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A Beautiful Fucking Rainbow

The city is London. The place is a dark bar; jazz and loud whispers fill the room. The time is an ungodly hour in the middle of the night. The drink is a margarita. The man is tall, dark & handsome and the artist in him is intriguing. The ungodly hour turns into an even more ungodly morning, walking along the Thames with the sun rising above the sparkling water. The jazz music still buzzes through my head. I'm seeing beautifully colored rainbows scattered across the water. The city is London. And the man is mine.Reality turns into confusion and confusion becomes...

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A SOFT DESTRUCTION

Why can't life be like a movie; a beautiful costume drama with endless green gardens and the most overwhelming sunsets. With a whirlwind of events, gorgeous gentlemen and endless running around in the English countryside leading up to one mere thing: to find happiness -against all odds- in the arms of the average imperfect perfect Sir Bumblewood.I've been doing a lot of running lately and not in the sense of soul-searching through the English woods and finding myself while chasing sheep. More the running away and hiding under the covers kind. I ran away from work and the most horrible...

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NEW YEAR, STILL SAME OLD SILLY ME

Can you see it? The new year? It's upon us, oh dear lord. In the meantime, how you've been, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, How's your sister's cat, et cetera, et cetera. Excuse my absence these jolly holidays, I was too busy eating, squeezing myself into too-tight dresses and cursing over too-high heels over the course of 31 glorious days of December. 'Tis the season to overeat and overwork, as one might dare to say. Hence my totall suprise to see that the year has come to a close once again; lights go out in the house to light up holiday parties at other people's...

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SAILOR ON THE SEA

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”Dylan Thomas pops into the head. Just like that. There he is. One of the big minds of English literature nests his somber poem into the depts of my brain. The same few sentences, over and over again, like an LP with only four songs. I think about how fast the clock arrows move themselves. Yesterday I was still a kid living in a student's dream; in exactly two weeks the counter on my life's years will indicate the big number of 21.And I still...

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