Adam Lambert in the Idolatry interview: «Thanks for the taking the piss out of me on the show, I enjoyed it (...) I can take a joke. I liked it. It was good. And I deserve a little bit of a eye-roll now and again. I'm kinda ridiculous. I know that.» I love this guy. He's so precious.

God, I'm old!!! Just received a message from my best friends: "Welcome to the club of the young and sexy" lol somehow I feel better...

The cafe in my neighbourhood now has scones+tea at 16.30. The cool thing is the little poem that comes with it. Went there yesterday and this is what accompanied mine:
Don't have time to translate it for now, but it's about the city, how we're trapped there when there are beaches and the sea and «nameless mountains». There's the big plains outside, but here we only see walls. It's really beautifull, and there's this feeling of suffocation and entrapment and a nostalgia for the nature and simpler things, away from all the endless movement of the cities. The funny thing is, I had spent the whole week working at home, enclosed by walls, feeling trapped and sort of miserable. The poem seemed to express my exact feelings. Sort of like a furtune cookie but without telling my fortune, just my inner feelings. Or maybe it was telling my fortune. Telling me to get away from it and get a taste of the waves and the trees. God knows how I need that sometimes.

The other day I entered my living room and this is what i found:

 

We Are the Clumsy Passersby

by Pablo Neruda

 

We are the clumsy passersby, we push past each other with elbows,

with feet, with trousers, with suitcases,

we get off the train, the jet plane, the ship, we step down

in our wrinkled suits and sinister hats.

We are all guilty, we are all sinners,

we come from dead-end hotels or industrial peace,

this might be our last clean shirt,

we have misplaced our tie,

yet even so, on the edge of panic, pompous,

sons of bitches who move in the highest circles

or quiet types who don't owe anything to anybody,

we are one and the same, the same in time's eyes,

or in solitude's: we are the poor devils

who earn a living and a death working

bureautragically or in the usual ways,

sitting down or packed together in subway stations,

boats, mines, research centers, jails,

universities, breweries,

(under our clothes the same thirsty skin),

(the hair, the same hair, only in different colors).