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This is a good question, and I think I'll end this here, for now. I've answered so many questions. So many! I could have written a book in all that time! No, I couldn't. But it is maybe time to try.
I liked this thing. I liked learning about myself and other people, even though I never knew who they were (and even when I could guess, I didn't want to), but I hated that mostly I was learning about what other people think of me, for better or for worse. That knowing always makes you worse, in the end, I mean, it gets you away from yourself in the worst way.
I am blasé about a lot of things that others in my industry (fashion/culture/media), really seem to care about, like, I don't know, Twitter rankings and titles and "invites" and "personal brands." I wish I could care still less about how I look in photos; sometimes I wish I could say "no photos, please" but then I never want to be that famous, or famous at all. I'd like to be well-known for something, that's all. Nothing makes me want to crawl inside myself and die like the words "local celebrity." Except "personal brand."
There was a time I'd just write anything on the internet, because who really cared? That made me feel safe. I don't feel safe now. I'm like a small fish in a smaller fishbowl and all the little bugs on the outside are shooting holes in the glass with their hate-stares and I just want to swim!!! See, I put three exclamation marks there so you can tell I'm joking, because the seriousness of how depressively at odds I feel with my world (myself?) is NOTHING compared to the deadly absurdity of my world as a whole.
Every day, except when it's really bad, things make me cry and scream or feel ecstatic. But why should anyone know that? In the atomic seconds when I am feeling things the most, I am probably not tweeting about them.
Everyone should choose what to put out there (will it make anyone laugh or think or feel a thing?) and that, yeah, is "curating." I'm not super-precious and I'm still not nearly careful enough, and maybe never will be, whatever. I hope I'm always changing. I'm so happy you used the word "incandescence," because I love it and that's true.
Annnnnd that's all she wrote! Back to Twitter. If you really need/want to know something, there's always that old-fangled thing, email. -
I do have a pinterest account, but don't use it (yet?) cos I'm so exhausted by sharing already. Sorry I can't help, and <3 back.
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Palm Springs, motherfuckers! Sorry. I'm, like, wow-excited. Going with my boyfriend and a carry-on so full of books.
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I do have fine hair and two favourite products: 1) Oribe dry shampoo, which is the best version of the best invention known to lazy womankind; 2) Sally Hansen's new brand of hairspray that comes in a silver can and volumizes lightly, and well.
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I don't know what is wrong with people, and they don't know what's wrong with me, but some days they reeeally seem to think they do. If that dick/bitch had anything new or important to say about smoking (which everyone knows is terrible, yes), s/he would say it somewhere that wasn't, oh, my personal formspring.
Anyway, thank you. -
In winter: giant sweater -- or cropped sweater over long oxford shirt -- and leather leggings (still). In summer: anything long enough to count as a dress + big wedges + sunnies.
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How personal are their tweets? But no, probably not.
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Ha, no, he doesn't even have one, doesn't use it that much.
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Hahahaha. I always thought that was just how Frenchies pronounced KGB! I'm so Anglo.
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Oh, I'm glad I could help you be lazy, for real. OK, let me think. I like Sparrow, I've been there the most in Montreal, and I like Le Cartet for brunch, and also this little super-traditionally French spot on the plateau. There's a good little izakaya downtown, not near anything cool, but I can't recall the name. That vegepate sandwich was from Cafe KGB, which seems like a place you could live in.
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I think I've answered this before, actually... I'd want my Oma's bread with havarti cheese and jam, and really expensive wine, I guess, and for dessert, sweet ice cream with salty nuts and popcorn. Also, strawberries, so many strawberries from the field.
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Aww. Next time, don't be shy. My bark is like 10x worse than my bite.
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Can you email me? Need a little time with this one, and don't wanna forget.
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You can say whatever you like about me, but insult the man I love, and suddenly you need to know exactly how inane, pathetic and likely to die alone you are. I would rather have cancer than be you.
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Sorrrrrrrrrry. See how many extra letters I put in sorry to make up for ones I deleted from "conversation?"
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YESSSS, I do, and OK Computer narrowly beats Kid A because it has a song on it, "Lucky," that contains the name "Sarah," as in "kill me, Sarah, kill me with love" and I am just that into myself. No, really, I love the song.
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That wasn't quite it, no.
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Yes, that cover is one of my favourite things of all time. You win! As for "niceness," I don't think it means much, but kindness means everything.
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Honey, when you have tits like mine, it takes a lot more than cigarette smoke to repel a man. Also, I like smoking. If I stop liking it and find myself only doing it because I can't not, I'll quit.
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