Don't make me crop you.

It took me about eight months to get to the point where I'm holding my first (after a damn long time) batch of printed photos. Why is this a big deal when my entire room is taped with photos? Because these are film photography, not digital. My family calls me odd all the time. I'm into old cars, old music, old men, old photography. I don't know what it is but I find old school everything, more authentic. Sometimes things need to be simple, without the added gears, gadgets and drama. 

I used film cameras when I was younger (yes, kids I am in fact that old, go back to playing in your wifi sandbox and leave grandma alone), I had a Pentax ME, dad's old Zenith, a bunch of low cost toys that did horrific pictures but they were toys after all and a borrowed professional camera. There's literally a huge HUGE box with thousands of prints somewhere in my house. Thing is these used to be cheap. Like a few cents worth per print and development, and these days they cost pretty much your soul and first born child. Madness. 

It's not that I lost interest, my old Zenith which was the last camera I used, got into a little accident with salt water (seriously I tell you all the time I live with animals), though I believe it's still in working condition, it would just have to be tested, but it's currently decoration, and when I stopped using that one, digital cameras just came on the market and the family bought what was considered very modern Canon at the time. Not a DSLR though, just a compact zoom camera. Wasn't bad, we still got it today. I guess looking at it that way, there's a ''couple'' cameras in our house. From old film ones that look pretty on the shelf to one that could pay for a car. But honestly, I think it's no secret that now upon seeing these pics, this one might be my absolute favourite one. 

Alright so, I'm sharing a few of my favourite pictures below (excuse the quality, taken with a phone, if I ever get my scanner working again I promise to upload a better version), taken with the Pentax ME, 50mm lens, on Fomapan / profi line action black and white film. People say this camera may be a bit too basic but that is exactly what I love about it. Plus it has a huge finder, a great shutter ready indicator and you can use it with a standard cable release. All in all it's great camera for it's build and age. There are many out there that are better but I'd say that's a matter of taste. I know I wouldn't trade this one for anything else similar. And you know what? The shutter sound? Oh my god! I love it so much. 

What if it's no longer safety but prison?

I'm having trouble writing content these days. Well, I'm always having trouble writing but these days…it's even harder. The funny thing is, it's not hard because I wouldn't know what to say, it's hard because I don't know how to say it. Hemingway said ''write hard and clear about what hurts'' and I'm afraid if I do that it might be a bit too much. Not to mention I find this blogging thing kinda pointless these days, when girls with Instagram profiles, with 5 lines under their duck face photos are so called ''bloggers'', makes me feel rather dumb pouring out my emotions. But then again on the other hand, I don't write to be read, I write to get shit off my chest. 

There is so much that hurts, so much that is wrong, so much that is killing me, that words just aren't coming close to a proper description. I guess most of us are realising we're not living in a perfect world, and just how messed up our families are, maybe I didn't expect all stages of abuse but then again maybe I just wasn't paying attention. Nothing changed, we're just forced to spend more time together and I guess I'm bitter. Bitter because as hard as this situation is, as messed up as the world is, it would be far less fucked up if you got to spend this lockdown with someone you love, someone who makes the world a better place, at least your world.  Bitter because the what if's are killing me and I know a happier dimension was possible for me too. So close, yet completely out of reach. But I caught a glimpse of it and it was enough to make me miserable for a life time because I know things will never be like they were before. 

I'm bitter because all my life, all people knew me as (besides other not as flattering things) was ''the artist''. I was always in trouble for doodling when I should be paying attention in class, and in middle school we had a long wall where art works usually were hung. It was filled with my work. Always. So I'm bitter because art is something I love, I love doing ''pointless scribbles'', I actually love sitting still for hours and sketching with music on, but what I don't love is constantly being put down for it. Like I'm sorry if my art isn't good enough to be sold of hung in galleries. I guess I can't seem to process why a person should give up doing something they love just because they're not turning a profit from it. I guess it's that much harder for me to understand when really, all art does for me is make me happy. Yeah getting paid to do it would be great but then I don't care about money, I like doing it, that should be enough. I get it an artist still has to pay bills, but unless you're fucking Monet or Picasso that aint happening anyways. Maybe what really makes me bitter here is a specific person who gets called a ''fantastic artist'' but all she really does is take photos for free promotional crap on social media. Maybe that's it. I have been trying for years and a blonde fake ass bimbo gets all the credit because that's just how the world works. It's not talent that counts, it's whos dick you're willing to suck. Excuse me for being blunt. 

And then there's that Amber and Johnny thing I wrote about some time ago? Yeah I'm back at it. It makes me want to scream how society is dead set on women being the victim and never the man. Don't even dare to argue with me, too much personal experience to not know what I'm talking about. The woman is always the victim even if she isn't. And I'm frustrated and hurt and mad because I hate comparing, I hate playing the game my horse is bigger than your horse, my struggle is worse than yours, but I think I can fairly say I've been through hell in my life and when someone who doesn't know how good they had it all their life, who doesn't understand struggles, or pain, or loss, or abuse, or lack of basically anything in their lives, mostly love, play pretend, lie, cheat, manipulate for personal gain, for sympathy, for god knows what kinda profits. Or maybe to just ruin someone's life. Destroy a mans career and life, someone who did nothing wrong, except maybe fell in love with the wrong woman, is getting all the shit he did not deserve because of lies and hatred and manipulation that us women are allowed to pull. Someone I care about very much may I add. People who use anxiety and PTSD as a joke, who use things such as assault, rape, abuse as a joke, I hate that. I hate those kinda people and it makes me phisically sick, looking back at my own struggles with those things and, knowing people who went through far worse and then watching these people play pretend. It makes me feel not just violated but used. Sick. Disgusted. Makes my skin literally crawl. 

I guess what's making me more bitter is that whole ''I could be happy'' the ''what if'' I mentioned earlier. I had everything I wanted, everything I loved just a year ago and funny thing is, I didn't have more than I have now, I wasn't miraculously cured, but I wasn't alone, I was with someone I love and who loved me and that made all the difference.  It's easier to fight your demons with the support of your family or with someone who loves you and believes in you no matter what, someone who has your back always and makes you fearless and brave and ready to face on any storm life throws you in. I guess it's literally as Bon Jovi sing ''it's hard, so hard, it's tearing out my heart, it's hard letting you go''. I guess it's even harder, when letting you go wasn't my choice, or yours for that matter. Just life. Being as hard as it is, tearing us apart at the seams. Funny. Sometimes love really isn't enough. Ever stopped and wondered how unfair it really is? Forces bigger than you, things you have no control over, tearing you apart like it's nothing. And all you're left with is broken pieces that nobody can ever put back together. Poetic aint it, but also true. Love might be the force that lifts you up and makes you grow, but it can also be the hurricane that tears you apart. And you may be a poet or a writer but the words are never your own, words are always the people, life, love. They make the stories, you just write them down. I guess what hurts the most is that most of those stories are tragedies. It's funny how we're all just sad kids with happy pictures, pretending. Telling others not to do what we do, telling them life gets better if they just hold on, when we ourselves don't believe in it. 

I guess it's hard dealing with life when you're battling daily headaches, mental and physical abuse, heartbreak, depression, and a worldwide crisis that's not even a virus but rightist governments ruining our lives. I guess my family tells me I have nothing to be stressed out over, have no reason not to sleep at night, but pushing the pain of everything aside, pushing aside crying over losing someone I love aside, I may very well stay up all night and worry about a future I no longer have. 

''Now the sky, it shines a different kind of blue and the neighbor's dog don't bark like he used to. Well, me, these days, I just miss you, it's the nights that I go insane. Unless you're coming back for me, that's the one thing I know that won't change.''

And I guess I'm a sadist, because all this pain isn't enough,…on top of it all I like to read books that rip out my heart (I'm looking at you John Green). It's not like I do much more than 5 pages a day in a house that's constantly filled with screaming. There you go, one more reason why I don't sleep at night. Feels a waste of peace when the nights, when everyone is asleep, is the only time alone and calm and quiet that you get. 

So here's a quick short review (BEWARE OF SPOILERS) of this sob fest I just finished reading, which actually puts your petty problems in perspective. Makes me feel like I shouldn't whine or complain, there's always someone who is in a deeper level of Inferno than I am.

(This is the movie based cover, make sure you check out the original cover that's supposed to picture a drawing by main character Stellas' sister. It's really creative and super cute. Literally  thinking of getting another copy just for that cover. Mine is movie based, cuz Cole. Too cute.)

( Rachael Lippincott, Mikki Daughtry, Tobias Iaconis / Teen, Drama, Romance. )

Synopsis;

''Stella Grant likes to be in control - even though her totally out of control lungs have sent her in and out of the hospital most of her life. At this point, what Stella needs to control most is her distance from anyone or anything that might pass along an infection and jeopardize the possibility of a lung transplant. Six feet apart. No exceptions.

The only thing Will Newman wants to be in control of is getting out of this hospital. He couldn't care less about his treatments or a fancy new clinical trial. Will's exactly what Stella needs to stay away from. But suddenly six feet apart doesn't feel like safety. It feels like punishment.

What if they could steal back just a little bit of the space their broken lungs have stolen from them? Would five feet apart really be so dangerous if it stops their hearts from breaking too?''

I didn't actually read the synopsis or any online opinion or review before picking up this book. I thought maybe people have to be 5 feet apart because they're contagious, you know something curable. Like this god damn Corona hell we're in. I did NOT expect the book to be this hopless and this sad, with an ending like it had. I imagined that both book, and movie based on the book (or the other way around, I'm not really sure) will be sad but you know, not too sad because it's about something that doesn't really exist in real life. Boy was I wrong. 

I guess being blissfully unaware of what the hell Cystic Fibrosis (CF) and B. Cepacia are and that the prison of no touching and six feet apart is actually real as well. I know from different reasons just how hard not hugging the one you love is. It's true like they say in the book, you don't know how much you miss the simple touch untill you go without.  I think this was just the point of this book though, to raise awareness about it. The sickness, the hell these kids (possibly adults as well?) have to go through daily. Maybe to show them that they're not alone, and maybe to show us that we are fucking lucky after all, despite our own struggles. It's important to be grateful for health,  to remember just how short life really is. All time low have a line in a song saying ''I'm just a moment, don't let me pass you by'', and that's just it isn't it? 90 something years may seem a lot, but looking at it from a different perspective, of how old the earth is, of how old the universe is, we really are just a moment. And that moment, our lives, man they're too short for being anything but happy. I guess the difference is that some of us can work on that happiness, while some are stuck in a place they can't escape. 

I guess just like Stella's sister in the book, those of us that can, owe it to people that can't to live our lives to the fullest. To enjoy things they can't. It's ridiculous to think, how many little things there are that we take for granted but some people can never enjoy. I guess Corona brought many things in perspective. Little things. Lunch with friends. Local bar concerts, friday nights in town, long warm summer nights with different events. It's hard and lonely and miserable with no place to go and nothing to do. And the ironic part is, we miss them when we don't have them, while still prefering to sit at home on our couches skipping out on things, skipping out on life really, just because we're too lazy to go out, but there's people that want to do these simple little things and they can't. 

I think stories like Five feet apart are stories that are supposed to inspire, as cheesy and dumb as it may sound, but really, I feel like that's the message behind it, to realise how lucky we are, to get off our asses and do something that matters, no matter how  small or insignificant it may be. To show us that feelings are valid, laughter, sadness, happiness, crying. It's all a part of life and it's all important. 

This book really is hell. Stella and Will, fuck. I felt their pain. Being in love and never being able to touch, never being able to be closer than six feet apart. I felt all the feelings I felt with the long distance and Skype calls. Though Skype and distance are not permanent like their condition is. But I'd say the pain is just the same, the missing, the longing, the heartache. 

Despite my inability to read this fast (believe me in a normal day it would take me less than one afternoon), this is not a long book. It has less than 300 pages and letters are quite big. I really liked the writing style of this book. Usually character point of view swapping each chapter bothers me for some reason but this one works okay like this. It's an easy going flow of writing, but still filled with plenty information. The sickness is well explained, the hell people go through is very well explained and still there's this lightness to it as well with jokes and cutesy first love themes that make things a bit better.  Maybe I'd wish for a bit more of their backstory, you hear some of Stella's back story but you don't hear much about Will or even Poe which I think it's a shame, it would make the book much better. 

This story is  supposed to be strongly influenced by a girl called Claire Wineland, Stellas character that is. Of course just like the book doesn't get a happy ending neither does this story, what did we expect, real life is even more brutal then the story world. So, sadly, Claire passed away but if you want to check out this video, you'll see why and just how much of a bright light and inspiration Claire really was. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kD_Fr3VAsYM

And in case you want to learn more about Claire, her life, her legacy, head on to;

https://clairesplacefoundation.org/

All in all I think this is a cute book, cute in a lets rip your heart out and put it in a blender kinda way. You know what that's like (still looking at you John Green).  I'd say it's a great teen / young adult novel but that doesn't mean older people can't pick it up and enjoy it. Just prepare to have your heart shredded and make you sad over things you can't control.

I guess this is the time when I log off, and do my little part of that whole ''get off your ass and do something'', there's a protest against the government in town and I'm prepared to smile for my mugshot. Just kidding, but on a serious note, I always say if voting and protests changed anything they were illegal and right this moment, protests in fact are illegal here so maybe that means there's hope. I hope you get inspired to do something this weekend too even if it's just to take out the trash. Baby steps guys, baby steps.

When suddenly, all the sad songs are not sad enough.

What the hell am I supposed to say, when I'm all choked up and you're okay? The Script sing something along those lines. This blog was supposed to be a music blog from the get go, never too personal, never political, never more than, well actually art. All types of it. But more times than not I stray from that. I stray from it because I can't keep silent on things that annoy me, things that hurt me, move me...that's just life isn't it? The problem is finding words to express anything sometimes. Sometimes it hurts too much, sometimes everything is too much. All the words I can't seem to find, in the lyrics of my currently most played ( and in most cases favorite ) songs. It's true what they say aint it? When the world falls silent, the music speaks. I may do this more often. Write down playlists. I guess these are my sad songs, but, like the title says, they don't seem to be sad enough today. 

Nazareth - Love hurts

White Lion - Wait

Def Leppard - When love and hate collide

Lee Brice - One of them girls

Sam Hunt - Break up in a small town

Luke Combs - Hurricane

Jimi Hendrix - The wind cried Mary

Aerosmith - You see me crying

Cheap Trick - The flame

The Doors - The end

Eagles - I can't tell you why

Black Sabbath - Changes

The Rolling stones - Wild horses

Led Zeppelin - All of my love

Motley Crue - You're all I need

Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah

Prince - Nothing compares 2 U

Johnny Cash - Hurt

Florida Georgia Line - May we all

Linkin Park - One more light

My Chemical romance - The light behind your eyes

INXS - Never tear us apart

Chris Isaac - Wicked game

Bruce Springsteen - Miracle

Guns N' Roses - Don't cry

Shinedown - Second chance

Skid Row - I remember you

Elvis Presley - It's now or never

Aerosmith - What it takes

Aerosmith - What could have been love

Roxette - It must have been love

Daughtry - Life after you

INXS - By my side

Scorpions - Wind of change

Ozzy Osbourne - Road to nowhere

Def Leppard - Bringin' on the heartbreak

Journey - Separate ways

Queen - Save me

Bon Jovi - These days

Bon Jovi - Letting you go

Opća Opasnost - Pobjego sam

Leteći Odred - Hajde reci mi

Keith Urban - You'll think of me

Cole Swindell - Break up in the end

Jason Aldean - Who's kissing you tonight

Blake Shelton - Everytime I hear that song

Van Halen - Not enough 

Cinderella - Don't know what you got

Warrant - Sometimes she cries

Life after you.

''All that I'm after is a life full of laughter as long as I'm laughing with you, and I think that all that still matters is love ever after after the life we've been through, cause I know there's no life after you.''

Why do people romanticize heartbreak? What is romantic or even beautiful about it? What is romantic about sitting in your shower at 2 am trying to contain your sobs. Nothing romantic about smoking just to help you remember how to breathe properly. It's not romantic looking for love at the bottom of a vodka bottle. It's not romantic when you just want to punch something, someone, anything, and you keep doing it until your knuckles are bruised and bleeding. It's not romantic when you wake up in the morning and wonder how did you even survive last night with the crushing sadness that literally caused you chest pain and wondering if you can make it through another such day. There is nothing romantic about reading old messages over and over and over again until it hurts so much that it's not just chest pain but pain all over your body. It's not romantic holding on to your sink, staring at the mirror and just begging yourself to keep going. What's romantic about something so tragic? So painful? So devastating? Something so lonely and hard? You don't just leave a person you love behind, you leave behind hopes, dreams, what if's, chances of what could be a fairytale type happiness.

Excuse me for dreaming. Dreaming that that forever still exists. Dreaming that true love is real. Dreaming that you actually get to spend all of your sunsets with that one person. Your person. But I guess in this world…there is no love left. No empathy. No compassion. 

I guess my question here is, if you get a second chance at all this. Happiness. Love. Forever. How do you trust someone who's hurt you in the past? Left your heart, if I put it poetically, bleeding broken on the floor? How do you know this time this is it? How do you know it won't happen again? Do you hope they learned their lesson? Do you hope second time around things will be different? Better? That history will not repeat itself? Nobody can guarantee that, you can only hope. You can only take that leap of faith…

I can't believe I'm even thinking about that silver screen type reunion. You know the one? When a hug so tight feels like it can put all your broken pieces back together. I can't believe I'm thinking sad stories with a hopless future can have a happy ending. I can't believe I'm letting myself dream that this is possible. I just can't. I can't be dreaming that the very person who subjected me to so much pain and sadness could be the one to take it all away. But then again if pickles and peanut butter work, why couldn't this? 

In a way I know that I could / should try to look for something new, but I also know that wherever I go I'll just be looking for what I had. And in a way all I wanna do is kiss him and kiss him again until there's nothing left but happiness. And in a way I just want to feel like home again, because nothing feels like home right now. No place. No people. Nothing besides his arms. And in a way I want him to get drunk and tell me how he really feels. No bullshit just feelings. And in a way I want to stop listening to songs and thinking of nothing but how it relates to him, and me, and us. And in a way I want to stop wondering how to move on from him when the truth is that nobody makes me feel quite like him. When it's bad it's bad yeah but when it's good, god it's so good. 

And then you know it just dawns on me. Am I losing my damn mind? Am I holding on to misery and calling it hope instead? And it dawns on me, hell I must really hate myself to be so madly fucking in love with him. And it's just like a friend of mine told me ''everything you love will kill you one day, cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, or them boys with pretty blue eyes, they all kill you in the end''. Yeah. 

What do you do when you're in the eye of the storm? A tornado of emotions? Why are you willing to forget all the pain and all the hurt? Because you're crazy? Sadistic? A hopless romantic? A dreamer?

I don't even know, all I know is that I am tired of feeling like this. Tired of missing him. Tired of hurting. Tired of being sad and lonely and crying. Tired of everything. Tired of dreaming. Tired of wishing. Tired of drowning and the heartache and the desire. And I guess if I can take it all away, then I would in a heart beat even if it meant that I could end up even more broken in the end.