The Thief

A diary written by a criminal

About Writing The Lies

Written 2011-11-12 21:12:25 i My story

I am trying to be as honest as I can in this. With you. The blog is strictly about me saying what I have allways wanted to say; Confessing what I allways wanted to confess. And braging about everything I've allways wanted to brag about. Like any other blog on the world wide web.
But how do I get to be honest if I am writing a novel? In what way can I show a part of myself without revealing it all? It's easy to lie to someone else's face, I do that all the time. But it's harder to lie in printed texts, because when one lie one allways reveal a part of the truth, sometimes through language use  and sometimes when telling to much or confusing an important part of the lie's puzzle. When telling a lie the words becomes more diffuse and the reciever have to put all the puzzle pieces together in his or her head, allways compensating for lost information with suitable pieces to the lie's puzzle. Because people want to trust other people.
But when lying in printed text the reciever can read everything again, and again, and eventually realize that parts of the puzzle doesn't match.
That's why I'm having trouble writing a novel. To write a small lie is hard. But to come up with a totally complete person, character, a perfect story, is not puzzle one get on christmas and finishes before easter. To create a lie that big, one may almost have to live it first. At least at some level. Then one might get some of the pieces for free. Because one can't steal those kinds of pieces, it is just not possible...
So what, should I try to become someone else, in order to be able to write from someone else's perspective without lying?

When wondering around with confusing thoughts and doubts, at the same time filling up the appartement to the sealing with ideas of different lies, I somewhere along the way started notice something...

I have no novel yet. And no job. And no money.

Nostalgia: The Day I Became A Thief

Written 2011-11-11 23:16:53 i My story

To become a thief was a chioce I made. But I can't really say that any of my other choices would have been better - a legal judge might have another opinion on that though - because I am a manic, paranoid individual with urges to repeat my behaviour in a higher and higher scale, a person who's drawn to addictive activities.
I might have been saved by stealing. Saved from doing drugs and being a seriekiller, saved from gambling with depts and risk my life in order to fullfill my needs of going into something so deep, that I can't se the surface anymore...

Because I can allways quit stealing. It something I do on my own. Lite a independent sole proprietorship, but without paying taxes. As I could allways quit smoking, if would have been addiction. Maybe it is my addict's mind that is mumbling, stumbling over excuses for my bad judgement and despicable choices. Yes I know I am violating other peoples liberties, their good lifechoices might be prevented by my bad ones. I know that. Though as I have highly declared in my earlier posts - I am kind of an ass.

Until I was 13 years old I was bored already and restless as hell. I was allways running, my steps were fast. And and my mind was open to whatever was more exciting than living in a small house, in a small town, in a small country, with people around me getting excited over a dress or a boyfriend or rings on other peoples fingers. I didn't want that. I wanted the opposite of what everybody else wanted. To provoce, to get punched and get to punch back. To get to feel something.

When I steel I feel excitement, adrenaline, pump. When I hide my stolen good I feel haunted and alert. Sometimes I keep the good in my handbag for weeks, just to hold on to the feeling.
That was also the case the first time I stole. My breasts were just starting to show and I was at a ladie's store trying out bras. I tryed different kinds on. I didn't want a white, innocent one. I wanted a sexy black lace bra so that I could live that exciting life that I dreamed of. As a teenager I thought - ironically despite my urge to allways be provocative and "opposite" - that sex and sexyness was the only way to excitement. Anyway. I excidantally droped one of the bras on the floor and the alarm just fell of. Like a sign. I stood frozen for 5 seconds and then I put the bra in my big pink handbag. And then I hurried out of the store. My heart pounding like a wild lion had just attacked me. I let the bra lie there, among with my dirty sauccer clothes and cheap make-up. After tre weeks I through it in the trash, it wasn't the bra, it was the feeling...

Please subscribe to The Thief. It may hit where it hurts good.

Tuesday 9/20/11

Written 2011-09-20 21:22:14 i My story

Most things are just not worth dying for. But some might be worth killing for...

Is this Chanel bag not the most beautiful creation you have ever seen? An old lady with red badly homecolored hair and practical old shoes walked down the street outside the café sunday morning, carrying this over her shoulder! 

For those - losers - who might not know this I will explain; This is not a copy, it's the real deal. And that means approximately $2300. And that woman, did not own a credit card. Nor did she own taste. She must have been a thief, just like me. And that's why I took it. As I see it, it was actually the right thing to do. Almost. Until I felt her strength. Consider her age of 70+ she was extremely talented in self defense and kung fu. Or something like that I don't really know that shit. Let's say she hit well.

Anyway. As we faught and struggled, in some wierd slow motion silence, behind a corner, the handbag, which was now laying unsupervised on the ground, suddenly came to life - I swear that nobody touched it, nobody - and opened. Then it grasped! For... for... air I think? Or maybee it was something else it was trying to catch with it's flaping golden clip. But the strange old lady was so determent to disarm me, that she didn't seem to notice it. I found my self stop struggleing and instead half-laying there stoned, me too grasping, and definitely for air.... Then another strange thing occure, in the old lady's eyes. It looked like a thick dangerous poison was bubbling up inside her eyes, rising like the tide water. As she discovered the handbag laying there open, she opened her mouth for the first time and wispered to me:

Your time is out.

Then, I finally realized that to lay there frozen wouldn't do me any good as she was surely going to kill me or worse. So I, to qoute Barney in How I Met Your Mother, "suited up" and got to business. I felt my adrenaline flow through my veins and the pump in my muscles gave them extra power when I fumbling reached for my leather belt. I'm not the kind of person who likes to brag, but I was basicly the Hulk. As on speed I whiped her over and over until she fell and then I grabbed the bag and... No, I didn't run. I just stood there still. Felt my blood cooling down a bit. Enjoying the moment. I had survived. I had the bag. I was... Happy. Then I got scared that someone whould see her lying there and me standing here and put the two facts together into one ugly truth, so I turned around to... to somehow move her, but she was gone! How did she get up? I thought I had hurt her pretty bad. But obviously not. 

I straightened up and checked myself in a store window. Nothing to worry about. I had the bag after all. To bad that I had gotten strawberry sauce all over my T-shirt, though. 
I went back in the the Café and said that I quit, because I just couldn't be seen there anymore. What if the lady came back with the police?

So now I'm sitting here. Alone with my triumpf. The Hulk is gone. And the clock in my livingrom has started working again.

Please subscribe and you may keep your belongings ♥

Monday 9/19/11

Written 2011-09-19 22:56:20 i My story

I have officially changed my locks until I find a new apartement. Now I can finally sleep again. Last night I was just frozen under a blanket, completely awake and jumping on every little sound that came from outside. In the stairs. I thought I heard footsteps in the stairs. In the parking lot. A strange car, making unfamiliar noises. The clock in my livingroom was ticking as loud as it possibly could. "Tick. Tick. Tick." Like it also was waiting for something to happen. Like it was trying to hold on to it's precious time. Yeah, what exactly is time? Some say it does not even exist. Some, just someone named Einstein and a couple of his look-alikes, mentiones that it's not linear and that the past, the present and the future are not absolutes. Seriously, to quote Pheobe in Friends: what is up with the universe?!
"Tick. Tick." Time most certainly does exist in my livingroom. Gosh. I'm gonna throw that old clock away when I move. Or give it to someone poor. Or someone rich.

Anyway, I should go to bed. Feeling pretty good! And damn! Tired like I've never slept. There is no way that... person could have a new copy of my key now, because I haven't been out all day and I have all three of my originals here with me. I'm gonna be just fine. I guess it was just one of you guys getting upset with my lifestyle. But you know what? You can suck it. (I mean, you who did this ofcaurse, not all of you! Please stay with me! Please, I dont want to be alone...)

I quit my job yesterday. What could I do? After what happened. What didn't happen. Tomorrow I must show you something. Something that I kept from yesterday. I promise; The absolutely very last thing I'm ever gonna steel. But this, this... Beauty.

And the clock has stoped. Nice. It's going to be all right.

Sleep tight and subscribe to a loving friend who would never take naked pictures of you and sell them on the internet ♥

Sunday 9/18/11

Written 2011-09-18 19:51:34 i My story

Hi guys!

Omg. This has been a looong day. Btw! Do anybody know how to get rid of red stains on a white shirt? Please I need some good tips here! I can't just through it in the trash cause, it is a VERY VERY nice shirt and I want to keep it in my closet, hidden, forever.
My new "non-criminal"- life didn't work out as a planned.... At all. If I knew that it would be this hard I wouldn't even have tried to quit stealing - and everything, life, would have continued as usual. I liked usual. But I guess I was bored and probably would have ended up killing myself at last - ofcaurse in the way that most people consider the very most cowardly of ways... Maybee that would have been better? Maybee that's what was meant to be. But I don't consider religios texts and oral historical myths a reliable source of knowledge, which means that I don't think "destiny" is a good choice of method to solve my problems. I will fix this the hard way. If I can. Otherwise I may change my opinion on destiny... and religion. Sorry all you faithful good guys. I'll admit that I am kind of an ass :)

Maybee there is something good in change. Someting good in a chaotic lifestyle. Keeps you awake. Keeps you thinking about how to manage... Yourself. That is good right?

So, what happened today. I can't even remember. That's how hard I'm dealing with it! Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing. Absolutely blank. If someone asks, I was golfing. Or hanging out with... you? Comment if we hung out today!

Though I have to start looking for a new appartment. And a new name. I like Nathalie. What do you think of that?

Please subscribe, to your loving friend who would certainly not copy your credit card number when you're in the bathroom. ♥

Saturday 9/17/11

Written 2011-09-17 08:43:06 i My story

I've got goosbumps all over my body. The weirdest thing happened last night. I thought I heard the letterbox flap (it allways does that when the door is opening) but I wasn't really awake and in my confused sleepyhead I told myself that the mailman was just a bit late - or early - this time.
Oh I'm so creeped out. Seriously, if the one who did this is out there; STOP IT! Just stop it right now. It is soo over the line. Yes I am a thief and a criminal, but I would never, ever, brake in into someone else's home. It's a personal violation unlike almost no other. All I can think about is what did the freak do in my appartement? Did he touch this? Did she look into my personal, most private things? Did he watch me sleep? Did she plant drugs in my drawers? So I'am telling you: If this is a joke, it's not funny.

Well, in addition to my anxiety I found a letter on my kitchen table. Or more like a note. It said: "Stop this now, just walk away and no one will get hurt..."

To be honest I don't quite understand it. What is it that I should stop? What can I walk away from? As I've earlier confest I'm trying to quit stealing and yes it's going very well! I haven't had my hands on anything that isn't mine for three days now. The thing is that I kind of haven't been outside my appartement neither, so it hasn't really been that much of a challenge. My big test will certainly come tomorrow when I'm planning on going to work because I can't play sick anymore. Yes, I work on sundays. At a café very close to the church; Old ladies are allways carrying around cash and their sight and reflexes are bad, which makes them easy too steal from. But I'm not gonna. I'm not. So as you can see I've already walked away, I don't need a note to tell me what to do. Please, I'm a grown up woman!

Friday 9/16/11

Written 2011-09-16 20:20:12 i My story

Is storytelling exclusively successfully done by people born with extraordinary imagination or do we all have a good story inside of us?  I ask myself that while I stare at a blank paper. Trying to spill out some fragments that might be useful. Words like “love” and “tough life” etc. are taking shape. This is fragments that I now see that I don’t really know what they mean. Pardon my language by your way through the reading. My grammar may sometimes be quit imaginative.

It shell be a diary, the thing I'm writing. Or, maybe a novel about anything else than me. I haven’t really decided yet. Though, I definetly need some ventilation during the hard work of writing it. And I guess this blog should be just that. 
I really don’t have anything interesting to say. Except for that I am so bored of being a criminal. It’s exhausting. Feels like I’m hunted all the time. I better burn this later. Oh! That's right, I can't. I better whatch my fingers dribbling over the keyboard now... But how can I describe myself without telling that?! It’s really all I am. A thief.  And I don’t want to be hunted anymore. That’s why I decided to get into writing. To get me out of this mess.
All my novels sucks so far. They allways ends good though. I guess there is some value in that. For myself. To know that I’m not totally ruined inside. Just halfway. It all started in High School...

Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not some misunderstood genius who does credit card frauds and wears Prada shoes, Louis Vutton bags and goes to fancy parties, waking up in a new city every morning. No, I’am just an old fashion lying thief, and therefore quit invisible. There are so many paparazzi’s hanging on to those "it-thiefs". Though, I am gonna go to traveling, some day.

I think I’m gonna write about vampires, it is really just the thing now. But they are so icky! I couldn’t bare thinking about such creatures for 8 hours of the day for three months! (Or however long it will take me to write a novel about them.) And add to that the fact that I would kill them all in the end. Wouldn’t be a hit for all those teenage girls out there who dream about having their very own vampire to get it on with… I mean what if vampires were real; There you have a new kind of “Teenage Mom” show. A moneymaker, indeed. (Maybe they can do that anyway and get a way with making it a mockumentary and marketing it  with very confusing trailers.)
Yes, I watch a LOT of television. No, correction. I download a LOT of SHIT. (No, that is not the reason I consider myself a thief, you should see some of the things I’ve stolen!) I have watched all episodes on every single TV-series there is. Not because I’m bored, but because I can. And there it is: The reason I became a thief....

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