Tu connais l'heure bleue?
Soundtrack:
Blue Sky And Yellow Sunflowers by Susumu Yokota
Smaller Rivers by Sam Prekop
Fluffy Toy by Massimiliano Pagliara, Creams
I have just used my finger to spread Bonne Maman Raspberry jam on my toast as I was too lazy to go back into the kitchen and grab a knife. At 24, this is the first time I have ever done this to my knowledge, and it was quite fun.
I've stopped buying snacks, I don't have midnight chocolate biscuits before bed anymore.
I do however have a new favourite crisp favour: Chilli Heatwave Doritos.
The mark you left on my neck is gone now. It's been almost two weeks. I both hated it and liked it, and now I'm grieving it. The hold is leaving me now, I can feel its grip slipping away. It's all so final.
I've been struggling to get out of bed before 12. Today however I did manage 10:50. Because of this I eat twice a day now. My body still looks the same.
Nintendo released Ocarina of Time for the Nintendo Switch 2. I can't afford it, so instead I watch IG videos of people playing it. It reminds me of that summer, where, after graduating, all I did was smoke weed every day and play Zelda: Breath of Wild on my ex's switch. It was monsoon season and too humid to go outside, so all I did was swim in fancy pools and drink Kowloon Dairy Chocolate Milk. I never went on all those hikes and to all those places I wanted to go to before my visa ran out.
I've been working on a radio mix and a live show centred around the colour blue. This is due to Maggie Nelson's Bluets (2009) which came to me at a perfect time. I can proudly say she loses me when one of her 240 numbered propositions goes into Goethe territory philosophical worlds, but I'll take what I can get from her words and suck them dry.
My research for the mix, ie any song mentioning the word blue in its lyric, name or cover art, has indeed made me cry. Despite this, it doesn't dissuade me from continuing on.
I am putting a song in it that you showed me when I last saw you. We were sat next to each other at The Ivy House before or after scoffing down a pizza. I can't recall whether you lent me one of your earphones or not anymore. I do remember not trying show how much I liked it when you played it. Putting it into the mix for me functions as a final goodbye to all those blue feelings I've had about you.
You can say I'm using this mix as a form of therapy, of going on and on and on about one thing, one event, one person, a thousand feelings and thoughts, all wrapped up in the colour blue, until you're sick oh so fucking sick of it. I'm already sick of telling my friends, and they probably are too.
On the way to Peckhamplex, Lilah ripped off the tag from her shoulder bag that her ex made. It's a nameless bag that only she will now understand the origin of. I thought about how the things I gave you lie dormant in boxes and your dad's toolbox now too. How do we normalise being okay with becoming objects, remnants of hot nights and hot tears? Do we just become hoarders of clothes, pebbles, jewelry void of meaning, or of a meaning that is nor sweet or sour (which just makes it sadder)? I don't think I can do this time and time again.
I know I've romanticised how one's music taste is a mosaic of the people who have come and gone through your life, but I don't think I'm ready to do this with physical objects. I don't think I'm ready to be put into a box, despite having already done this myself. Nay, a hypocrite!
The live show is an excuse to talk about music in front of my friends, to sit and rejoice together in this season of blue. Having things to do is shockingly good in giving you any semblance of direction in life. I felt this feeling on my way home from work last night.
My friend told me she hopes I will soon go back to how I was before I saw you again. I hope so too, it's coming soon. The grasp is loosening remember?