Hey

So I realize I only blog when I'm depressed. But when I'm happy I'm out being happy.
Lately I've become a self consious introvert. (That means I hate myself).
I have this crazy paranoia (I've always had this paranoia, but lately its become worse) that everybody's trying to avoid me because they secretly hate me. And by everybody, I mean my friends.
But I seriously think they just think I'm annoying. Or whatever.
Also I've been having body issues. Don't ask. I just need to look like I'm 14 again.
Why can't I just like myself. I mean, I love myself (to an extent, im sure) but I do not like myself.
But here we go again: me, myself and I.
Introverted bullshit.
Plus I'm having a shitty ass summer. It's treatin' like a real cheap cunt.
(Sorry. (Actually, no, shove it. It's my blog I can say whatever I want.))
My jobs okay I guess. I get to look at a lot of hot guys. KEY word: "Look".
But other than that nothing's really happening.
I think I need to go shopping.
(Woah wait, that probably won't solve anything!
See that? That's probably the lovechild consumerism has concocted in my brain.
Materialistic endeavors can't solve your personal problems kids!)
But anyway, I hope August turns out to be good, at least better than July.
If not I get to piss off to Victoria in the fall and make a new life for myself.
WOOT!

:(

Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living.

Think Robot.

The heat of someone lying next to you
Should definately be overrated.
I don't think I want that.
I can generated my own heat,
Thanks.
Watching someone sleep
Is kinda wierd
If you think about it.
What's being gained in this experience?
Aside from a significantly higher reading
On the creeper scale.
I shouldn't like being held.
I have my own spine.
It was a nice thought
But my bones work fine.
And to be kissed would be colossally crazy.
It reveals nothing lovely.
And presents only the evidence
Of what you had
For dinner.
To be dear to someone
To be loved
To be liked
Or even admired
Are all too much for me,
Too itchy in their approach
Uncomfortable for my disposition.
I am not a lover
I don't have to have passion
I don't have to be a human
I can tell my heart to ration.

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

I've been awake through times and lines
To reach through the dirt.
This hurt is what makes me fly again.
I try and I won't die 'till the end.
I'll chew what you give me,
Spit it out of my mouth,
Back to you, you who hate me
Who maimed me, who lamed me.
You who walked all over me smiling,
Laughed at me and slapped me.
It is you who thinks my skin won't win
That my heart won't beat
Until the end.
Though I believe and I'll create
Much more than you give me.
I can twist your lies
And create with them unfathomable meaning,
Beaming and gleaming.
Your hate won't become my fate.
I'll only stick it to the ceiling
To remind me
Of these trials and tribulations
That will always follow me,
'Till my heart stops beating,
'Till my soul is screaming.
No,
You can't stop me.

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

Summer Action

prom.. or whatever.

If there's a burning in your heart.

 All photographs by me.

I dunno what to call this one..

And I breathed in the warm ebb and flow of his denim pants
Drowned in the tide of a cotton shirt, and as it sang
In the wind
His salty breath was in the wake
And it burst like waves.
He dreamt of oceans and seas
As vast deep and blue as the earth could hold
His words, like sweet green algae, bounced
Off the shore rocks, they echoed in the seashells
And left a salty, funny taste in my ears.
His sandy laugh would echo
Throughout the beach, hitting palms and knocking coconuts,
Its melody, mellifluous and saccharine enough to make your capillaries burst,
Leaving your skin purple with pleasure.
A god-like creature rushed through his veins,
The makings of a Poseidon or an Adonis.
Crafty as a seagull, beautiful as coral
A minow, a crab, a turquoise reflection,
A singing whale in all his affection,
But as paradoxical as a desert sun hitting cool water.
He was a pair of naked feet in the sand,
Flip flops strewn across a warm summer land
The whole world and my heart were in his hand
And in the end, what died
Was nothing short of a man.

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

I'm wearing too much makeup to give a fuck

Prom's in 4 days. Just shoot me.
How am I not exited. I think secretly im expecting it not to live up to the all american prom standard.
Fuck that standard. Fuck alot of things.
I don't give a fuck about the Fall of the communist regime in the Soviet Union.
I don't technically have to finish this essay.
But I will.
It was due today.
By the way I tried out my prom makeup.
It looks fucking hot.
Fuck is a great word, isn't it?
I'm having linguini for dinner, and I'm pretty stoked.
Linguini is fan-fucking-tastic.
So is anything Italian. That's one country I'd fly to for dinner if I was rich.
But I'm not. So I'll just fucking eat here.

A collection of photographs taken this last little while.