Great idea I had, moving to Exarcheia so that it can rubbed in my face, raw; I can hear the vibrating buzz, of all these people in all these bars, socializing. Are they all friends? Did they make plans to meet or just happen to run into each other? How does one arrange these things? They seem so engrossed in each other, sitting across each other, running their mouth incessantly, taking turns to chime in, cutting in like butter with the best joke. The fuck are they saying to each other? So much stuff. So relaxed and at ease and pleased and shit. What the f is that like? How the goddamn fuck do you do that? 

They’re lucky I don’t own a gυn. 

All the places that a C- face on a B+ body will accept you.

Ran into someone on Friday, I was rushing out of FedEx with a new pair of cunt Lanvin pants I tracked down in Tokyo and I felt eyes on me so I turned, he was smiling, I smiled back, stopped as if I recognized him and spewed a chirpful hi! Spent 10 mins chatting about my struggles to have my fucking film produced and about his home on Andros island. I don’t know who he is. He seemed nice. I sort of think he might be someone I thought I disliked, but he seemed nice. Early onset of Alzheimer’s is no fun but at least I don’t have to be fully present.

It’s becoming very clear to me how people end up shοοting up places. The shοοter is often the least guilty one. The trιgger is truly pulled by the one being shοt. Beat someone up long enough and you’ll bring it on yourself.