coffee and cigarettes.

coffee and cigarettes 

cigarettes and coffee

i'm sitting in the bath softened with a lush bath oil that will later fuck up my vagina's ph level  leaving me dreadfully itchy. i leave dark marks on the walls and the edge of the bath with a dark liquorice conditioner. it's supposed to make dark hair blacker, not to dye bleached hair black but i know what it takes to bleach out a black box dye and i'm not going to go through that again. 

picked up smoking again recently trying to embody that meme about spirituality from years ago. after all i'm 6 months into my 30s.

i'm currently rewatching jim jarmusch's catalogue. this time it's "coffee and cigarettes". i need me some awkward and adorable cinema loving disjointed dialogues to soothe my wounded soul after another rejected university application. and i have to avoid crying at all costs. 

i adore "coffee and cigarettes". seeing bill murray drinking coffee out of the pitcher makes my soul dance with post-punk joy. and late Renée French who just wants to flip through a gun catalogue while sipping on her coffee of perfect colour and temperature in peace leaves me melting in all the right ways.

so here i am in the bath drinking the second black pour over of the day, smoking rolled fags one after another while refreshing the inky blackness of my hair and swaying to the poetry of "coffee and cigaarettes", nicotine always makes me dizzy and nauseous. but i'm no stranger to ignoring my body's protective signals for the sake of mundane melodrama. somebody has to keep this cinematic coolness alive.