Kaitlin Pignataro

Don't take my advice for everything because I didn't get the job at the architects. I'm hungover and want to ***. Directionless and apathetic to all. Hopeful because my friends and I are going to the Peninsula on the weekend.

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Protect Me From What I Know and Save Me From What I Yet Do Not. That is my daily prayer.

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Goodbye.

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My hair is looking very much like Léa Seydoux—amazing stuff, and my one-time doppelgänger. Her full legal name is Léa Hélène Seydoux-Fornier de Clausonne, and she's one of five sisters with equally great names. Is my love for diacritics becoming too obtuse?

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Camille.

Marine.

Ondine.

Noémi.

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This reminds me of the Mitford sisters.

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Nancy.

Pamela.

Diana.

Unity.

Jessica.

Deborah.

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This is a hiatus while I write more fiction about a woman who is listless and lives in a country motel.

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This mouse is lagging and it sucks. Going to buy a sandwich. Wish I has big glasses right about now.

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Enfants Terribles = bad babies.

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I recently read an article on Hollywood Superstar in which essayist Yoona titled “Mutation is Aesthetic”, where she talks about how the hyperproliferation of certain symbols strips them of their inherent meaning. And whenever I look at polka dots or teal or, like, pink or brown or horses or, you know, ribbons around the neck, or machine gun motifs or indie sleaze slop, I really feel that.

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I'm on the phone with Imogen. I watch Emily Browning interviews from when she did Sleeping Beauty, a personal favourite of mine that's probably very reflective of my age and, dare I say... nom de plume.

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Unity has the best name but she's a dead fascist. Well, they are all dead now.

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When I saw a photo of Mussolini's shattered and expunged face, it gave me acid reflux in my throat. Sometimes my brain shows me the image of it in my head unsolicitedly. It kind of looked like if a beanbag was stomped on so hard that everything, all the beans in it, just burst out, except, you know, his head obviously wasn't filled with beans. Although that would be quite funny.

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Life actually is awesome and I've been having a great time making prototype sculptures of words saying rude expletives and names like Moira Donegan and submitomeorelse and whatever else I PLEASE. I think all my friends are geniuses in many different ways.

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Malie has put me onto elderflower syrup. Holunderblütenspritzer.

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There are studies dedicated to everything including bubbles. I've been listening to my high school playlists lately to escape the inescapable. In search of some good epistolary novels. I wanna read The Easter Parade by Richard Yates. Not Richard Yates by Tao Lin.

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Looksmaxxer just got done for ... take one guess. Yes. It's gonna be the hottest summer on record in like 1000 years according to Sunrise because of El Niño - I'm not sure what to do about it.

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I want to be someone who really appreciates the works of people like John Steinbeck, but East of Eden made me feel nil. Nhill - town in the Wimmera, pop. 1,949. Send me to the Wimmera, or to the Wheatbelt region.

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Writing this whilst enduring beating hangover. Jesus wept.

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In no particular order, my scholarly pursuits of late have involved the biography of Isadora Duncan, the name Björn and whether or not it can be feminised to a girl's name, kitchen sink realism, and subsequently the novel A Taste of Honey by Sheila Delaney, who wrote it when she was 19.

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I've then looked at some photos of swimming pools in Iceland. Swimming pool culture is protected by, like, UNESCO or whatever, because it's part of Icelandic heritage and culture.

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I then read about Mona Lisa's vandalism attempts. I wouldn't steal the Mona Lisa because she only smiles weakly. I don't find her very special.

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I then googled where the Valley of Death is. It seems to not have any confirmed geographical location, although is widely believed to be a narrow canyon located in the West Bank between Jerusalem and Jericho.

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I then read Wikipedia's list of stock characters, which is one of the best things I've ever read in my life.

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I read about Patty Hearst and wondered if people like her. Same with Rose Dugdale. Will make their names into sculpture prototype but not trying to create a theme here.

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Then I looked at the word anathema and wrote it down in my notebook I keep on my desk. I also wrote the word laconic, which I find to be quite useful.

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I also learned more about what it means to be a chanteuse and wished I was one, but I'm not good at singing.

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I then text one of my friends and ask, "how does someone know whether they're good at singing, like enough to make a career out of it, or they just think they're good at singing?"

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I looked up the word ebullient and then I bought a copy of The Beautiful and the Damned on Vinted.

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I read a bit about female Shakespearean characters and thought about the name Hippolyta.

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I learned a new word called epicene.

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I then read about Sylvia Plath, who I feel for some reason deeply devoted to and think of very often. Maybe because she is like the poster woman for languorous, white, twenty-somethings... not to be reductive, of course.

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