zoebelsinger

[zoebelsinger]

L’odeur des tilleuls en fleurs quand j’ouvre les fenêtres, celle du soleil qui chauffe le toit en zinc du jardin d’hiver et le pelage de Sasha. Il y a celle du délabrement qui sent l’égout, la glace qui grignote le congélateur, le poisson cuit dans le beurre, le gras de jambon emballé dans de l'aluminium et fourré au fond d'un sac à main. Puis celle de la maladie, qui elle sent le chien mouillé, la cassonade, la voiture neuve et le spray feu de bois de chez Dyptique.

Mes yeux sont lourds, je me sens sale. 

—

C’est drole, je fais régulièrement le même rêve depuis des années. Mon subconscient me le vend comme un souvenir d’enfance, c'est un endroit pas très loin, facile d’accès. Généralement au bout d’une rue en pente, et à chaque fois la même surprise « mais c’est juste là! c’était si proche pendant tout ce temps! » Le tout ressemble à un endroit de la côte Anglaise car sur le petit morceau de plage on peut y apercevoir des falaises. Même si il y a une légère réminiscence de Blankenberge également. Ce n'est pas bien différent, finalement. L’esthétique globale est très croisière/casino de plage, et la joie y est honnête et pure.

C’est un rêve que j’adore faire, même si je suis confuse quand je me réveille. J'aimerai plutôt être là bas qu'ici.

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As you may have noticed, well... I can’t tell if I’ve made this point clear in my work... I know, I don’t really talk about it… I really dislike it when people I don’t know show up at my place. I can’t stand the way their smell hangs around, how they use my bathroom without flushing, and it really annoys me when they go through my stuff when I’m not home. Ugh! — By the way, dear followers, dear... friends?!  Do you have any camera suggestions? I’m looking to shoot video in 4K — (for my new career as an elusive chanteuse) I also want to take some professional-looking photos of Zouzou (I’d like her to try out for cat food ads so we can use the money to buy the apartment. #momager) and clear images of the puppets and miniatures I craft in my spare time. Yeah, I don’t really know shit about good cameras, I’ve been using a 1100D for the last... uhhhh... 14 years (?!) I think it’s time for a much needed upgrade. (cheers, Mr. Thief. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be too scared to make a move...) So, I’m all ears for any recommendations! 📸

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a few great films that are free on the internet archive

in decent quality too!

here is the archive collection of these films so you can favorite on there/save if desired.

links below

black girl (1966) dir. ousmane sembene

the battle of algiers (1966) dir. gillo pontecorvo

paris, texas (1984) dir. wim wenders

desert hearts (1985) dir. donna deitch

harold and maude (1973) dir. hal ashby

los olvidados (1952) dir. luis bunuel

walkabout (1971) dir. nicolas roag

rope (1948) dir alfred hitchcock

freaks (1932) dir. tod browning

frankenstein (1931) dir. james whale

sunset boulevard (1950) dir billy wilder

fantastic planet (1973) dir. rené laloux

jeanne dielman (1975) dir. chantal akerman

the color of pomegranates (1969) dir. sergei parajanov

all about eve (1950) dir. joseph l. mankiewicz

gilda (1946) dir. charles vidor

the night of the hunter (1950) dir. charles laughton

the invisible man (1931) dir. james whale

COLLECTION of georges méliès shorts

rebecca (1940) dir. alfred hitchcock

brief encounter (1946) dir. david lean

to be or not to be (1942) dir. ernst lubitsch

a place in the sun (1951) dir george stevens

eyes without a face (1960) dir. georges franju

double indeminity (1944) dir. billy wilder

wild strawberries (1957) dir. ingmar bergman

shame (1968) dir. ingmar bergman

through a glass darkly (1961) dir. ingmar bergman

persona (1961) dir. ingmar bergman

winter light (1963) dir. ingmar bergman

the ascent (1977) dir. larisa shepitko

the devil, probably (1977) dir. robert bresson

cleo from 5 to 7 (1962) dir. agnes varda

alien (1979) dir. ridley scott + its sequels

after hours (1985) dir. martin scorsese

halloween (1978) dir. john carpenter

the watermelon woman (1996) dir. cheryl dune

EDIT: part two here + the letterboxd list

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Real estate developers, cruel grandmothers and the grey, dull, unaffordable (!) cities of Wallonia are definitely among the things I dislike the most.

Two years ago, I moved back to my little town because the big city far east was becoming unaffordable and I had to get the hell out of my apartment (there was a mysterious gas leak and a horrible landlady) When I left, they rented it out for €750. It was €520 when I first moved in. (toilets on the landing, of course) The grey, large city made me feel like I couldn't properly breathe. (but I deeply respect it. There are plenty of great places to get lost) I wanted to move to Brussels. I still do. It really is obscenely unaffordable, just like any big city, I guess. Now that I have to find another place to live, the small, dull, grey town is becoming unaffordable as well. I understood that it was Wallonia in itself that was giving me this intense feeling of claustrophobia! Who would have thought! I guess I really am allergic to that place! I've been listening to nothing but Leonard Cohen's Take This Waltz on repeat for the last 5 days. I spend my days trying to tame the pigeons at my window and I'm learning to detach myself from a place where I felt comfortable for the first time in a long time. Not here, and not yet there, wherever that may be.

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Yesterday I found a book of pictures taken by my grandfather (on my mom’s side) in Brussels in the 70s. I hadn’t seen much of his art until now so I decided to paint some of my favorite ones. (Not gonna lie, I feel a little jealous of some of these shots. I like collecting strangers' faces) Street portraits are something I've always wanted to do, but I'm too shy, so I turned to comics instead. In the 80s, he gave up his graphic design career to teach yoga, and by the 90s, he focused on woodworking and his journey as a shaman (yeah, I know, there's a lot to say about that...) I must have seen him less than 10 times in my life, but he always sent me great books for my birthday (mostly about witches) — I kept them all. One time, we went over to his place for dinner, and the quinoa he served was not fully cooked. (he was obviously an old-school vegetarian) He turned to me and asked if I'd ever tried eating soup with a fork. I was impressed and uncomfortable so I muttered a very weak "...uh... no...". I was sure it was some kind of philosophical musing, like "you gotta have the right tools to do the things you really want to do", but maybe he just figured I had no table manners at all. I'll never know.

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people who own too many properties and cars

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Chemical menopause sucks. I can hardly believe I’ll be going through that again in twenty years (...25?) or so.

I had my first zoladex shot in November. Everything started to go wrong really fast. My back and joints are killing me, and I haven't slept through the night since early december.

(A delightful mix of hot flashes, nightmares, and severe anxiety) (this anxiety is clearly store-bought, not the organic version I usually cook up - as a treat - during my spare time)

Is every single day bringing me nearer to a total mental collapse?

The jackdaws I feed in the morning told me about a guy with ham-like skin and way too much money, who did a n@z! salute and… people were cheering for him…

Is it… future or is it… past…?

(hell... god... baby ... damn... No!!)

It also sucks that David Lynch is dead. He's the reason I've had my couch pushed up against the wall for years. (Things have changed now, but I still keep the gap between the couch and the bookshelf small enough because I remain very scared of Bob going over the couch in that episode, y'know...)

(just remember, the important word here is couch)

He, John Waters and Gregg Araki, shaped my formative years, when my brain was still tender and hungry for weird things. and for that, I am very grateful.

(my brain is still hungry for weird things, but I'm afraid it's not so tender anymore)

(Well, everything’s not so bad : I had a pretty funny dream. I was in a restaurant, I was talking with someone who swore spoke Italian, when he starts speaking I don't understand anything. I don’t speak Italian but I know what it sounds like, right? and that... isn’t Italian? So, I tell him. And his rate of speech is more and more incomprehensible. I wake up, realize that what I took for a dialogue was only the snoring of Zouzou sleeping next to my head (she puts her paws on her muzzle when she sleeps) I go back to sleep, and in my new dream, I tell my previous dream to someone who has no face.)

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“To become the New Flesh, you have to kill the old flesh.”

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(pov : you're a tiny fly resting on my drying rack)

(I'll upload the edited video, like, the one with the sound and everything someday)

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I dyed my hair back to dark brown today. (If I see another jar of manic panic psychedelic sunset/electric tiger lily, I'm going to have a nervous breakdown) I wanted to go blonde but my hair didn't get the memo and acted all weird about it...

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I guess it's the pair of gentle hands I mentionned in my previous post

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Tag, you're my therapist now! (gotcha!)

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CAPER BRINE