Felix Meijer

Sartre says it's ok

As one might or might not notice there are no pictures in this diary.

I want to make a point out of this, because that’s what truly defines it as one of my diary/drawings:

I could not bring myself to make one.

As such, Sartre would most likely agree that this image is defined by the very fact that it lacks an image, and as such expresses what it is supposed to.

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Lifting that burden

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Things started to get really up-right shitty these past days.

My body failed me, just like my mind did. Or rather: my body fell ill because my mind failed me. I could not handle all the commitments I had set my mind on.

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RAW

The stage:

Eskilstuna, club RAW

The cast:

Most of Kattis’ friends and her mother.

The plot:

My first encounter with abovementioned.

The theme:

Bloc Party – The Prayer

The scene:

Sissela, a friend of my girlfriend, was to celebrate her birthday by throwing a big party – inviting friends near, far and dear.

She had rented parts of the club RAW and decided on a dress code for the evening: Black. I would be lying if I were not to admit my (justified) nervousness for the evening which was to come, as I had not met any of the people invited (and they were supposedly all very curious to see and meet Kattis’ new boyfriend).

I had a lot of expectations on me.

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Unconquered lands

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So the exhibition in Stockholm was a bit of a disappointment.

The gallery was just the right size, my hanging felt representative and the artwork was well worth any attention the Swedish capital could possibly offer.

The only problem was that it did not offer a whole lot of attention.

And frankly put I cannot blame anyone, as the streets were more or less a paraphrase to a giant slushy. There were ankle-deep water-graves at the crossings and the chill went right into the spine. Who in the world would want to waltz out in the streets and stumble upon some art in weather like that?!

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On top of that I caught a cold which lasted for almost the whole week, so the few visitors that did come did not get to chat to me about the art as much as I had hoped to.

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Still, there are a lot of good things in my bag of memories as well – my stay at Carro‘s apartment and hooking up with Sara being the best.

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Here are a handful of photos from the exhibition:

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The bull and the red dress

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So Kattis sent me one of those hand-written letters…

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That tends to be a bad thing.

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Or rather, you can count on it being sincere.

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And it was. The sort of letter saying “If you’re going to try, go all the way” or don’t bother trying – she wanted us to jump in with both feet into this if we would keep seeing each other.

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Manhandling

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While I do not care to any degree worthy of mention about censoring my own private life I do feel obliged to show the genuine care I feel for the person with whom I share said “private life”, and as such; this will be the first “compromised” diary where I have chosen to blur parts of the text.

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Mina fingrar
smeker henne
- spelar -
som vore hon
ett instrument
uppspänt
framför mig

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Orkestrerar
hennes andetag

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