Locks. Long, black locks.

I have pretty much the same convo with people these days about finding a job. With people I met in Hong Kong, with my old class and my old class teacher last night at dinner, with other people on the internet. It actually does not matter whom. Those conversations are majorly about me whining that people discriminate my long hair and stare at me and don't hire me because a) I look like a bad person; b) I look like a bum; or, c) I scare customers away (in case of a shop). Outcomes are nearly always people trying to convince me tying up my hair or simply cut it, just to compromise. And I'll be an stubborn childish ass and say 'if they don't take me as I am, I wouldn't want to work there either', and annoy everyone.

Isn't it funny? Do you guys talk to yourselves? Has there been an occasion that you cannot recognize yourself, or surprised by your reply to your own question when you're having a little intellegent chat with yourself? Or has there been at least once that when you ask yourself questions, you don't know how you yourself would (want to) answer?

Maybe it's time to go through a self-dissection session. I am a stubborn, childish, possessive and self-proclaimed different person. From that day, when I discovered that one can have a mind of his own, follow his own heart rather than other people's opinion, that I don't HAVE TO live in crowds, from that day on, I loathe beings that are 'everyone' (those who have seen my individual project back in Flekkeland should know a bit 'bout it). But recently I am half forced by boredom, half by the reality, into the reality itself. I actually have to reach out and finger-tip the real world, the hot, dirty, slimey colony of mindless drones. Lots have told me in order to survive, one has to compromise in a way or another. Nearly everyone has told me making compromises, even a little bit, is neccessary. Is it? To compromise, or not to compromise, that is the question. Would there be one day that I finally give up and cut my hair short and dress up like a dork going to interviews, and suddenly both angels from heaven, demons from hell and my other self from the blue cocoon all emerge to this inferno of civilization and all cry, 'hold, hold!' and save me from becoming the fallen one, more damned than the damned?

But hey, I'm sure there must be some people who would not mind a bite of a bummy looking lady-boy when the wolves are howling. So what the hell am I worring about?

Hell, maybe.

My personal hell. The prison I have build for myself. Nah, what prison? Now don't try to make yourself like the Pink guy in the Wall. Well then, after some confessions about compromising to fit in, maybe I should as well bitch about my own possessive tendency. Actually there's not much to say. Lacking of close relationships with other mutated chimpanzees during the early stage of my life can be the ultimate scapegoat. Heck, my childhood is not even that bad- just that I don't remember most of it. Damn Russians and Finns, I know you guys melted my memory butter serectly. So just to make everyone tell me that I am all fine and hot and attractive, the standard complaint of myself being insecure and 'easy-to-trust-people-about-everything-else-but-anything-that-might-
require-my-opening-of-the-blue-cocoon' just have to be done. I can give a guy whom I've never met before (and actually obviously lying) 60 dollars after listening to some weird lies, just to help him to 'pay for [his] extra luggage and get on this damn flight', or well, to 'make a friend for life 'cross the sea in London'.

But yet I am not considered as the one who helps everyone, and of course not the one who's always being exploited- I'm not always helping people anyway. Cause I'm not 'the nice guy', at most I'm just 'the weird guy', which I actually do enjoy being more. There are always better people around, this I started to understand very soon, very soon after I left Hong Kong. Just about in everything. In talking, in studying, in being helpful, in being nice, in being weird... wait, not this one, in eating eggs, in knitting, in hopping 100 times consecutively, in day dreaming, in turning door knobs, in opening soda cans, in mixing oil with butter, in singing, in falling down, in swallowing dry pieces of biscuits, in fishing, in being a fish... you get the idea. Yes, I'm saying what everyone wants to do but never dared to- to pop it. I know, I know it's tempting. Just like a full bottle of Stoli standing in the middle of the street. A bubble which is so fragile, lame, crippled and ugly, who doesn't want to pop it? A person who is so hostile, rude, stupid and freaky, who doesn't want to sink him? Still don't get it? I think too much of myself. Fuck about all that being insecure bullshit. I always try to be different, I always think I'm talented, I always think I have a way with things- and I am wrong. I am the exact opposite I think. I screw things up more than I fix things, I dry up more than I create.

Imagine if a person like me meets me. We would hate each other so much because we try too damn hard to be the one, the only one. Guess I'll be able to do it and stay the only one, as I'm an evil guy

I am still blaming the heat, 'cause I'm absolutely sober at the moment.














Forget to mention, attention is like alcohol for me. I crave for it, but at the same time, at some situations I hate it and want it away as far as possible. Wait. Have I ever thought that I want alcohol away as far as possible?

Honestly, yes.













'What a damned slut for attention,' she looked at him as if he is a serial rapist of farm bulls and cursed, 'all he wants is just attention, attention and attention! What? He does not own the world, and people around him are not obliged to pay him any attention. Too bad that they don't sell attentildos on eBay. I sincerely feel bad for that poor guy.'