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Saturday, Dec 5th.

Tonight i saw what a brothel looks like – bordello, whorehouse…call it however you want. it’s the same. if you live in haiti or have already spent time in the streets (because yeah, some people live there but only spend time in their car and don’t know shit about what’s happening)… yea, so… if you live in haiti you must’ve already seen how bees react when a machann fresco is around. they invade him, go around the syrup in circles like forever, and try to go away with you once you’ve got your fresco… the boys looked like that. some were just sitting in front, on the side of the street, most of them were standing in a big crowd inside, waiting for their turn or trying to get a shortcut by flirting with the girls that were outside the house: pstt… only money flirts there. i was disgusted when i started spotting the girls, they were all prepped and all but they looked awfully filthy. i wouldn’t know how to explain… something in their eyes, in their look, in their expression, was keeping them from being pretty or even pleasant to stare at. i think you need guts to be able to keep your head up in a situation like that… the situation where someone’s gonna pay you to share you STD (because you wouldn’t be there if you didn’t have one). the situation where you live in such a small town and everyone knows and talk about what you’re doing… where, by day, everyone talks behind your back when you go by… where the only thing people can say about you is "Mezanmi… tifi saa… m te deja wè sa pou li. podyab manman’l…". you know all that, better than me. but you’re still walking through all these boys or they’re around you like a bee tree… you know all of them, because here, everyone knows everyone… some live in your neighborhood, some have their wives that get their hair done at the same place as you, some even grew up with you… know your name, your parents, your brothers… because let me say it again, hello we live in haiti… and EVERYONE knows EVERYTHING about EVERYONE. 

here, it’s not like in the movies, they’re not pretty. they’re not sexy. they don’t smile at you – they can’t even pretend to be happy just to please you. here, the business does not work like that they’re doing what they’re doing just to be able to pay jeans and tops to keep on doing it until they’re too old for it. the factor beauty is not part of the equation. it’s like a circle, it never ends… so why on earth would they smile? what’s even the point of being pretty? it’s not like you’re gonna take them to the restaurant now, are you? or go introduce them to your parents… but some girls are actually, some really are pretty… but you know what happens to them? when they’re young new and pretty? when no one has touched them yet? … well, they become like this one fresco that has too much syrup. ALL the bees want it. and they fight over it until it falls apart and become like all the other ones. so when your young&pretty&new… you get one or two weeks of full attention, everyone wants you and only you and all the other girls hate you. but then, when everyone knows you, when everyone already had you… you’re now part of this disgusting circle and to survive you can’t go out. 

the dudes i was with told me they would never let me stay in there, not even to look at them couldn’t stay near it too much because, apparently other girls weren’t allowed in there for too long, not to complicate stuff or confuse people. 

reality? sucks….

it’s not narcissism, it’s just reality: you are the center of the world. of your world. you just have to deal with the fact that not everyone sees it the same way as you do. that’s kinda my prob… well, i do not expect to be the center of the universe, but i think i at least deserve to be in people i care for priorities. is that being selfish?… yea, i think it is. but no one’s perfect… specially not me, dig it. and yet it feels so good. then you think photography is so cool just because you like it, just to please you… you think peanut butter smells bad & looks like diarrhea just by you hating it… objectivity is just for dogs. it’s not worth na-da. i have a teacher who says that you get to be objective when you don’t let your feelings influence you opinion… i wonder… what the hell should influence my opinion then? if you can’t deal with what i feel AND what i think …and a tiny little bit of what really is – because everyone can see what really is… if a girl is pretty, me or anyone confirming it won’t change that fact. being subjective is adding your personal touch to reality… that’s exactly why i always thought it was stupid for kids in kindergarten to HAVE to draw inside the lines… or otherwise it just WASN’T good or pretty. we were three years old and they were already trying to teach us conformism. everything that was inside the lines was the same as all the other drawings,…to me, it was always that one line or mark, the one that dared to cross the limit… the one that was gonna make the teacher say "tu as dépassé la ligne, là!", that was what made it MY drawing and not just a clone of the other ones. how can 30 drawings be THE SAME and PRETTY at the same time? wtf? Beauty is originality… (And that’s again what i think… you are free to think what you want but that’s my blogpost so only MY opinion is to be expressed) at least that taught me one thing… what the teacher thinks doesn’t matter… the teacher’s word is the one that counts to others, and will always be. but never will matter enough to make me change my mind or behavior, unless it follows MY rules…  the page’s border was and always will be my only limit… i’ll never stay inside the lines just to please people, just to draw… say… something that everyone else saw… heard, already.  i’m not self-centered, or rebel… or maybe i am, but happen not to care about that at all.

oh so i saw you today. you used to look cute before… yea, cute like these dudes that girls my age say "Oh il est beau" when they see them. i saw you today… you don’t even look human anymore. you look like a desperate dead thing. why did i even bother saying hi? i even smiled… oh and you smiled too. nothing in your behavior could let people guess all the shit you said behind my back. non justified stuff… only based on what you would like to be true. i was mad… but i saw you today and thought. look at him, no more wife, no more kids, all that keep you alive are those young girls that hang in the streets waiting for people like you, waiting for your money… i was mad, i was thinking. oh the dude doesn’t even know me, he’s not my age, i don’t hang with him… how could he go and assume stuff like that on me..and go tell people? i swear i was mad. but now… all i can do for you is pity you. look at you… seriously. don’t you feel like rewinding everything? don’t you regret all the things you did? obviously you don’t… you are still doing them. and every day that goes by, you look 20 years older. these young girls are just killing you slowly, and yet… you’re the immoral one. doing stuff that 2 years ago i didn’t even know were possible. i guess i grew up, and realized life is not so pink and people just aren’t the way they seem to be. these girls are eating you up… finishing both your money and your life. but i’m still blaming you. you’re the one they should just drop and let die in a prison cell… but that’s not what i wish you. life’s already making you pay your lust overdose, your abusing people’s misery. you know that. i know that. but you still smiled when i waved at you today. and i smiled also. you disgust me… but i smiled. i guess we’re both hypocrites. and yet i still feel that i have the right to scorn you…

so you want to know what’s pathetic? this girl is pathetic… do you want to know why she is pathetic? well, it’s simple. a girl that spends all her time thinking about someone that isn’t thinking about her… hum that’s nothing less than pathetic. not being able to let go, when the person you’re obsessed about doesn’t give a shit… so you sit, you feel bad about yourself. you try to convince yourself you shouldn’t, that there was nothing that was supposed to make you feel that way. why…why the fuck are you making such a big deal about it? yes. you are pathetic… but liking someone is not about being pathetic, it’s about knowing that you are and STILL not caring. and admit it, that’s lame…  oh no but you don’t care, you’re there… in your room, you drank amaretto and your head is spinning. do you care now? you still don’t. you’re starring at your mac’ s white and shinny screen and all these people IM.ing you on MSN. you don’t care… and you know what’s even more pathetic about your situation: you’re gonna keep all that shit inside… you’re not gonna tell anyone how you really feel. your head is still spinning, your throat is burning you to death, you feel like you’re gonna throw up… you don’t care, and he doesn’t either. he doesn’t even know what your doing… he’s out with his friends. and you’re not blaming him, at all you’re actually very happy for him. you care so much about him that you forget about your head that is spinning, about you wanting to throw up… you care so much about him that you’re not gonna answer to the peeps on MSN… why would you anyways? you know you’re not gonna tell them anything that is true you’re simply gonna reply "Ça va bien et toi?" to all their "Comment vas tu?"s… lies. hypocrisy. all that shit because you don’t have the guts to go and tell somebody… how he makes you feel. you’re sitting there like a naïve little girl and the only thing you can do… is whispering: «i hate him for being him & making me care that much when he doesnt care at all.»… and watch your head spinning…

some people just come out of nowhere, and stay in your mind like forever. and you spend days wondering how you managed all this time without knowing them… some people make you feel ashamed of not being like them… everyone does bad stuff, but some people seem perfect even with some of the bad things they do. they’re cool like that. and you end up thinking that they’re so cool that you start feeling bad & asking yourself: does he think i’ m cool also? but even when you get to the point of convincing yourself that he does, you start feeling bad again: he may think i’ m cool, but i’ m not as cool as he is. and he knows it. therefore, every "loool" or smile you get from those people, is worth so freaking much, and gives you the illusion of being cool also… for a while. some people say stuff that no one else say, they react a way no one else does… so you, "normal little you", even though you don’t wanna sound girly or corny … you have to admit they’re special. special to the point where you’re like replaying on and on every sentence you heard coming out of their mouth… just like a cool song, never getting tired of it. so you sit there like an idiot, smiling for no reason… no explainable reason, no understandable reason. and other people, the ones that aren’t cool… think you’re crazy. but this time, you don’t give a rat’s ass about what they say. you really don’t. all this because some people… actually taught you how not to care.

yep. and again… you find yourself wondering how you spent all your life not knowing them… even if they don’t get it, even if you cant find a normal way of making them understand that they’re soooo notttt like everyone else… and even if they’ll never think you’re as awesome as you think they are… you’re just happy you met these people & grateful that they can sit and hear the all the nonsense you’re alway saying… without telling you you’re bothering :)

prejudge |prēˈjəj|
verb [ trans. ]
form a judgment on (an issue or person) prematurely and without having adequate information
sometime i really try to be nice. not to hurt anybody… not that i say cute stuff, but i shut up. and i just stare at people and smile. so that no one finds things to be mad about. those moment are actually cool. everyone’s happy. but SOMETIMES also. SOME PEOPLE can’t seem to realize the importance of the moments when im "nice" and they start talking shit just to make me become normal again. well, so yesterday… while we were waiting for the PE teacher (because student wait for teachers when they’re late… and teachers kick students out for being late. i’m not complaining. it’s a fact. aint no democracy inside a school…and screw everyone who think there should be. they should all be crucified.) … yes so.. (when it comes to moving away from my point … i’m gifted.) uhu…i was saying… so we were waiting for the PE teacher. and i was nice… i was reading a book :D !!! and smilling and agreeing to everything the other girls would say… and the girl came. out of nowhere – (with that disgusting grin that she wears like a uniform… im starting to think her face is really like that. i hope not. that would be cruel from god.). she sat and started thinking… and apparently, the conclusion to all this thinking was:
"Yael you’re not haitian.. you don’t look haitian. you don’t think haitian… and your skin…hum…"
wowowooo. relax duude!! i got so mad, i started started spreading all my haitian.history.knowledge (the leas i kept from all those silly history classes – the same things they’ve been saying since for ever.)… but wait, seriously… what would "haitian" mean? a real haitian should be an indian. but since there were spanish people, french people, english people… blah blah… a real HAITIAN would be a mix of all that. so i find it very very offending for her to just come and treat me as if she was the one responsible of deciding who’s haitian and who isn’t. (Oh no yael, that’s not what i meant… i mean that since you’re white…) WHITE?! … im a bit lighter than you are… and i love my skin color cause it looks like caramel or cinnamon. there’s nothing no one can say to make me feel bad about that… (yes but you don’t think the same way as we do… – we. as in all the other girls agreeing to the bullshit she’s saying). she ended the discussion by saying "you won’t get it."
why won’t i get it? because it’s a haitian thing?… i hate those comments. ot those situations… like when people see you & they start cursing in creole, thinking you won’t get it. & they laugh so hard. thinking they’re sooo funny. 
so im not haitian. han okay… i speak a raw creole with words she never heard. i grew up in the hills, where i would play in the red mud, drink rain.water, go up the hill & collect potatoes, throw cow shit & horse shit that i would pick up with my HANDS… & im not haitian?… alright. 
Can’t blame people for being stupid. they didnt ask for that, did they?
Track: hunter – Dido 
... who's haitian & who isn't.

pre•judge: verb → form a judgment on (an issue or person) prematurely and without having adequate information

22 09 09.

sometime i really try to be nice. not to hurt anybody… not that i say cute stuff, but i shut up. and i just stare at people and smile. so that no one finds things to be mad about. those moment are actually cool. everyone’s happy. but SOMETIMES also, SOME PEOPLE can’t seem to realize the importance of the moments when im "nice" and they start talking shit just to make me become normal again. well, so yesterday… while we were waiting for the PE teacher (because student wait for teachers when they’re late… and teachers kick students out for being late. i’m not complaining. it’s a fact. aint no democracy inside a school…and screw everyone who think there should be. they should all be crucified.) … yes so.. (when it comes to moving away from my point … i’m gifted.) uhu…i was saying… so we were waiting for the PE teacher. and i was nice… i was reading a book :D !!! and smilling and agreeing to everything the other girls would say… and the girl came. out of nowhere – (with that disgusting grin that she wears like a uniform… im starting to think her face is really like that. i hope not. that would be cruel from god.). she sat and started thinking… and apparently, the conclusion to all this thinking was:

"Yael you’re not haitian.. you don’t look haitian. you don’t think haitian… and your skin…hum…"

wowowooo. relax duude!! i got so mad, i started started spreading all my haitian.history.knowledge (the least i kept from all those silly history classes – the same things they’ve been saying since for ever.)… but wait, seriously… what would "haitian" mean? a real haitian should be an indian. but since there were spanish people, african people, french people, english people… blah blah… a real HAITIAN would be a mix of all that. so i find it very very offending for her to just come and treat me as if she was the one responsible of deciding who’s haitian and who isn’t. (Oh no yael, that’s not what i meant… i mean that since you’re white) WHITE?! …if i’m white… what color is Scarlett Johanson? im a bit lighter than you are… and i love my skin color cause it looks like caramel or cinnamon. there’s nothing no one can say to make me feel bad about that… (yes but you don’t think the same way as we do…we. as in all the other girls agreeing to the bullshit she’s saying). she ended the discussion by saying "you won’t get it."

why won’t i get it? because it’s a haitian thing?… i hate those comments. ot those situations… like when people see you & they start cursing in creole, thinking you won’t get it. & they laugh so hard. thinking they’re sooo funny. so im not haitian. han okay… i speak a raw creole with words she never even heard. i grew up in the hills, where i would play in the red mud, drink rain.water, go up the hill & collect potatoes, throw cow & horse shit that i would pick up with my HANDS… & im not haitian?… im "white". ok. uhu. alright. 

Can’t blame people for being stupid. they didnt ask for that, did they?

Track: [hunter - Dido]

x+y=10 • x/y+y/x=5/2

la•zy: adjective → unwilling to work or use energy.

20 09 09.

"yael, les math, ça se fait assis sur une table, concentré et SANS music ou internet" ah la la … x+y=10 … alors ça c’est comprehensible, mais x/y+y/x=5/2. oh laa!! tempo, freine un peu! ça va trop vite pour moi. xy quoi?!. ma tête va tellement vite que ça brule, comme pour me dire que je suis arrivée à la limite. les math, c’est degueulasse! donc si x+y=10… donc y=?… ah lala.. et ya la voix du père qui ordonne d’éteinedre la music, qui dit que je ne suis pas concentrée. trois heures apres, je dépose le cahier. I FUCKING SURRENDER!! s’il pouvait se réaliser seul ce probleme… non mais attendez… c’est plus des math là. c’est du suicide. et que je devienne philosophe ou carrément psychiatre et cmmencer a douter de leur vraies intention hein a ces gens la à l’école… imagine ils sont des agent spéciaux que les laboratoires de la CIA a envoyé pour tester la resistance du cerveau humain et à quel niveau il explose… si c’est le cas, je suis tout pres de l’explosion… nahh, improbable. allez! je ramasse le cahier et j’admire la banderolle de 10x²+20x+200 qui orne la page… avec un air ironic qui te fais "nananaa tu pourra jamais me resoudre"… pshh crève en enferr!! ok donc, calmons nous… yael, inspire… expire…inspire. ok.  BREF! je crois c’est a ce moment précis qu’elle a explosé, ma tête. ET J’AVAIS LA VOLONTÉ. je jure.
après tout ça… on ose encore me traiter de paresseuse?! jeez!! unwilling to work or use energy? te blagues… mes meninges viennent d’acomplir des prouesses OMLYMPIQUES. si c’est pas de l’énergie ça…c’est quoi? lacheuse, tout ce que tu veux mais paresseuse non. de plus…j’ai fait une grimace du style "je refléchiss" grifonné une centaine d’autres x et d’ y sur la page, barré la moitié… refait la même grimace, tourné la page… pour FINALEMENT sortir: "j’abandonne" voila!. fini. whats the point of making me study stuff i’ll forget in a few years? damn. l’école c’est tuatoire. moi je crois (non non je ne vais pas vous sortir ma vie.. et puis oui, je vais vous la sortir, dans ses moindres details. j’écris ce que je veux. c’est mon blog. mon avis. moi. rien que moi… t’aime pas?! tu zappes!!) … oui donc JE (moi) disais, que je crois qu’on devrais me permettre depui maintenant (là, l’instant present hein..) de choisir…ou plutôt, d’éliminer toutes les choses INULTILES comme le latin, l’histoire (extra aprofondie) d’haiti (qu’on me fait… je precise. etudier depui que j’ai 5 ans…le même blah blah "christophe colomb débarqua en haiti le 5 décembre 1492…et ce qu s’en suivit…" je la connais moi la fin de l’histoire. je l’ai LIVE sous les yeux… et c’est ça! de la poussiere, de la corruption, une bande d’incompétants a la tête d’une tite ile en pleinn deboisement. sujet a 300 millions de cyclones chaque année… la voila la fin.)

"does she ever shut up? damn."

track: [La mer et les étoiles - Pierpoljak]

 

pes•si•mism: noun → a tendency to see the worst aspect of thing or believe that the worst will happen.

19 09 09.

non mais vas y qu’ils me traitent tous de pessimiste. qu’ils fassent tous leur yeux globuleux et me sortent: "ohh pourquoi tu es fachée?!.. souris donc". laissez les. primo, je n’ai jamais vu un aspect negatif à être pessimiste. c’est juste un état. un fait. quelquechose de différent entre toi et moi. et lui. si tout le monde était pareil et que tout le monde voyait la vie en rose, ou serait l’interêt de vivre?! la philosophie et les métaphore ne me vont pas… bref. là n’est pas mon point. je ne veut pas parler de différence, parceque je n’en finirais pas. je veux parler d’eux… de ces demeuré qui parlent et mettent leur nez dans mes affaires comme s’ils avait dessiné le plan de ma vie, eux même. yael tu es jeune, tais toi et souris; écoute les adultes. ohh wi. je m’approche de mon point. les adultes, ça jacte. non mais vraiment… mes parents ont le droit de me demander quelque soit l’explication. mais eux, ces adultes là… eux, ils me paient pas mes habits. le matin quand je me lève et que j’ai faim, ils sont jamais là pour me faire mon petit-dejeuner… mais quand il s’agit de critiquer… de vouloir faire la morale, de parraître suuuper étonné "du cynisme et du fatalisme de mademoiselle.moi.même", ils ramênent tous leur faces en croyant qu’ils vont me prêcher la bonne nouvelle… qu’ils vont changer ma vie avec leur conseils à la con. je peux vous assurer qu’ils n’ont pas réussi.  j’arrive à mon point. OU étaient ils ce matin?! réponse: dans leur lit. dans leur draps… (en train de rêver qu’ils sont mère theresa)… OU j’étais moi? aaa mais j’étais à l’ecole :) … (euh on est quel jour déja? aa oui… samedi.). voila pourquoi ils peuvent continuer a me traiter de pessimiste. parcequ’ils ronflaient hein, ce matin quand j’essayais de faire la différence entre les écrivains pseudo-classiques et ceux de l’ecole de 1836 (ou la laaa… mais c’est que ça sonne savant ça hein!? … non.). je vous jure. les samedis c’est sacré. je me fous pas mal de savoir si le prof a rien a foutre chez lui le samedi… moi mon samedi c’est a moi. et encore… si au moin javais l’illusion d’être plus intelligente que les autres enfants qui n’étaient pas a l’école aujourdhui. même pas. jaimerais savoir a quoi ça va m’aider de savoir la conception platonique de l’amour de tel auteur… ou la foi, la piété d’un autre… tout ça au lieu d’être bien relax dans mon lit et de faire la grasse matinée?…  donc maintenant reflechis un peu, retourne bien le mot dans ta bouche… et traite moi de pessimiste encore une fois?! do i look like i give a shit?!… 

sad to admit. but im a little bit…just a a little. antisocial.

track: [still searching - damian marley]

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