The Beautiful and the Damned

Last week:

I tried to read 'The Beautiful and the Damned'. It was very trying indeed. For a week I haven't touched the book for fear of crying on the train. It was a fairly smooth ride until the turning point in the book, where Anthony and Gloria's love starts to wither. I threw the book on the floor, and left it there. I picked it up and got throught a few pages, but for the most part 'The Beautiful and the Damned' lies on the damn floor, reminding me that maybe I am more fragile than I like to think.

I went to a free party. Shoncho had spread a large blanket in the park. The Okinawan Samurai had lined up bottles, all promising intoxication. Santos was playing a drum. Masa was freestyling. An indie-pop girl tried to talk about Swedish design. From there on it became a blur, until I put my hand on a candle.

I played futsal two days in a row. Now my legs hurt.

I went for drinks with a friend from Niigata (Snow-country). In a small bar with an abnormally high counter, we talked about snow-angels. After drinks, we went to a shrine and prayed for better fortunes.

I prayed for the snow-angels.