misc

2012 dash

It’s not “people who contour are themselves automatically racist” but that the desired face shape created by contouring is one that, at the end of the day, pretty much reflects existing white standards of beauty. A thinner, pointier nose, smaller chin, high angled cheekbones and (on occasion) smaller lips. Also if you’re darker skinned you have to use a much lighter shade of foundation  thus ending up with an overall lighter face.

However the drunk guys are also drinking, and eventually she can't afford to buy another pitcher for the table so she can't keep up the ever-full beer glass trick. At this point she has to resort to setting up the pool trick shot that she's never seen anyone but her boyfriend pull off, and says she'll leave with whoever manages the shot first.

I've drawn the blinds and the curtains, drenched my shirt in cold water and turned up the fan. I keep ice cubes in the fridge and I hide from the sun. The flat is dark, in the summer.

It's that type of season.

I change the batteries in my thermometer. I change the water for the cats. I step into the shower in the mornings, and the evenings, and at lunchtime too. My brain slows. My hair has not been dry in weeks. When I step outside, onto the concrete and into the bright sun sitting proudly in that cloudless sky, it is as though she has sat herself, fat and heavy, and oozing, atop my shoulders.

My head. My mouth. My thighs.

I take the weighted blanket off the bed. I take the cover off the blanket. The fan in the corner whirrs and whirrs.

Yesterday, we recorded another record high temperature. We do that every year, it seems.

42 degrees in Central Europe.

Do you remember, when thirty degrees was a lot? Do you remember going out to swim, for ice cream and a laugh, at twenty-five? How long has it been? A decade, maybe.

More, maybe.

I heard it's going to rain again.

The grass is yellow, and brown in patches. There are holes in the leaves of my hibiscus, and my cat presses herself into the wet soil after I've watered the mint. Everything is thirsty nowadays, it seems.

The last storm brought lightning, thunder and wind. It did not rain.

I am not allowed to install an AC in my flat. It might ruin the cityscape, you see. Tourists can't be expected to put up with that. The ambulance sirens are coming closer together. The man who lives in front of the supermarket with his dog empties an entire bottle of water over its back. His skin is red, and reveals, in flakes, even more burnt flesh.

I have a sunburn on my shoulders from the five minutes I spent getting from the store to the heavy metal door that leads to the stairwell - it's never cool, see. It collects cigarette smoke and the scent of onions frying in oil. One side is all glass. There are no windows to open.

My alarm rings at 6am. It's going to heat up now, and I have to close my windows, and draw my blinds and my blackout curtains. The sun sits alone in her cloudless sky.