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Can Adrian come out and play?

The idea of being an actor has never appealed to me, even though I've been schooled in carrying myself both behind and in front of the camera, but on rare occasions I do happen upon a person whose acting makes me feel like I'm in some way incomplete. Like I'm somehow stuck expressing myself through written letters and it's not enough. Often enough I imagine I fail at getting my point across to you, trying to explain to you how I feel and why I feel when all I'd have to do would be to look right into the camera and you'd know from the look in my eyes, from how bloodshot they are, and from how I don't blink until they start tearing up. I imagine the benefits I'd reap from just opening my mouth and moving my lips even though not saying a word. It's frustrating.

 All About Evil (2010)

This little creature has got to be one of the best in his trade. Yes, it might be pure luck or coincidence that he's pretty much only starred in films I've really liked and I probably wouldn't have been too excited about his performances if I didn't enjoy his films, but I have noticed him and I am indeed beglamoured. Of course, the better actor someone is the easier they make it look, and the easier they make it look the less impressive their acting appears to be, right? No. This man is a fucking magician. The proverbial flip just switches and you see the expression in his eyes change, his face twitches and you swear he's almost morphing right in front of your eyes. There's something so fresh and new and almost crisp about his first appearance in any film and you're always expecting him to be listed as introducing even though you've already seen him before. He's never been the same person twice and he makes me stop and wonder where his personas go when the credits roll and you reach for the remote. I am convinced they still exist somewhere, that this Noah Segan manages to create parallel universes for each and every character when he's done portraying them. I bet they secretly hang out. And there's always so much blood, in the films he's in, gorgeous, gorgeous blood! So that's my simple recipe for a night in; Noah Segan + fake blood. Mix well before eating etc.

 Cabin Fever 2 (2009)

But why take my word for it? Follow him on twitter or facebook and experience the awesome firsthand.

Work through the layers

Imagine waking up one morning and not recognizing your own reflection.Oh, it's still you, only you're almost 100 lbs heavier and those prescribed medications that were supposed to cure you... not quite working, are they? This transformation did take place not over night but over a course of three months which means fast enough weight gain to cause severe skin breakage over the entire body. I don't ever want to bear children. Now I look like I've had ten of them.

 Ah, yes, vanity, I hear you mumble. Don't be afraid to say it out loud. Do you think it's something I've not heard before? If vanity is wanting to feel like you are yourself and not a complete stranger wearing a ridiculous fat suit, then yes, I am vain. If it's wanting to feel like you're something better than a garbage disposal doctors can try out new medications on, accidentally prescribing you something that will add almost an entire human being's worth of bodily mass to your physique and then doing absolute fuck all to help you lose it again, then yes, I am vain.

The time and money alone I spend on finding bras to fit these overgrown monstrosities would be enough to fund a small malpractice lawsuit. Oh no, I am not pregnant but something is definitely eating me up inside.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being curvy or with being a 'real woman' as they've patronizingly started to justify looking like exactly what you do which is eat too much and exercise too little. I don't want to be super skinny, I just want to be myself again. And if being held prisoner inside your own body against your will is vanity, then yes, I am vain as all fucking hell.

A daily night-terror?

Waking up to these guys hovering around me like starving flies, rubbing their spindly little hands together and wordlessly begging me for scraps. Early mornings and midnights have never felt as charged, as loaded, as strained as they do these days. In the beginning of June I felt something loosen inside of me and since then I've been playing this waiting game with myself, waiting for things to fall into place, waiting for further instructions. Everyone is bargaining but no one has yet the upper hand so the price for my affection is at an all-time low.

How is it that I started to change at this specific time? Was every beer and every kiss aligning to point me in this direction? For once I'm not seeking the easy way out and, consequently, I have never been more scared in my life.

Image art courtesy of: Anton Semenov


The bench I sat on while waiting for my train was drilled to the floor, which was a good thing for me since the only thing that stopped me from running across the turnstile and flinging myself in front of one of the moving trains was clutching hard with both hands to the armrest of said bench and squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I could. No, I don't want to die and I didn't five minutes from that precise moment either, but for a precious few minutes, or it might only have been seconds, I was loose and all my instincts were telling me to jump. Except the meek survival instinct that from the very back of my brain did the chemical equivalence of going "ahem, excuse me? excuse me, hello?" and as I have trained myself to listen for it I heard it and let it reason with me. Still, the sweat was literally dripping off my face and for a moment there I was already dead, or perhaps only grievously mauled against the rail road tracks, I saw my life snuffed out and everyone I've ever met was bawling their eyes out at my funeral. Then suddenly I was alive again, realizing the whole scenario was ridiculous and the passing train was picking up speed again. No blood on the tracks, no blood spattered against the white tunnel walls, no train driver traumatized for life by the sight of a human body having the ick and goo spluttered out of it against his windshield.

I was just going home, but I can be anywhere at anytime and I always have to be ready to fight these urges. These episodes become less and less frequent but as they decrease in occurrence my defenses get more and more lax and I fall increasingly easier prey to them and the lowly voice of reason, the one that exists to ensure my future survival has been drowned out more than once already.

I know that I am weak but in itself that knowledge is the strength that keeps me alive.


I'm resuscitating this blog for one reason and one reason only; I desperately need an outlet. I need to vent before I explode and since no one actually reads this blog I feel comfortable using it as my diary. Also, since no one reads it I can say whatever the hell I want. So fuck you. And you. And the guy standing behind you a bit to your left. Fuck you too. And fuck YOU in particular.

You're kind of cute though, what are you doing later?