"I don't wanna look sexy, I wanna look cute!"

"I don't wanna look sexy, I wanna look cute."






Gabriel Gronvik styled by Matthieu Pabiot.

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Ozon International issue

Cover Story with Cole Mohr, out in Ozon magazine International Issue.

A short preview of the OZON International Issue, Summer 2010.

Find out more about OZON at www.ozonweb.com

me and my boyfriend

Life is just a ride.

We are just kids who try to kidnap our youth, hold on to it desperately, squeezing it so tightly it's hard to breathe... we lock it up and throw away the key, and after a while, when we calm down, we realize we are who we always said we were, we had just forgotten, and closed our eyes for too long. This is when we freak out and know that we are completely lost. I thought my eyes were open, but they just might as well be closed.

So I'm in the same Thalys train that I'm always in when I go to Paris. Fast, comfy red seats and perfect service - unless, they intercom you in the middle of your journey and ask you to switch trains. We all just love having perfect journeys. Or adventures. Speaking of adventures, let me talk to you for a few seconds and tell you my story. I just embarked on a wild ride heading to disaster, again. Never the less, this is just a story. And all stories come to an end, even the wildest ones. I look at my mac book pro and I notice it's already 10pm.  Looking out through the round squared window I see a black landscape with on top a perfect fire red sky. The sun is about to set, and I'm looking at what could be the perfect setting for a mid forties battlefield. Anxiously awaiting what's going to happen outside,  I secretly hope to see some tanks explode. I notice that I'm still wearing my fake Ray Bans I bought in Brick Lane, and wearing a black suit jacket with badly sewn gold buttons on it. I realize that I've been living out of the same suitcase for two weeks now. I need a whole new wardrobe. Next to me is no one except my messy camouflage eastpack. This could have been a great ride,  a spectacular one even, if things had gone exactly according to plan. I have this gut feeling that this roller coaster ride is about to be over, but I'm still sitting here, desperately prolonging the journey. Run, run run, seems like this is all I've been doing for the past month. Quite the contrast with the safe place I was hiding in for the past ten years. Things never stay the same, do they? We would become bored and lose our mind if they did I guess. Right now I am losing myself in the moment, no questions asked, I'm talking hands down blind trust. This movie is not over yet, because I don't see any credits rolling in yet. So we go on, full throttle ahead towards something less spectacular, and we know it. What would be left to write about if your head is constantly in the clouds? You can't write so many interesting things about a sky, can you? Unless you want to go with writing poetry, but fuck that emo shit. I'm already on a slippery slope towards sadness. Pain is a motherfucker, but I never want to travel without it.  I knew it in advance but I chose to ignore the signs and kept chasing that high I've so blissfully enjoyed before. We were supposed to travel together to paris, after a three-day bonnie and clyde frenzy through the streets of Amsterdam. But somehow he took a flight and I had to hijack this train. This train ride has been nothing than a sum up in my mind about all the shit we did these last couple of days. Literally, the "Shit" we did in Amsterdam, but also some nicer shit, such as holding hands twenty four seven, watching Bad Santa together, taking a boat tour, kissing on every corner of the street and inbetween, laying on our backs in the park looking at the sunny open sky, sleeping like kitties huddled up in the middle of the day, and all that cheesy stuff I never thought I'd ever do again. All these things were making me weak in the knees, unable to have a normal conversation without stuttering. It was official. I was hooked. This Clyde motherfucker had me smiling from dusk til dawn. My jaws all hurting and shit, not because of the coke addiction, but because for once in my life I'm actually happy. I look at the yellow and black bruises and scrapes all over my body, a sign of love according to him, and I know I'm ready for more. I'm about to enter Gare du Nord hoping that he will be there to pick me up. I feel lost on the station, and I look at all the couples getting out, I hate them all. I walk a long way, head up looking around to see if he's there. After a while I just give up and I know that it's pointless. Why am I even here? I should have just stayed home, or at least, at someone else's home, since I don't have a home anymore. Tears roll down my face and as I look up to look for the exit, I see his smiling face, arms wide open welcoming me to Paree. My loneliness just made room for a fire burning in my body. The train leaves the station. It seems like I've left this planet and ended up in another galaxy, here we go again, Fear and Loathing in Paris. As we're walking away, with imaginary shotguns swinging in our hands, I feel like I'm on top of the world, nothing or no one can touch us now, it's just us against the world, Mickey and Mallory all the way. Until we die and die and die again.

After a four day whirlwind tour through Paris I got an email from a guy that I had just met, hinting that my good friend has just "passed away" in Milan. Obviously this must have been some sort of practical joke, or a type error. Confused and slightly worried I call him. Voicemail. I think about the fact that I had just spoken to him on the phone yesterday night. I remember how awkward this conversation was and I thought he sounded very strange and quiet. I could barely even hear him...I walk back and forth through this matchstick box we call hotel room and call Sarah. She picks up the phone in tears, I sit down and I  know. It's true. My friend really is dead. He jumped out of window from a five story balcony, killing himself. Thoughts and anger start to race and I just can't believe it. Still can't believe I will never see his smiling face again and I already miss hearing his funny english accent. Mickey is crying. He does believe it I guess. We all went to his place to celebrate the good times we had. In his honor. This whirlwind just turned in to a full blown storm, a supercell in the making if you will. For days the sun kept shining in Paris. At the same time there was a dark cloud hanging above us, and it was raining hard. We kept running, and getting lost, desperately looking for a place to take shelter. They completely turned around the script of our movie, and we lost our way. We were heading in to two different directions. He was drifting away and I tried to pull him closer. I knew he was a jerk the last couple of days, but I miss that jerk. He opened up his heart to me, let me take a look behind his mask, showing me his disgusting self image and ruined heart. He spoke to me about so many things that he wanted to change in his life and I listened to every word. I genuinely loved him from that moment on. Misery and all, I would be there for him for ever, because you know the only thing that kills the demon is love. He was surrounded by demons and I was prepared to exorcise every last one of them. I would be the one who would take care of him and drag him out of this dark hell hole he called life. Instead, we continued to make ourselves feel miserable, to keep ourselves intentionally low. We would walk separately, gazing at the strangers in the street and I would feel just as strange to him as those people, those people that he'd never even met. We were dead inside. I kept chasing that something we've felt before, I was so tired of feeling numb, and alone. I missed the rush we experienced together, the menace to society we inflicted so vigarously, those crazy discussions made me feel alive, finally someone who disagreed with me. I missed the comfortably sharing silence with each other, sleeping together, correction - spooning together, watching silly Youtube videos on the computer, literally, all of it. I still do. Here I am now, thinking about everything and trying to forget. You are in New York and I'm in mother fucking Amsterdam, the city that reminds me so much of you. Every day I go to bed at 6am totally wasted, because I'm afraid to sleep, afraid to wake up and start a new day in this empty house that isn't even mine. I have absolutely nothing to look forward to. I wonder if I will ever enjoy things again. I got our initials inked on my skin for the rest of my life. I hope that some day I will be back to my old mother fucking self again. An empty shell of a human being.

It was just a ride, and
what a fucking ride it was.

Love and light,