray ban's and linger on it not out of vanity but because i'd never seen myself through their eyes and how loving my own stare can be. entranced i drip tahini juice from the container of felafels all over my self and dan was so revolted they move out of my focus
for a moment i felt like i was living in a time, not the post acoclyps of a past
i actually quite like making mistakes. just i like making them in private. in private dropping a glass cup is a monumental event of poetic significance. in front of someone else it's met with the shrill cries of another's amusement
there is no evidence of serif in your tone only hollow baritone that punches at my face straight through the news paper u coming ally hide behind to escape my pursuit of finer real details, cowered. some people know me so well i can feel my teethe falling out of my face. like you. your animimalism, my physical form is a pile up on a highway. i'm so aware of my face spasms i can float above my self and i can see my veins flowing useless crap and my nose hairs are are visible, i'm horsed faced the ugliest and the ugly parts of my self that i can mask with my confidence and cavalry is broken down. they can smell my breath and laser in on the yellow teethe because their bored eyes require new spots to focus on as i repeat wasted witisisms i could be using on new prey. i'm afraid of making new friends but i crave rooms of unfamiliar characters. i think it's healthy to be like me. i'd die in a village, i need to elesticate my identity to stretch it to new lengths so the band pulls to snapping point like a stretched ass hole.
