live in this world

So what does that mean? Wanting to “live in that world”? Walk around like a coke whore 24/7? Narrowing womanhood down to gratuitous sexuality? (And then, what is sexuality? Does that mean showing your insert degrading word for feminine bits to whomever?) Not being able to communicate something onto photographs without that fag dangling from a smudged lipstick-drenched mouth? Living in a shithole? Badass, man. Admirable. May the whole world one day be flooded with this sort of people! (Btw landed here ’cause I’d found an old link in my Favourites to Johnnys Bird, wondered why, then looked for some explanation. In other words: irrelevant.)
I sincerely hope they’ve got other things going on in their lives apart from slacking about and dressing up prostitute-style trying to be interesting. Or not. After all, every good burger needs some extender.

http://fashiongrunge.com/2010/09/21/these-legs-dont-run/#comment-3662

"I just want to live in this world." That quote keeps on repeating itself before my inner eye like those good old marquees in HTML would. How can she make that statement so lightly?

I really shouldn't have cared, at all, let alone leave a comment. Tidying up my favourites folder I stumbled across a page called Johnnys Bird and couldn't remember why on earth I would ever have saved a pathway to such an unasked-for miserable display of empty would-be debauchery. (Note: I was not spitting while writing that last sentence.) Real or staged: it's cheap rebellion for the poor of mind. I don't believe any of it, but the author's utterance was downright unfounded, and therefore too unsettling to put up with.
And I know I'll be considered jealous for this by some, or prude (while being neither). It would be the easiest way of wiping away a radically different point of view for those merely interested in shallow imagery.

Does remind me of a recent night out at the house-party of another unknown hip inhabitant of Belgium's capital, where my companion slapped the buttocks of a young girl dressed up as a Playboy bunny to make her snap back into the reality and consequences of being a little too frivolous about your sexuality and showing (too much) female flesh. However, I did reckon the reprimand was a dangerous act in itself, seeing as it raises the issues of freedom of thought and even the incredibly risky she-asked-for-it.

This is just a 5% share of my nocturnal activities' total. As I wrote earlier: completely irrelevant. Not that any of the other 95% are of a higher importance (that is, a.o.: researching the possibilities in anti-cancer therapies for cats, writing a summary for my Naturopathy course, being creeped out by my boyfriend's music still playing while he's out - I left it on, now it's Schittke's Concerto Grossi, you should definitely try that on a lonely night in - and drinking my bodyweight in water). That percentual comparison was of course yet another fruitless aim at putting things into perspective; we all know I've now spent more than an hour criticizing things which aren't even worth acknowledging their existence in the first place.

On a lighter note, I'll be discussing the ideal (ideal in terms of healthiness) breakfast with you one of these days. YAYYY!