The other “Me”

The more I hang around the Academy of Art and it’s huge variety of artistic people, the more I realize that maybe this is not my space. Or at least not in this country. I’m not social, I don’t have pink hair or tattoos, or piercings. I don’t have anything in my looks that says that I’m an artist. But I’d rather get home early for the Academy than spend most of the time there, having fun, chatting and drinking and smoking god knows what. Not because I’m shy or unsocial, I’m just bored to death by such things. I’d rather draw at home than sit there and drink and talk about useless shit. But then again, if I don’t do that, it makes me miss out on a lot of stuff. 

I realized that in art, being social and knowing people is a lot more important than actually being a good artist yourself. I don;t like this fact, but that’s just how it is. And it makes me scared that I will never be able to succeed. It makes me very angry that I have spent most of my time sitting at home and doing what I have to do and enjoying it and working on my fantasy and drawing technique, while my friends who cant even draw a human figure are already running around on movie sets and meeting directors and artists.

Art is not my space. I love drawing, I love imagining, I love looking at it, I love feeling it, all kinds of art. I love making it, but it’s just not me. I am supposed to be an artist, but I’m not. Than what am I? An amateur? But how could I still be an amateur when I have spent so much time on my artistic self, I have lost so many things because of it. I don’t know about other artists, but I can never have both a social life and an artistic one. I have tried. There were times when I had excessive daydreaming, that’s when I drew the most, but at that time, I was very shy and socially awkward and wanted to get rid of this daydreaming which was already turning into a psychological condition. Then, I got rid of it. I had the biggest dream of studying at the Academy, and as I was about to enter, I lost my daydreaming. I was happy. I was social, I had friends, people liked me. I hung out in cafes, bars, got drunk, smokes, flirted and so on. Until I realized that I miss the old me. The one who actually felt like herself. The one who had tons of ideas come to her head without even wanting them to. Who didn’t have enough space in her mind to think about anything except artistry. 

I have mood swings from time to time. For example now, I have spent almost two weeks rarely getting out of the house and coming from University as early as I can. I might not be drawing, but at least I’m thinking, I have ideas in my head. My artistic me is happy, but the other me is depressed, because I can have only one thing out of this two, while others can have both and it’s killing me that you have to be annoying and super interactive !!

Obsession with The Amazing Spider-Man 2, Choricle and Kill Your Darlings

What connects these three films? Dane Dehaan! Seriously guys, Dane Dehaan is amazing. Put aside the fact that he is the new version of Leo, he is also much better than Leo. He, like Leo, has this childish appearance that can be really scary sometimes, and he is a great actor. But Leo was kind of self-important when he became famous, unlike Dane, who moved away from Los Angeles because he thinks it’s important to focus on his status as an actor, not as a celebrity. Yeah, I’ve done my research already.

The Amazing Spider-Man 2

I have known about the actor for a few months, from social networks and different sites and so on, but I never really saw his movies until yesterday. The reason I wanted to watch his movies was because he is insanely handsome and has magical (yes, magical) blue eyes. So I went to see spider-man yesterday for 4 reasons:

1. I love Spidey

2. I am in love (was in love) with Andrew Garfield.

3. Jamie Foxx plays the bad guy

4. And the last reason was to just check out these gorgeous, blue-eyed young man’s acting.

In the end, the only thing I cared about was Harry Osborn. I had totally forgotten about Jamie, and Andrew, and Spidey’s struggles. Dane stole the whole spotlight even from the main character. Every time he appeared, with his bangs gorgeously swished when he was furious, I started moaning. No seriously. Me and my friends moaned and screamed every time it was Dane’s screen time. His acting is so alienating, you just can’t look away. Even pronouncing his name sweeps the ladies off their feet!

This new Spidey movie was the only was that actually made the Georgian audience clap! and scream! And people didn’t stand up until the lights were on. It’s amazing. I loved the new Spider-man. It was emotional, the acting was amazing, the character development was really deep and well-though (something you don’t see often in movies based on comics), there were no dumb cliches and sentimental moments, and the graphics and filming made my heart jump!

Chronicle:

I watched Chronicle Today, had to hide it from my sister, because I wanted to watch the film alone and she gets crazy when I watch films without her. But I have this thing about watching movies alone: When I love an actor very much, or when I really want to watch a movie, I watch it alone, to experience it, so to speak. First thing I have to say is Dane Dehaan. I won’t bore you anymore with his amazing acting and blue eyes and childish face. I will say one thing – I just love when my favorite actor/actress plays a troubled teenager. I just love it.

But I have to admit, it isn’t only Dehaan that catches your eye in the film. There is also Alex Russel, who, surprisingly to me, is on the same level as Dehaan in this film. I don’t know what, but something about Russel and his character makes the movie very enjoyable. There are actors in movies who play well, but they just bore you. But Russel is definitely not among them.

The film, in short, is about 3 boys who find a strange cave where they gain telekinetic powers. Matt (the voice of reason in the gang) and Steve use it for fun and pleasure, while Andrew, a troubled teenager with family problems, starts using it on people and starts behaving violently. It is presented as found footage, from the perspective of various video recording devices. The film grabs you and it totally devours you. It very fast-paced, doesn’t bore you, is filmed very beautifully, with soft lighting, and the ending just makes you tear your hair out.

Here’s another photo of Dane’s gorgeousness:

 

Kill Your Darlings:

 

I have been waiting for this film ever since the last HP movie came out. Saying goodbye to Daniel Radcliffe as Harry potter and the whole Potter Universe in general was really hard, as a huge fan. The I heard about Darlings and was instantly excited. There were so many things that drew me to this film. The Beat Generation, the music, the writing, the booze, the artistic atmosphere, the filming, the script, the cast. There was also the fact that Daniel was experimenting and trying his acting by playing a homosexual. It all seemed so appealing. But I procrastinated watching it. Until it became more appealing yesterday (because of the obvious).

I am amazed at how Dehaan presents himself as a totally different character. He is like a different person in this film. The film is very interesting, catchy and beautiful. It’s very emotional, especially towards the ends and really plays with our nerves.

another photo of Dane’s gorgeous eyes from Kill Your Darlings:

 

What love about this actor, aside from his looks, is that he’s picky. He chooses the films he wants to be in very carefully and totally embraces all of his characters. I hope that he won’t be ruined by the now-corrupted Hollywood and will deliver other amazing performances. I say that in a few years, he will be legend. He is one of those one-of-a-kind phenomenons in American cinema that always manage to surprise us with their films and characters. His every movie is good and I hope he goes on that way.

Boredom Level 10000000…..

Something is happening to my Generation of 1994.  You know the The Who song, which is about finding your place in society, finding who you are and “getting around”, trying to do what you want without being a total outcast? While generations and generations of teens on the verge of adulthood have always tried to do exactly the same, my generation is totally deprived of these desires. These kids are on the verge of degradation. Despite the fact that my sister’s generation is only 2 years older, they totally different from us. They are more hardworking and friendly, they are more mature and sophisticated.

More and more kids my age are becoming a total disappointment to me, and I couldn’t understand why. I thought the fault was in me, that I thought wrong. That I was a boring, immature person. I don’t know if the definition of maturity has changed, or people have become dumb. People my age, students, now define maturity as smoking weed, going out at night, having sex, drinking and wearing makeup with high heels. Oh, and don’t forget about flirting with the other sex. That is a must! If this is society’s new meaning of “mature”, than I’d rather be a dumb, immature child my whole life. I don’t know how it is elsewhere, but this is how things are in Georgia.

Now, if the definition of maturity hasn’t changed, it means that my generation is totally hopeless. There is no real friendship. Guys constantly fight each other and compare their cars and money and iphones and girlfriends. Girls have 2 or 5 favourite girlfriends, like in Sex and the City, but they always talk stuff behind each other’s backs, so it’s not really SATC script, is it? I try to make it rasonable, these who friendship thing, or rather, the absence of one, but I just can’t. Most of my friends are hostile towards their friends because of envy over marriage, or boyfriends, or boyfriend’s material possessions. We are a very material-driven generation. The iphone is the definition of elite, a boyfriend with a car and a job is a good boyfriends, despite the relationship you have with him. Everything has become about showing off to others. You go to a party, instead of dancing, you take tons of selfies with friends, or solo, and check in at a club, while in reality, you didn’t have fun. Fun has become taking pictures. Fun has become talking about others. Fun doesn’t exist. People don’t have fun for fun, they have fun for showing off. Fuck me!

 The reasons I differ myself from my generation are obvious. For example, My older friend was shocked to see my girlfriends. He asked why I was still hanging out with them. He was shocked at how immature and stupid and childish they are, despite their boobs, and makeup, and expensive clothing. Another moment is that I rarely talk with them about social things. Like politics, or family problems, or religion and all that. I can’t talk about stuff like that. If I do, there are two types of people that respond:

1. The typical Georgian type that refuses do accept anything knew and not traditional, so talking to them about religion is useless.

2. The type that listens and listens and listens and when you stop talking, they change the subject. They don’t quarrel with you. They don’t even want to think about something that need brains.

So what can I do? I can’t talk to My Generation of material kids. They are boring, they don’t have any romanticism in them, they refuse to quarrel, they refuse to change the way they are. We are like the total opposite of The Baby Boom Generation, we are the (I have to make a very stupid and lame joke here, don’t blame me, I just liked the wordplay) The Baby Doom Generation.

Oh god, why?! Sex!

Excuse me for my choice of words, but there is no other word except for “obsessing” and “stalking” I could think of. 

What do we girls do when we have nothing to do? We stalk boys. I thought this activity was for teens only, but now that I think about it, more post-teen girls do it than teens. When I was a teen, I though liking boys was pathetic and stupid and way too girly, so I never ever had an obsession with a guy. Well, I never liked a guy when I was a teen! Except for musicians and actors. Now, when I have grown out of the age of low self-esteem and wannabee-ing all I can think about is men! 

After discovering the pleasures of making out and the likes of it, every boy I like is a potential sexual partner, and I don’t know if it’s good or not. I loved the me that wasn’t obsessing over boys, and I love the me that is confident in herself, but I don’t like being so obsessed with the other sex. 

Most of the guys I get obsessed with I the guys I don’t know, but have the potential to get to know them. I try to get as much information as I can about them and the funny thing is – I don’t want to date them or be their girlfriend, I just want to hang out with them and flirt. 

This whole thing is very confusing. Men and Women. It really is complicated, no matter how much we try to make it simple. I always denied the sexual part of myself, but that was before one guy totally opened my eyes to sexual desire and pleasure, and since then, I haven’t been able to close them! I thought it was cool and feministic that I didn’t give a fuck about losing my virginity. I never thought of losing it as a big deal, but I always thought that being 19 and not having any relationships with boys, of any kind, was kind of cool. I knew tons of girls who were over 20 and were still virgins and they were okay with that! But this past year, the more I started analyzing this girls, the more I realized that it was not totally okay. They can’t get a date, the only relationship they have with men is friendly, they live with their parents and spend most of their time talking to their friends about their friends’ boyfriends. They know something is wrong, but don’t want to admit that it’s the dating part. It’s the part of sex. They are not yet sexually awakened, and by sexually awakened, I don’t mean they aren’t virgins. I mean masturbating, and watching porn, and knowing that six isn’t just “in and out”. 

I wish I didn’t think about sex so much, but I can’t. 

Social Networking

I know, I know. This topic is already worn out, everybody knows that Facebook and Instagram and the likes of them are very harmful to our self-esteem, our productivity and so on and so on. I always knew it, but I was never able to accept it. Some of my friends deny that Facebook is in their way, that it’s addictive and sometimes they waste a lot of time surfing not through the internet in whole, but only through Facebook.

The reason I decided to talk about it is – I realized I am a Facebook junkie myself. Though lately I have been using it less often.

There are tons of memes, videos, jokes all throughout the internet and Facebook itself about people who are addicted to Facebook. Most of them are a about changing your profile picture five times a day, writing heart-warming or heart-breaking statuses. Some jokes are so true, you are actually scared. Like when somebody comments on your update and they don’t like it first before commenting and it is a total tragedy. The funny thing is, the people who make this jokes are actually the people who spend most of their time on the social network. Surely, you can’t know all the ups and downs of something unless you are a constant user yourself.

All this is sad, actually. Because human relationships and attitudes have become totally different. For me, in just 3 years time, talking on the phone was changed by chatting on Facebook. When somebody I like likes my picture I go crazy, since having your photo likes by your crush is like that person just confessed their love to you. If your crush comments, well that’s straight up marriage in a few more comments. What makes me angry is that we are so cool and so witty on Facebook,  but so awkward and shy in real life. I caneasily say it’s not about me, since I don’t hide my real persona behind social networks like so many of my friends do. But I do admit that I have the need (which I have been successfully trying to get rid of for the last few days) to post at least 1 update on Facebook, whether it’s music, or picture from some movie, or photos of me and my friends. But I never EVER write a status. That is just pathetic for me. So I can easily say that my addiction is mild. Mostly it harms my productivity (though it did harm my self-esteem, but come on! I grew out of it) because I refresh the news feed once every 2 minutes and do nothing but refresh the news feed. Then, if I find something appealing, or someone, I go through their timeline and that’s when my stalkering starts. Mostly I stalk my crush’s friends and exes. It’s kind of scary, really. When I find someone who has a close relationship with my crush, I start visiting their timeline everyday, for now reason. I don’t do it to see the news about my crush, then why do I do it? That’s scary. That is straight out STALKING. So I’m trying to stop that.

I might not be so annoying on Facebook (I guess I only annoy myself) and I don’t really care about other people on my newsfeed, But what  I do hate, and mentioned earlier about the changed is relationships, is my friends’ attitudes towards taking photos. They take photos only to put them up on Facebook! I take photos to have memories of the day. I bought a new camera recently, and turned into a volunteering photographer in no time. They ask me to take pictures of them, and have poses! They know which pose to sit or stand in, or what face to have, so that they look incredibly glamorous in every photo. They delete any picture that is not glamorous, but is just funny or stupid. They are angry at me when I tag them in a photo that is not gorgeous, but is fun and actually has a story behind it. My friend spends most of her time taking selfies. I don’t really care, she’s beautiful and she wants to show of her new makeup, but she takes selfies even on a birthday! Or when we are hanging out at my place. We, four girls, are at my house, and 3 of them spent their time taking photos to put up on Facebook to show how much fun they are having (when actually, all they did was take photos). That is degradation of the human race. That is annoying, that is real addiction. That proves that most girls care about how they look , not who they are. And Facebook proves it!

Me, Frankie and Andy

I have this image of myself as a tomboy who wears high collared blue coats with high pockets and high wasted jeans with the cuffs pulled up to show the black working boots with yellow laces. I have a short “Beatles Haircut” and the checkered blouses show from inside my coat. I walk the walk and talk the talk. I’m not a girl and I’m not a boy. I walk with my head high and a cigarette between my lips and behind me there is a group of identically dressed young men. Some of them were polished shoes instead of working boots. Some have longer coats than others, some wear black gloves, some wear glasses, but in total, we all want the same thing. We like fooling around, gambling, smoking, listening to music, driving, swearing, getting into fights and stealing. We are like this big gang where nobody cares about me being a girl. Nobody treats me differently, both in a bad or in a good way. I’m a part of them and it doesn’t matter what my gender is. I don’t really care too. Even our enemy gangs don’t care. nobody even raises the subject.

I’m finally where I want to be. In a place, with people, where nobody talks about makeup and gender equality, where everyone is equal, where love is what it is and there are no rules. There is no marriage and there are no great love stories. Here are only people who do what they do. Friends love each other and are ready to stand up for each other, to stand up for their views and feelings. Nobody judges you. The only problem is the money, gambling and enemy gangs. Despite it all being a problem, we can’t do without it. We love it and we love fighting.

I am kind of crazy, really, as this character. Her name is either Frankie or Andy. But Andy was different, she was before I cut my hair short. No it’s Frankie. The alter ego Frankie.

Frankie is everything I want to be. Though it’s not something a normal person to wish for. Frankie is not a hot long-haired babe, she’s not a beautiful short-haired mystery-girl, she’s not a smart successful nerd, she’s not an artsy colorful painter. Frankie is cool, short-tempered and relaxed at the same time. She doesn’t get worried easily, but she gets angry easily. She hates pretentious people, pedantic people, hypocrite people, people who spent most of their time pampering themselves to look good. Frankie hangs out with a bunch of guys who are like a gang. The Gang hangs out at pubs and basements. For them, hanging out is: gambling, betting, smoking, smoking weed, getting into small fights, stealing stuff from stores, swearing and randomly shouting out to people. They are not concerned about relationships and education. They go to University or work as normal people, they just don’t attract attention and just do what they like to do. They don’t have relationships, but those who do, make sure it doesn’t get in the way of The Gang. Frankie gets the same treatment as every guy in the Gang.

It’s awesome to be like that. I wish I was like that. I like Frankie more that Andy, though Andy has more chances of getting a good fuck than Frankie. Frankie is a tomboy. Andy is too, but she has middle-cut hair with bands, long lashes, a straight nose. She is softer and more quiet and shy. Andy IS strong, but not as strong as Frankie. Though I think Andy feels more responsible for her actions and is more careful than Frankie.  The thing is, Andy is kinda like me, and Frankie is kinda like me. Frankie looks more like me that Andy. I created Andy as a more beautiful version of myself, while Frankie is simply a thinner version of myself. (not like I was fat, but!) Frankie is like me in not caring, swearing, acting like a boy. But unlike me, she is like that and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t feel like being like that is wrong. I guess she’s like that because she has found people who accept her, while nobody accepts me in real life as a Frankie. Andy is like me because of her soft and forgiving nature. Though she too does get angry like me, she doesn’t show it. While Frankie is all about showing how angry she is.

To say the truth, I’m confused by all this. Frankie, Andy. These two really do feel like me. I love Frankie more since she’s new, but Andy is still here. I created her through many many stories and after creating all this stories, I realized she was in all of them, playing different people, but in whole, she was always the same person. The imitation of the same person over and over again. She fit into every story, so I fit her in. But now I’m tired of her, and I wanted change, so here came Frankie, after years of waiting and working on myself. Frankie is a more precise image of me, I guess. People love Frankie more, while Andy was a huge thing in the matter of being loved by males. Frankie is loved too, but for being the way she used to be. Old Frankie was like Andy.

Now I get it. Frankie didn’t just come out of nowhere. Frankie is the continuation of Andy. I always ended Andy’s stories when Andy got cooler and stronger. Now we have Frankie – The Andy that grew up and said “fuck it” and started doing things her way.

Fisherman

The little bloat slowly appeared on the horizon. The air was heavy and foggy, the rain was dripping and the sun was setting. The clouds distand white clouds had an orange glow. Far away, beyond the horizon, the weather was charming.

The man on the boat was visible now. He was wearing a white shirt, which was already greenish brown from all the fish and dirt. His favorite hat was sitting ajar on the top of his grizzled head. Jack was slowly rowing, not minding the rain which was becoming more and more violent. The sun had already set when he reached the small town port. Jack parked the boat on his favorite spot and tied it to the wooden column. The he preceeded to unloading the boat. Not like there was much to unload. There were no signs of fish the whole day, so Jack took his fishing equipment, including a small brown box he was always carrying around, just in case. Holding all this in his hands, he then realized that it was raining, so he put them down again, put on his worn out coat which was hidden in a secret compartment, not to get wet, and put it on. The hat was soaked with rain, but Jack didn’t mind. He had a distant feeling that something had changed, but he couldn’t understand – was it him? Or had something around him changed? But how could everything change in one short day?

As he said goodnight to the janitor, who was snoaring heavily, Jack thought of his wife. What will she say when she sees that her husband hasn’t brought back any food, though he promised he wouldn’t leave them hungry for yet another day. They had bread and cheese, but the kids wanted something to satisfy their childish food craving. They wanted real food.

Jack walked slowly. He was strolling. He wasn’t ready to face his wife. He loved her, but he was started to feel afraid of her. Afraid of the image of himself he saw in her eyes. The image of a poor, worn out man, who had lost his price and pride.

Halfway through the road to his house, he discovered in himself a strange excitement. The excitement he had missed so greatly – the excitement of strolling in the rain. Something so simple, yet so inspirational for a person like Jack.

He smiled slightly and went on. As he saw the door of his house, so identical to all the other doors in a long row, yet so familiar he could find it even when blindfolded. The lights of his house were out, so he decided to sneak in. But he had no key. He sighed, stood in front of the dark wooden door for a few minutes, and touched the handle. The door opened. His was was a smart girl, she knew he would be late, and that he would forget the key, so she left the door open and went to sleep.Yet again, his wife outsmarted him. Before Jack left the house in the morning, as she was ironing the children’s shirts, she told him it was a bad day to go out, that there would be no fish so maybe Jack could buy it instead of catching it. They had to have a little money saved up.  But Jack refused. He knew the weather was was going to be bad, but he was determined to catch the fish. Besides, their “just in case” money was no longer. He had to pay a debt he was very ashamed of, so it was gone, but the wife knew nothing.

Jack silently put the equipment on the floor, put the soaked hat on the coathanger, took of his coat and hanged it as well. The small box was still in his hands. He looked up the stairs. There was no noise. His wife and children were asleep, but he wasn’t in the mood of sleep.

Jack tiptoed to a small room which was adjacent to the living room. The living room was cluttered with toys and clothes, so he had to be careful not to step on anything and make noise.

He went into the room. The room which used to be his cabinet. It still was, but he didn’t use it a lot. The writing table, a lamp, a bookcase and a chair. It was still there, unmoved for years. But the room now was filled with used and unneeded things. Old oil lamps, a broken television, old toys and so on. Jack moved away a broken chair and sat on his good chair. He put the box on the table, next to an open notebook. The notebook was blank. It was new, as was the pen and ink next to it. There weren’t new, but he bought them years ago and never once used them. The pen was the last thing he bought exquisitely for himself.

Jack lit a cigarette and sat in silence. There was only the sound of rain dripping on the concrete outside. The windows were blurred from the raindrops, so there wasn’t much to see outside, but still Jack’s stare was firm on the windows.

He remembered. Remembered how he used to love the rain because he took up fishing. Walking in the rain was his favorite thing to do when he wanted something to inspire him. It was during rain that he had written his best essays and short stories. Maybe it was because everything is calmer in the rain. There are no people outside, like that very night. The streets are empty and silent. It silence of the dripping rain is overwhelming.

But Jack couldn’t write any more. His wife was against it. She said it wouldn’t bring enough money into the house, especially when she was pregnant with the second child. Jack knew she was right. His wife, too, had dreams and goals, but not everything is possible in a world were getting a job is as hard for a young man as it would be for an old hag. So Jack gave up writing. He didn’t blame anyone for this loss, only the world. He started fishing for food and money. At first it wasn’t easy, but the he became better and better. Fishing was natural to him now. If he called himself a writer before, now he called himself a fisherman. But that night, he was a writer again. Something had clicked in him. He had seen the rain many times. IT had rained many times when he was out in the sea fishing, but never once had he felt so strange and good.

Jack lit out a cigarette and looked at blank page of his pen. It looked so seducing, so forbidden. He felt like if he touched it, it would forever change the way things were. The way he had gotten used to life. The sound of rain, the sleeping wife and children upstairs, the provoking thoughts in his head made him vulnerable. For a long time Jack knew he missed something. This something used to fill his life before. How had he forgotten. How could he not think about it every day.

-It is never too late – Jack told himself and picked up the pen.

Marlen is sweeping the floor with an old, frizzy broom. I’m sitting on the couch made of wooden planks and blankets, with two stools underneath standing as feet. The smell and smoke of yellow Camels fills the air and makes it look thick and dustier than usual. I look up to the skylight and see small sun rays trying to get through the thick blurred glass. The light in the room is the same as always – the blurred rays on the dusty floor and shadows in the corners of the room. Sometimes it gets hard to tell the weather while sitting in this dusty room, since there are no real windows and the door is always closed. Plus, the building itself never get sunlight straight, so it always looks cold and dark inside.

Marlen is sweeping and sweeping and as my cigarette ash drops on the floor, I watch her in total silence. I watch as the dust spins round and round as she sweeps around it, beginning to look like a small tornado. I think of the world. The world as this garbage Marlen is trying to get rid of. There are small pencil, the ones that are too small to hold between your fingers, cigarettes butts and ashes, different colored  clips, bottle heads, lighters, tiny scratches of paper, packets of single-use coffee, teabags… Everything we ever used in this room is now lying on the floor and my friend is trying to get rid of them. This is one of those moments where you start thinking about your life and what to do with it, what to do with yourself and why things have become this way. You know that these thoughts are just for a moment, everything will be the way it was before, but you hope it won’t. You sit there, frozen to the couch and look at something so remotely ordinary  and you are scared of what will happen the second you move, or even shift you leg.

I wait for my senses to get me back to normal. They slowly do.

I hate Marlen. I always hated her. She’s like so many of my friends who I accidentally befriended. Through talks about music, taste, movies, food and all. I know too many people who are like that, I should get rid of them, I know.

Marlen and I used to talk so much. About Hemingway, Pink Floyd, Guy Ritchie, Bregovic, Hollywood, Independent films, trash movies. We could talk about anything. Religion. Family. Marriage. Friends. Art. University. Everything but sex. She is afraid of sex. She starts screaming when she hears the word, but when it comes to erotica in art, she’s all for it. She’s an art hypocrite. She hates something, but she loves it in art. She hates the color pink, but she uses in the most in her oils. I hate her for that. People don’t notice small details like that, but I do, that’s why I hate her, and that’s why I hate people. They don’t notice everything I do and they blindly believe everything they see, everything the people want other people to see in them.

I haven’t talked to Marlen for months. I don’t really want to, not like she asked me to. She annoys me with her innocence and childish behaviour. She’s dumb and totally not ready for this world. This cruel world, as people say. She’s too innocent for it, too soft, too fragile. But I don’t know anymore. Maybe she’s faking it. Maybe I think she’s faking it because I’m jealous of her imagination and her artistic nature. The way she carries herself with her long red hair, like a fairy. The way she hates herself and thinks she’s not worth anything. The way boys always like her, talk to her, and nobody pays attention to me. The way she is 2 heads higher than me which makes me feel like a dwarf. I hate her for sitting on her knees like a fairy and picking up the stuff that might actually come in need from the dusty garbage on the floor, not giving a fuck about dirtying her hands a clothes. She’s an artist. She doesn’t care about dirt.

I’m tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of analyzing everything and everyone but still my brain does it for me everytime! I’m tired of people asking why I’m not talking so much anymore. I’m tired of not having a reason for not talking. I’m tired of talking to everyone, tired of people. Tired of their problems, their happiness, their friends and boyfriends. Their disfunctional and functional families. I want something for myself. Want to feel like a character, not a spectator. There are two roles in life – The main part, and the supporting -The one that throws in witty comments in a few scenes and then never appears again. The one that spends the whole movie doing everything for the main character, but gets nothing in return. Because the supporting character doesn’t do it for her benefit, she does it for her friend and her happiness. Because the supporting character is a fucking saint. Yes, I’m good at sarcasm, cynicism, irony and all.

I’m tired of my cynicism. I want to trust people, I want to believe, love their flaws. But I can’t.

I put out my cigarette just as Marlen tries to empty the ashtray. We exchange slight smiles. Mine is bitter. Hers is sweet.

Bitter. Bitter. Bitter.

Why won’t she talk to me? Does she hate me? Does she know I hate her? I hate the mystery of her? Maybe she’s just too much into her work – cleaning out the room, as I sit there like an empress on the throne, not bothering to move my ass even a little bit as she triess to sweep around the couch. It’s nothing. She won’t say anything anyway, she’s too much of a coward.

I think about lighting another cigarette just as Marlen ties the garbage packet and throws it in the corner. She swipes her long hair from her face and looks around for a place to sit. I don’t move an inch. She sees a small stool under the low table and puts in to the wall. She sits on it and leans on the wall painted with figures of Jesus and his other Saints. I watch her slow, elegant fingers light a cigarette and put it into her lips. No wonder boys jack off to her.

The cigarette butt is in the newly emptied ashtray.

-So what have you been up to? Sorry we couldn’t have a chance to talk like we used to. – She says in her waiflike quiet voice.

-Nothing much, you? – I say, smiling at her.

-Same here. Hey I noticed you haven’t been yourself lately, too quiet. Is something wrong?

I don’t want to answer the question. But I do.

-Well, nothing much, just tired and sleepy, you know me, I’ll get better.

-Okay… – After a long pause she says something I have been dreading. Something that will bring me back to reality and make the bitterness of the last 20 minutes go away. – You know, yesterday I watched this awesome movie!

Boring Students VS Interesting Students

In Tbilisi, every state University has its “student type”. I know almost every one of those types. There are many kinds and sub-kinds and so on, but right now, I wanna focus on one thing: the boring students.

For example, Tbilisi State University is the largest one in the country and has a huge diversity of different types of people. The cool ones, the sporty ones, the girly ones, the idiots, the rich kids, the poor kids, the village kids, the foreigners and so on. But the people there are in no way boring. They have fun in their own ways.

The students of Ilia State University are downright losers. They are the left overs of the TSU.

The boring ones are the students of the Tbilisi State Medical University. They are the ones who refuse to “grow up” and have fun in the courtyard by playing childish games like the foot stomping one. They buy one bar of chocolate for 6 people and share it between the lectures. They take pictures of the skulls and bones in the halls of the University (it’s like taking a picture of a drawing in the academy of arts). They make lame jokes that only they understand. Jokes about chemical reactions and biological stuff. They try to seem more intelligent, since they are future doctors after all, but they just look lame. Just because they know the names of all the organs in the human body, doesn’t mean they are more intelligent than any other student in the Academy.

What bothers me, is that we “artsy” people who study in the Academy have the reputation of dumb, uneducated people. While some of us are a lot smarter that the future medics or sociologists. Why does everyone joke at the stereotype of artists being dumb, but nobody jokes at the stereotypes of medic being smart? Everyone know that Art Academy students aren’t dumb, but the stereotype of artists being stupid plays a bigger role. It’s the same with other professions. Everyone knows that not all Medical students are smart, but the stereotype of them being smart plays a bigger role, but still, nobody jokes about them. There is no joke of medics seeming  intelligent and in reality, being dumb.

I hate that. The Academy of Arts may be a place where there are a lot of posers, but at least the people there are not boring. Even the posers don’t bother that much, since they are interesting to analyze and look into. People in the Academy don’t try to look like the mass. I admit, there are a lot of people with forced “originality” and “avant-gardeness” but still, there are many who are really that way. Just because I’m an artist doesn’t mean I’m not intelligent. On the contrary, you can’t be a good artist and have a creative mind if you are not intelligent.

 

 

Back into Teens

Analyzing people and their behaviour has become one of my favorite things to do, and it has taught me a lot. It kind of sucks to analyze everything others do, everything that concerns you, because you start seeing all the tiny cracks and they slowly become bigger and bigger and they end up being the only thing you see when you look at a person.

Another thing I realized is that there comes a time, when you are about to step into the adult world, step into the 20s, when you start having nostalgia. When people around you start changing, and you think you are the only one who has stayed the same. I have analyzed this over and over again, and yes, I have gone through changes, but the changes everyone goes through during the end of the teenage years. When you are a teen, everything and everyone is annoying and irritating and you just want to run away from home and you are angry at the world. I didn’t have this teenage angst thing. My teenage angst started now, at 19 years old. The thing is, some people grow up when they step into 20s, and some people simply change from bad to worse, thinking that this is the very essence of growing up. Like my friends.

Ah… My friends. I have had been through so many feuds and wars and quarrels and conversations and negotiations with them. But nothing ever works out. Sometimes, I am in love with those 4 girls, but most of the time I just hate them. Especially lately, when they have been through this extremes make overs. One has become a total bimbo, the other has become a sentimental bitch ever since getting a boyfriend, one got married and is pregnant and I see her only once a month, and one came back from another country. I was never really huge friends with her, but she’s okay. She’s okay with being who she is, being laughed at for wearing hills at trips to the countryside and being totally dumb.

I could talk about them forever. How they make me feel like a terrible person, how they. instead of boosting my self-confidence, actually lower it. They think that growing up is wearing makeup, wearing hills, going out to clubs, getting a boyfriend, flirting. I hate flirting, I hate makeup, I hate skirts, and I hate clubs. I love ambient, trip-hop, rock and post-rock, I love playing cards while listening to music, smoking, drinking some vodka with friends. I love talking and making jokes when with friends, not gossiping and talking about guys and other people and their relationships. I’m sure that my friends are even surprised that a guy could like me. I have short hair, I swear sometimes, I make dirty jokes… It doesn’t fit their image. It doesn’t fit my friend’s boyfriend, who think that because her girlfriend is a happy-go-lucky nice girl, every girl should be like her.

Well, I shouldn’t go too far now. What makes me pissed is that all these years, ever since I have known them, I have been trying to find myself. Yeah, find myself, like they do in films. I have a hard time doing that. Having friends in 8th grade was a huge achievement for me. I was shy, my confidence was below zero, I hated myself, I was ashamed of my family, of what I wore, what I listened to. I was ashamed of the fact that I loved animes. The funny thing is, that people who laughed at me, now listen to the music I listened to back then, they watch japanese cartoons. In 8th grade, I had friends who invited me to their homes. I thought they were above. I had an extreme inferiority complex. Those girls were skinny, tall, beautiful (though now that I look at it, we were all the same), they knew were they stood, (at least I thought so, now I realize that they were posers, like every teenager was back then). I thought I was a total shit. No guy would ever like me. Well, it was hell. Till 12th grade. When I realized this couldn’t go on. My friends would hang out without me, they would gossip about me. So I said, fuck it! I’m gonna be myself. I’m gonna be what I like to be. I don’t know how it happened, but the anger worked. I would stand up to my mom when she wouldn’t let me out, I would tell my friends if I was angry at them and when they were being assholes, I would tell them they were being assholes.

But, of course, nobody liked the person I had become – me. Straightforward, free of other people’s thoughts, funny and carefree. People started disliking the fact that I have a voice, I can say no, I can be angry and not talk to them for days. They started disliking the fact that I have more freedom of thought then them, that I know what I’m good at and can talk about it freely. They don’t like it. I’m not shy at all now, I know where I stand in society, I know who is better or worse then me and my friends hate that. They want to be back to shy kid I was. Despite the fact that I’m the one who always makes plans, who always says “let’s go out”, who says jokes and makes them laugh, they still don’t respect me as much as they should. I’m like a clown. When I have feelings, they hate it. They think if they shoot me right into the heart, I won’t feel it. Just because I always hated showing too much emotions. It’s not necessary. Sometimes I might feel bad, but why should I make others feel bad about it? Why should I complain, especially if I know that nobody can help me and I can be my own saviour?

This sucks. People have totally lost it around me. Everybody wants to be something. Every girl around me wants a boy’s attention, they want photos on facebook, they want to meet a lot of people. Nobody wants the good old friendship anymore. That’s why nostalgia kicks in at this moment. Sometimes I want to cry because of extreme nostalgia. I miss the old times so bad. But come to think of it, what old times? The times when I was a nobody? When I had no voice? Hell no. I don’t miss the old times. I just wish things had gone differently so I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit now. None of the friends I have feel like actual friends. Not because “nobody understands me” or something, but because every friend I have has totally different views and needs from me. It’s hard you know, having friends. It’s hard to keep them and it’s hard to know who is a friend and who is not.