A WHORE WHO ALWAYS WANTS MORE
April, 10th, 2007
I was asked to write something for this. And I did on a plane to New York. Today I was going to send it to the administrator, read it and taught this is all loads of shit. It was not really shit, everything written there was true and consisted of many philosophically great advices how to be borderless, or how to live your life and make it better. But that’s just not ME and MY life-having an organized bunch of sentences with a clear point-I like my things a bit messed up. It is hard. It is hard being really borderless. It is more then just throwing your legs and arms in the air, and sticking a sticker. That is just a logo or a symbol. That is only a representation of YOUR WAY. It is hard to explain what BB is, but when one lives it or does something in a manner of, it is known and felt. Usually one would think: “Ah, I love life!” But what is it? Essentially it is stupid”defining” IT, because how can you define something that is borderless. BE BORDERLESS in not about definition, more about intuition. Or was that just a definition again?
I am going to start a diary here. Not a daily, weekly, monthly….Just a diary where I will write about my “everything” every time I feel like it. Every time I am inspired by life, sex, pain, love, good times, bad times, art, music, thoughts, anything. I am not a writer, English is not even my first language, I make mistakes but hopefully I will make you laugh, think and inspire from time to time. Go on then kids, go and LIVE A LITTLE. REALLY live and embrace. It’s harder then it sounds…
I AM A WHORE WHO ALWAYS WANTS MORE
It is 2:30 pm and I am sitting in Central park in New York. Or it is 7:30pm back in London where I live with Steve, my English flat mate. Or it is 8:30 back in Sarajevo where I was born and where my parents are. Does it really matter what is the time and where?
But I am sitting in Central park next to my friend from Sidney who is half Romanian and half Ghanaian. We sit, we laugh, we talk. We move along.
Now we are sitting in front of MET. I want to have a ciggie before we go in. Then I just think: I don’t feel like looking at the art today. Why should I ? Where does it say I HAVE or I SHOULD go to the Met just because I am in New York. I’ll go tomorrow. Or maybe never. Who knows, who cares…
Now we are sitting in the Trump Tower. Tacky environment central. We sit and we talk about Trump, surrounded by people who want to feel just a little bit posh or just a little bit “something” by being there. We sit in one of the buildings owned by one of the richest motherfuckers in the world, and we recall that just about that time exactly 7 days ago in London we were walking back from a gig in Camden town, and were ready to kill for some spaghetti. We were scraping every little penny, yes PENNY, to be able to buy a fucking 74 p packet of spaghetti at a gas station. But today we are in New York sitting in Trump’s tower. We managed to get the spaghetti and we decided to make them with everything we had at the house.
That consisted of butter, some garlic and some salt. Literally. It was the best spaghetti I ever had. Salt is a luxury. Sometimes we don’t even have that. The next day my mother calls and says she has some guests over that evening. I ask her what she will make for them. She says: “Oh, just the simple pasta which I found in Jamie Oliver’s cookbook. Just pasta with butter, olive oil, garlic and salt”. Interesting. Glass is either half full or half empty. But today I am in New York. I am in New York because about 20 days ago I really wanted to go to New York. I really, really, really wanted to go to New York. I didn’t have a fucking pound on my account and I still don’t. I seriously don’t. But today I am in New York.
P.S Can’t help myself but to think of Carrie, since I am in New York and writing on a laptop. Yes all the girls will know what I am talking about!
Other blog pages:
1. I'm a whore who always wants more
2. Dildo, Alcohol & Electro
Contact: http://www.myspace.com/gasham
I was asked to write something for this. And I did on a plane to New York. Today I was going to send it to the administrator, read it and taught this is all loads of shit. It was not really shit, everything written there was true and consisted of many philosophically great advices how to be borderless, or how to live your life and make it better. But that’s just not ME and MY life-having an organized bunch of sentences with a clear point-I like my things a bit messed up. It is hard. It is hard being really borderless. It is more then just throwing your legs and arms in the air, and sticking a sticker. That is just a logo or a symbol. That is only a representation of YOUR WAY. It is hard to explain what BB is, but when one lives it or does something in a manner of, it is known and felt. Usually one would think: “Ah, I love life!” But what is it? Essentially it is stupid”defining” IT, because how can you define something that is borderless. BE BORDERLESS in not about definition, more about intuition. Or was that just a definition again? I am going to start a diary here. Not a daily, weekly, monthly….Just a diary where I will write about my “everything” every time I feel like it. Every time I am inspired by life, sex, pain, love, good times, bad times, art, music, thoughts, anything. I am not a writer, English is not even my first language, I make mistakes but hopefully I will make you laugh, think and inspire from time to time. Go on then kids, go and LIVE A LITTLE. REALLY live and embrace. It’s harder then it sounds…
I AM A WHORE WHO ALWAYS WANTS MORE
It is 2:30 pm and I am sitting in Central park in New York. Or it is 7:30pm back in London where I live with Steve, my English flat mate. Or it is 8:30 back in Sarajevo where I was born and where my parents are. Does it really matter what is the time and where?
But I am sitting in Central park next to my friend from Sidney who is half Romanian and half Ghanaian. We sit, we laugh, we talk. We move along.
Now we are sitting in front of MET. I want to have a ciggie before we go in. Then I just think: I don’t feel like looking at the art today. Why should I ? Where does it say I HAVE or I SHOULD go to the Met just because I am in New York. I’ll go tomorrow. Or maybe never. Who knows, who cares…
Now we are sitting in the Trump Tower. Tacky environment central. We sit and we talk about Trump, surrounded by people who want to feel just a little bit posh or just a little bit “something” by being there. We sit in one of the buildings owned by one of the richest motherfuckers in the world, and we recall that just about that time exactly 7 days ago in London we were walking back from a gig in Camden town, and were ready to kill for some spaghetti. We were scraping every little penny, yes PENNY, to be able to buy a fucking 74 p packet of spaghetti at a gas station. But today we are in New York sitting in Trump’s tower. We managed to get the spaghetti and we decided to make them with everything we had at the house.
That consisted of butter, some garlic and some salt. Literally. It was the best spaghetti I ever had. Salt is a luxury. Sometimes we don’t even have that. The next day my mother calls and says she has some guests over that evening. I ask her what she will make for them. She says: “Oh, just the simple pasta which I found in Jamie Oliver’s cookbook. Just pasta with butter, olive oil, garlic and salt”. Interesting. Glass is either half full or half empty. But today I am in New York. I am in New York because about 20 days ago I really wanted to go to New York. I really, really, really wanted to go to New York. I didn’t have a fucking pound on my account and I still don’t. I seriously don’t. But today I am in New York.P.S Can’t help myself but to think of Carrie, since I am in New York and writing on a laptop. Yes all the girls will know what I am talking about!
Other blog pages:
1. I'm a whore who always wants more
2. Dildo, Alcohol & Electro
Contact: http://www.myspace.com/gasham
BB POSE
BB
