In Mila Olsen's world: the grotesque is normal, the ugly is beautiful, and world-weariness is healthy. So many things had to be spewed out, turning into ghastly white bones and fresh red blood, poignant and intense.
This is the first time photography, illustration, novel, essay, and poetry are mixed and compiled into a book, comprehensively presenting a hysterical world.
Afraid you'll see my hysterical side
Falling from your perfect world
A little more mad, no longer beautiful
Afraid you'll no longer love me
Because I scream over trivial things
Cried, ten minutes later
Smiling again
【Author's Words】
It has been two years since the publication of "I Am That Kind of Filthy Monster." During this time, I received a question from a reader, who asked me, what difficulties are there in becoming a non-mainstream creator in such an era?
I have always known that writing is not easy, and it is also difficult to have people willing to read one's work. Although in this new era, whether mainstream or non-mainstream, it is easier than ever to express oneself, I know that the themes and content I am creating, and even using poetry as a form to communicate with everyone (even if it has been widely read on social media, it still belongs to a very niche group), are difficult for most people to accept. I describe desire, loudly speaking of fantasies considered vulgar by society, and before publishing every poem and work, I am always in a state of uncertainty and confusion due to fear and anxiety, worrying that my minority voice and perspective will be attacked, or that I might accidentally violate regulations on social media and be "disappeared."
Why must I be this way? Why do sex and madness make me feel more real? I don't know, and I have no answer. I also want to try to be a simple person.
Many times, I actually don't want to talk to anyone. The words I write, all the works I create, are never pre-set for anyone, but at the same time, I know that I already have an audience and readers, and I know that everything I do is being watched. That contradiction of whether to engage in dialogue with people or continue to bury myself in my own world has always required more adjustment and adaptation.
This book, this collection of poetry and essays, this collection of text and visual creations, it doesn't matter what you call it. I'm just exploring within these already defined forms, trying my best to feel happy, and all the creations in this book are how I find joy and alleviate anxiety.
Among all emotions, happiness has always been the most fleeting for me, so I always try to amplify it: never stopping. Continuously searching. Doing it in any way. Stopping feels like death.
It sounds like I'm endlessly immersed in suffering, but actually, I just often have questions. When I have questions, I look for answers. Although the answers may not necessarily be found through these forms, what's most important has always been the process of searching; it's what makes me happy. Re-examining the people and things that have influenced me, re-experiencing those I long to be close to, those I reject, the beautiful and the ugly, to see who created me, the person who thinks this way. Or perhaps, it has always just been myself.
Where do my fears, anxieties, anger, and desires come from, and why are they here? There are always many questions. So annoying, yet so happy; so happy, yet so annoying. If I stop thinking about them, I'll start to feel anxious, worried that I've become someone incapable of searching. Contradiction is always there.
During the process of completing "Hysterical Diary," I indeed felt happy. I'm not sure what all of this can bring me, but I know I've always longed for honesty, longed to feel a bit of reality and joy from starting to speak the truth. Now, I am much more at ease than when I first started creating. Happiness has extended, but so have anxiety and fear. Fortunately, the world I created can still accommodate them. And I can finally boldly choose my favorite colors. No matter what others say, I will continue to be a capricious child here, becoming capricious pink, playing only myself: dyeing new hair colors, buying beautiful clothes, drawing smoky makeup, photographing naked bodies, finding beautiful dolls and destroying them.
