I feel like I've somehow changed planets to one with less gravity.

there goes 2010

I LOVED IT.

I hated chunks of it.



New Year's Eve last year, where was I? Wimborne... I hadn't thought I was going to do anything, and then someone demanded my presence in a random house belonging to strangers in Wimborne, so that's where I ended up. It was a good night, running along the road kissing Andy and holding hands with him and Jack. Very strange that that was the beginning of the year.

I didn't know Maya yet - hadn't been to her wonderful house in Cornwall with the scary puppy and the brandy and watching Xavier Rudd and Ben Howard, and then driving the boat around the harbour. And then cooking everyone dinner, drinking too much and smoking weed. I hadn't even heard of Hop Farm Festival, wouldn't have dreamed I'd have seen Bob Dylan by the end of the year. Hadn't fallen completely for Ani Difranco, yet, I think. Had hardly heard of Johnny Flynn, let alone imagined I'd have spoken to him within a year.

I didn't know Jack really. Didn't think of myself as someone who could 'do' relationships. Could never take myself seriously in that way (and still can't). Didn't think I'd be leaping into the ocean on summer solstice in my underwear, being followed by him. Didn't know how much alcohol I'd be consuming this year. Hadn't had sex yet. Hadn't been simulateneously desperate to be near someone and determined to not be. Hadn't had tonsillitus yet.

I already knew how to play the Nigun Concerto, but I hadn't played it with the orchestra yet. Violin was a much bigger part of my life than it is now, as were piano and singing.

I still lived in Dorset, had lived there for almost eight years, was antsy to get out of there but loving how well I knew it all. I hadn't been to: Yellowstone (snow), Yosemite (bears), Nevada, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, The Great Salt Lake (dawn), Salt Lake City (Mormon messing) and LA (got threatened by guy straight out of jail). I had been to Solana beach (sun), San Francisco (multiple walking tours), Berkeley (frozen yogurt) - but I was going to visit them all again, differently. I didn't know the full meaning of The Green Tortoise.

I had never dyed my hair, but had long had an ambition to dye it blue, which I would finally realise in the summer. Got to do that again. I started smoking. I quit a couple of times, and then properly when I got ill.

I was still in school, didn't know I'd be at Exeter the next year, didn't know I'd have a wonderful flat and know so many people, didn't know I'd be the kind of student in my first term who pulls all nighters, always offers guests whisky and whose room is always a tip to be picked through for treasures like tea cups.

And there's still a few days left.

New Years Eve, I ought to be in Cardiff, drunk in pubs, bars, and finally clubs... with the crazy girls I know from Exeter. It'll be messy, hilarious, someone will probably cry, jess and nancy will probably get on each other, I'll look pale and yellow in the reflections in the mirror, my eyes and lips crudely drawn as if I'm one of those paper men, stretched out, unfolded...

So.

What about next year?

So many hopes. To see Ani Difranco, which ought to happen as there are tickets, and things. I hope to get a job in California over the summer, but if it doesn't happen, I hope to travel around England, to get a job in England, to go to music festivals in England. And then I'm going to be in the states for university, next year. How odd.

I want to get better at country/folk fiddle, like the guy in the mountain firework company's recordings. I'd like to write more, too. To do more drugs, but smoke less. Comfort eat less. Spend less. Steal more. Maybe limit the alcohol intake, a bit, maybe less than 1000 units a term...

I want to be healthier. As in, not ill.

I want to visit Plymouth and Oxford.

And find a more comfortable bed.

i can't stand to see you bleed

The Wrote & The Writ
Johnny Flynn

They're taking pictures of the man from God
I hope his cassock's clean
The burden of being our holy fellas
Your halo'd better gleam, better gleam

What of all those wayward priests?
The ones who like to drink
Do you suppose they'd swap their blood for wine
Like you swapped yours for ink, for ink

You wrote me oh so many letters
And all of them seemed true
Promises look good on paper
Especially from you, from you

The weight of all those willing words
I carried all alone
You wouldn't put your pen to bed
When we hadn't found our own, our own

Your sentences rose high at night
And circled round my head
The circle's since been broken
Like the priest before me is breaking bread

I'm being asked to drink the blood of Christ
And soon I'll eat his flesh
I'm alone again before the altar
Shedding all my old regrets

The last of which I'll tell you now
As it flies down the sink
I never knew a part of you
You didn't set in ink, in ink

The letters that you left behind
No longer shall I read
Your blood's between the pages
And I can't stand to see you bleed

And I'll soon forget what was never there
Your words are ash and dust
All that's left is the song I've sung
The breath I've taken and the one I must

If you're born with a love for the wrote and the writ
People of letters your warning stands clear
Pay heed to your heart and not to your wit
Don't say in a letter what you can't in my ear

My sisters and parents invaded my room to wake me up today. I hate that, and it reminded me why I'm so pleased I'm at Exeter for my birthday. The stocking had the predicible joys of socks and tights and chocolate and strange facewashes and things which it always brings, minus the odd japanese fan which it had taken to carrying until this year. Church was mostly empty, a plain, pale, simply decorated and quite beautiful room in which a few large families of curious people huddled, and a few lonely elderly people dotted the pews. The preacher was obsessed with opening presents. We sang the hyms which I quite like from Christmas, except at the moment I can't sing. Christmas lunch was as expected. The walk became a sledging experience. The presents included a colourful watch which I shall treasure, an Ejyptian bag I rather like and some speakers which I needed.

I bought my seven year old sister a camera with my other sister and she loves it. She's been making movies which make me realise how much we ignore her, and taking photos which are unique as from her viewpoint. I'm overjoyed with having bought her it. Holly's glad I gave her Vogue, when really I only bought it to have something to hide behind whilst travelling (although I could, in the end, not bear to do that as it's too awful for words. Call it a magazine? It's just repetative photos. The ones without people in are okay, but the blank eyes, medical mouths and slim noses are horrible).

I need to book what I'm doing in Cardiff. Fuck. I need to get my reference from a seminar leader. I need to write a personal statement about why I want to go to America. I need to read a load of books. I need to see so many people, if they let me. I need to do things. I have such an easy excuse not to do anything today that it makes me realise how much I need to do.

Ask, tell.

I have to climb hills to find a sky where the horizons can hold me I am too used to other skies which stretch forever a lungful of stars sprayed across them and me warm and confused under them.

I go stir-crazy under these little ones, where you only see a noughts and crosses board’s worth of cloud, full like an eye before crying. The judgement passed by these skies is so different. Just looking at these closed covers I feel repressed. Pressed. Depressed. Is it just in my mind or is what we need a sunny sunny day?

Song for yesterday http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qz-FoGp3p0s, Laura Marling’s voice is amazing. I miss having my real speaking voice. I wonder how much a voice defines a person. Phone calls, voice recognition, programs in which the voice is used, technology stuff. A definable voice to define what you want, what you think, who you are.

Christmas Eve of all days. How amusing. I’m not getting confused. I got upset, which was unfair of me. Let me teach the world that when she writes 'I feel so alone' she means that she needs to be comforted before she goes crazy. Reading a blog from a woman claiming to be 60% straight and there it is again. Loneliness. Reading a blog from a girl who sits in parties staring at candles and again - solitude, negativity. The idea that the world is 'out there', judging. Are we incredibly childish to write these things down? Do they mean what they write, am I the only one who takes a teeny vial of emotion from a billion raging torrents and examines it until it could fool someone into believing that was all I was thinking?

I am thinking about the different bedrooms I have slept in in my life. I am remembering sharing a room with my brother. I remember him insisting the door was closed 'don't leave the door open lassy' and the fear that brought with it. I remember the feeling of the carpet burning my stomach as we lay on the floor to put our beanie babies and assorted other toys into battle formations. My brother used to make up intricate games, use dice to decide who won. He was a chess player, nothing if not logical.

Someone on tv said he played chess to help him win in his sport. Lots of decision making. I tried playing chess against the computer, too ashamed to try against a human as I don't know the rules. I lost very quickly.

When I have Fears that I may Cease to Be


When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
- Keats

Man On Train Comments On Tweed

Let's be honest, I spotted him getting on the train with a tandem and ran down the train to be in his carriage. Hauling the super heavy suitcase and various random bags, including the slightly horrific leather backpack. Find myself walking past him, looking at the available seats, trying to find one big enough for me and my bag. This started out as a pretence to be near him, and turned slightly urgent as the train started moving and the seats were too close together to fit the suitcase in with me next to it.

Then, OH GOD HE SPEAKS, 'Is that tweed?'

I turn to look at him. He has big soft dark eyes, dark hair with a hat, looks to be mid-twenties, a big scarf and then dark clothes. I'm going gooey chatting about how I found my coat in the attic. Who knows where the thing actually came from, it really just appeared in my life (heh at a key moment but shush that's only if you've been following carefully), but that's almost stranger than the idea of it appearing in an attic. I sit far from him but he keeps talking so I move to sit opposite him. It's a little awkwarder than I'd expected, because the seats are all so close together. Old fashioned trains on little used lines, the petite style of transport.

He's a teacher. I give up on allure at this point. He did philosophy at Kings college london, now teaches RE and history at a pretty ordinary high school in kent where the kids tease him for his brick of a phone (we compare phones, mine's worse, of course). I tell him my usual things. He likes Hume. He used to ride his tandem bike with his ex girlfriend (he gives me a look here, like he's putting the ex bit in so that I can hear it, totally my own interpretation there but HEY I LIKE IT).

We talk the whole journey til I'm surprised by the end of it. I make the mistake of voicing that surprise, so he's like, oh it was the good company, and leaps up to grab his tandem. Off the train, he says it was nice to talk. HE LIVES IN NEWBURY. HE ENDS UP AT THE SNOOTY FOX AFTER NIGHTS OUT IN NEWBURY. he told me the name of the road he lives on but I've forgotten it. He likes dubstep and post-rock, but he knew about Hop Farm.

Can I marry him now please.

When I was waiting for my mom to pick me up and he'd left an alright guy tried to talk to me but my mom pulled up at that moment. That made me laugh. Have I got more attractive or am I obviously all for free love or are there more desperate guys around Newbury than one would normally expect? And also, no one could top the teacher on the tandem. Going to walk around Newbury with binoculars looking for tandems.

And my mom just came in and told me I have to get onto their sleeping patterns. Fucking miss university freedom already.

i think i'm going to brush all my teeth!

Woody Allen.

Almost went to Bournemouth today on a whim but ended up home instead.

The holidays feel like they're going too fast and they've barely started.

Maybe I should do like my brother and just run down to Bournemouth now. I should have gone today. Then I could have seen Jade. I need to stop taking so many pills. I could go down tomorrow, 22nd, stay for two nights (where would I stay? With Jade, who's trying to leave? No. With Matty? Sort of sketchy staying there after drunkenness last time. With Izzie? She's too far from everyone else. Fuck.) and come back on Christmas eve, first thing. Or even one night, I don't spend enough time with the family. Not that it's any good me being here, Holly just wants me gone because I'm the only other person who makes any effort to be a real living human being. Vivi can be disposed of, in Holly's battle for attention, and Nippy is quiet. The parents are parents. Anyway, getting to Bournemouth takes so long. And I can't afford it.

Definitely listened to neurotic talk for too long. Taking up their habits of speech.

Desperately trying to remember how it felt that night I smoked with a sore throat and I could feel each inhalation cloaking the soft vulnerable insides of my throat in sticky itchy dusty black tar. Instead am remembering the slight rush, the way my eyes felt, the feeling of being in control.

Stars in the snow

I don't want it to be Christmas in four days. I want at least a week more than that. I'm not ready. I have bought a single book as my entire Christmas shopping. And the book is not a whole present, it's just Peake's Nonsense book, it was under the children's section in Oxfam, which is obviously wrong.

Warm floaty times. Glass of wine or mulled cider with dinner. Roast dinner, Indian take away, me cooking pesto chicken stuff and them loving it. Watching television as a group. Walking to the post office through the snow. Them being about 50. The gay couple next door, one from Portugal. Going shopping with Sue and being given £15 tights when she can't afford to buy new clothes for herself. No adolescents or even young adults. Being photographed so that she can paint me and still coming out looking like a psychopath (the first time I tried to spell that it suggested I meant 'facecloth'). I love it.

My family are finally back in England, though, so this moment of some sort of silence is almost over. That's okay. I don't mind leaving although I wouldn't mind staying. It's mild. I hope the family get home okay through the snow, though.

Despite the ever-present cough and secondarily the cold, I feel nursed back to reality, even though this is nothing like reality. I feel strong enough to deal with the past and the future, as long as I don't worry about them too much. Things seem okay, even if they're bad, because I don't need to blame myself, and I don't need to pretend, for a while. That's nice.

Show about Yellowstone on today. Almost screamed when Artist Point came on screen. Song for today, 'Goodbye England, covered in snow' by Laura Marling. I'm not leaving, but one day it will.

a reply

'Maybe baby.

Apologies for my unprovoked rudeness last night too. x'

unprovoked?

some people are better at apologies than me.

I'd have been like, 'even if you did deserve it, bitch'.

And furthermore, don't call me baby.

'Why'd you yell at me?'

a message, sent at some time between 3 and 4 last night. To Adam. Fuck. Did he actually yell at me? Bastard. Was he just fucking with my mind or did he actually mean that I was using him? Does that mean he's serious about liking me or does that mean he expected sex and I haven't given in? Does he really think I only go for him when there's no one else? I was looking for him all night.

On the other hand, he has a point. Random guy who fell on my ankle. Random guy who gay friend set me up with who said he loved me. Random guy who looked like Johnny Flynn. Andy (oh god. Andy. that was meant to wait until he fell in love with me. fail.). Then Adam. Then...

I don't know. I haven't been 'bad' in so long that I felt owed some slack... but now I know basically everyone in the club, having either got with them before or eaten meals with them, or both, that it's simply awkward.

For the record, I don't count my actions as using people. When I know someone's serious I consider yes or no, and if I don't want to get involved I make sure they know. Rob, for example, did not get more than a business-like hug. I didn't know Adam was serious... okay so he's been kind of on and off all term but whenever he sees me we just mess around, right... I don't think he's serious. 'I can't afford to do this' what the fuck does that mean?

SNOW SNOW SNOW

Also, since when did Hindle appear from my past and tell me I'm too old? Totally ruined my groove.

My groove.

Oh yeah, you heard me.

Also, when a club is dropping money on you, don't decide that you are bonnie and clyde and that violence is fine as long as you have a strong guy to help you. Particularly if you don't even like the concept of money grabbing. URGH CONSUMERISM SURROUNDING ME. I yelled at cars the whole way home.

OW MY FACE.

I'm melting! Mellllting!

Things I would like to eat:

A huge peach.
Corn on the cob, in California.
Chicken and mayonnaise and lettuce in between to thick slabs of white bread, fried.
Tonnes of sushi.
Really fancy fish dish de loup from the french cafe in Newbury, with a delicate white wine.
A whole pound bar of dark chocolate with almonds.
Churros and chocolate.
A proper Californian Mexican burrito, with all the beans and rice and jalapenos and stuff.
A teeny really delicate chocolate mousse.

What I have which I could eat:

Mouldy cheese in ancient wraps
Baked beans... could be put into wraps
Chille peppers
Porridge
Breadsticks and butter
Tea
Chocolate digestives
Chocolate icing.

Damn reality not matching up.

My essay so far goes,
Barthes - infinite meanings. Wimsatt and Beardsly - who cares. Derrida - no meanings. T S Eliot - awesome. all x3.
I feel that I may need to do some weaving together of ideas. And write 1000 more words.

I don't want to leave Exeter, but I've had enough for a while. Last night I realised that even if I was magically completely well, it's probably just as well this term's ending. Before I murder Will and Tom or attempt to get on Alex or Aiden. I'm still going to miss it ridiculous amounts, and I'm not looking forward to the reflective time where I look back and go, what the fuck was I thinking for the first 8 weeks of that term?

Holidays:
Try to read at least one more of the beginning texts from this last term (library) and then two for next term. Sort out how to get books and actually get them this time. Visit Bournemouth and try to be able to look people in the eye. Pub crawl in Newbury with Alice. Visit from Jade and Izzie. Spend time with Vivi. Work out exercise stuff within first day. Get new dress. Continue shoe search. Open NatWest bank account and sort out about Halifax card expiring.

Next term:
24 pounds a week on food and alcohol. 10 pounds a week for going out. Gives me about 120 pounds for other stuff. Aim to go to Plymouth and see Lizzie and Chris. Jog on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays whilst well (who am I kidding). Only buy noodles, peppers, milk, hot dogs, exotic fruit and crumpets on a biweekly basis, get cereal (not fucking shreddies) at beginning of term (>> shredded wheats? could get small box of shredded wheats with sugary stuff too? or special k?).

Right so that sounded like I was organising myself, but actually it was pure procrastination. Back to the essay.

happy birthday Maya

In my lecture today, they said that everything about us is shaped by environment. When we're born we are a white sheet, we are nothing until we have environmental influences. I don't know what science would say about this... I personally would probably be happier to go with us being blocks of rock, with a sculpture already in them but it depends who's around as to how that sculpture comes out... but if I was a vessel waiting to be filled, a line drawing wanting colouring, I'm glad Maya was there to help out with it. Maya's changed my life, she's made me who I am. I cannot say how thankful I am that she took pity on the weirdo from choir, from her biology class. And I cannot say how much I have enjoyed her company, through gigs, through festivals, through exams, across countries, across time zones, across all situations, in tents, in showers, in buses...

I hope you have an absolutely wonderful day, and life.

I cannot wait until I see you next, and I cannot wait to wath Ani Difranco with you. There is no one I'd rather see her with.

johnny flynn, clean rooms and sore noses

I turn from buying whisky and lemonade from the bar and walk towards the doors for the concert - over 20 minutes til doors open, but dammit I want to be there at his feet... And then a loose chequered shirt and blond hair catches my eye. Freeze. Turn to Iona, who is right behind me.
(lowered voice) 'That... isn't Johnny Flynn, is it?'
(excited voice) 'Can't be. He'd be being mobbed!'
We walk to the other side of him. He's standing at the bar and it's quite dark, so it's hard to see, and I mean, I've only seen him from a distance and in photos or videos, it's different... He goes and sits down with some older people (presumably relatives) and a woman who he talks to...
(Me, in strained tones) 'It's him.'
Two girls and an older woman walk up and shake his hand. It's utterly surreal. One of Iona's friends calls us over and we chat, and then I drag her over to Johnny. He has a slightly red scar on his left cheek. His hair is perfect... The older man next to him turns and smiles at us.
(Older man) 'You want to talk to Johnny?'
(Me) 'Well... if that would be okay, it'd be nice...'
He turns and gets His attention.
(Me, feeling like I'm about to faint) 'So, uh, we saw you over here and I'd never have forgiven myself if we hadn't come over...'
He smiles awkwardly and says hi or something.
(Me, dying) 'I saw you at hop farm, it was brilliant'
(Him, awkward and shy) 'that was a good day'
(Me, overly keen) 'yeah, a good day. You play violin... I play violin. You're really good.'
He stares at me. I turn to Iona and go, SAY SOMETHING.
(Iona, trying to be cool) 'I know this is really lame, but would you sign our tickets?'
(Him) 'Uh, yeah, sure'
-fumbling with pens and tickets-
(Him) 'So, what's your names?'
(Iona) 'I'm Iona'
-He signs my ticket with her name. Iona and I exchange glances to the effect of, okay, we're swapping tickets. He looks up at me expectantly. I pause.-
(Him) 'What's your name.'
(Me, gasping) 'Oh! Um. Florence. Like the city.'

I think it was at this point that it struck me that I was acting like a complete idiot. It took that long for this to strike me. I simultaneously realised I hadn't spoken to anyone else at the table and this was rude, and also that I probably wasn't being very seductive. Shock horror. I think I yelled Hello at the random woman next to him, at which point he was like 'Oh, do you know... her... no? Oh. It's just... She... uh.' And then handed back our tickets. We said thank you and left, squealing.

We went and screamed joyfully until the gig started. It was brilliant. Due to the stalking of Johnny we weren't the first in, but we were only a few people back.... The first few lines were all over excited girls, and as I thought disapproving and sarcastic thoughts about how they were ridiculous and overly keen I felt like the biggest hypocrite in the universe. He had two support acts, the first was a band of dark haired guys who had an awesome churranga player and a brilliant pianist, but I thought they kind of mushed their sound. The second one was Basia Balut, who walked on stage, smiled and sang out a beautiful solo complete with soulful handclapping and stamping. A really touching performance. Then her band, consisting of her brother on the drums (AWWWWW) and a very affected man with a pretentious moustache and a name like Mr Glompty on the bass and trumpet. They're Canadian, and awesome. Her voice and her playing of autoharps and other ancient harps and guitars and things really were incredible.

Then Johnny Flynn and The Sussex Wit came on, and I tried to spend about half the time checking out the band because they really were awesome. The cellist was fascinating because it was like a lesson in being the string part in those songs, which I'm trying to get good at on the violin... The drummer looked like the kind of guy I'd want to marry but never just date. The bassist looked solid, in a really good way. I thought maybe, you know, as it was so likely, I could be his girlfriend and then hang out with Johnny because I could never be in a relationship with Johnny because I'm too nervous around him. The best part of the band was probably the keyboard/vocalist, who had an awesome voice - he sang the woman's part in 'The Water', which isn't that high but is still a woman's part and his voice was perfect with Johnny's. Of course.

Johnny is exactly the man I dreamt about from the ages of 4 til 14. I used to say I went for blondes. I used to want a tortured soul. I used to want a skinny, beautiful boy. I used to want someone who was shy and awkward but deep and meaningful underneath. I used to want a musician. I used to want someone with his messy hair. He was my prince charming, my companion in all my imaginary stories, the boy who saved me from the girls school I felt trapped in, the one who I would have a beautiful wedding with...

But now, I'd like someone I can talk to. Tortured soul, well... only some of the time.

Restcure

I think I am well because I am determined to be well, and also I am definitely much better. However, I drank properly for the first time in a while last night, but I stayed in halls and still got about nine hours sleep so I think it's okay.

I am worried about Ethan. Because he almost definitely will never break down people push him too hard. He always has interesting thoughts and is a good listener, once you get used to how awkward he is he's good to have as someone you can not bother to man up with. He's sympathetic, and it's cute how much he misses his brothers - he's the oldest of four, I'm the second oldest of four, we can talk about siblings. He thinks that the problem is that people don't have enough respect for him, which is true. I'd say he brings it on himself, but he says that he 'doesn't mean to say stupid things'... If a girl said the level of things he says, people would think they were cute, innocent and ditzy. People take out their bad feelings on him, they don't think about how what they're doing will hurt him. If we were in school I'd say he was being bullied but here it's hard to think of that word - I think of it as his friends being mean to him...

Last night I broke one of my tea cups, so now I only have three left... But it was nice to have people be like 'O wow the tea cup of whisky! That's one of my first memories of you, sitting in your corridor with your back against your door which kept opening so you fell over, drinking whisky from a tea cup!' Apparently it's 'hardcore'.

I talked to Calumn (who I called Connor, I guess he reminds me of Oberst...) about J Tillman again, and once again was glad Liz Jackson recommended him to me in the days of yore... I rather like the fact that Calumn won't talk to me unless he's drunk something. Or rather, I feel like whenever I talk to him I'm drunk, but if I see him when I'm sober he just kind of smiles. So I presume it's him not me, but who knows maybe I launch myself at him when I'm drunk.

I cannot wait for tonight.

Haven't texted EG at all. I count this as a good thing, it takes restraint and everything... and I have hardly thought about him or Adam at all. Bad influences.

dreams.

in my dream last night a girl in a big white dress tore up tissues and every time she tore them something bad happened.
and then we were in a disused churchyard and i didn't understand why everyone was really pale and ignoring me until i realised they were dead, it was me. i was.

the bottom of my tongue has veins on it and i think one of them is falling off. i know this is not true but i have cut the bottom of my tongue so it really hurts and i think it is.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

My family leave for Ejypt tomorrow I think. Abandoment.

I love Shane for looking after me when I collapsed in my doorway.

gender consciousness on facebook

[You]
15:28
haha
okay. advert for touch of pink perfume. says 'when it comes to men, we've all got a type, so what's yours?' and the options are Handsome muscled hunk
Indie boy in skinny jeans
Rebel skater boy
i hate that
a lot
i mean
maybe my type
is spotty geek
FUCK THEM
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:30
XDDDD
out of the three, mine would be a mix of the last two
but with additions
and .... minusations
[You]
15:31
ahaha
why is it 'hunk' or 'boy'?
i'd actually like a rather intelligent MAN with a good taste in music
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:31
yeah
god
some people
[You]
15:31
ahaha
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:31
XD
WHAT ABOUT LESBIANS
what do they feel about thsi
this*
[You]
15:32
UYEAH FOR FUCKS SAKE THIS IS SO TRUE
where is the queer theory here?
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:32
i think that was possibly the wierdest thing i've said in a while XD
but EXACTLY
[You]
15:33
... i say that sort of thing the whole time >.<
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:33
i do in my head
not aloud
[You]
15:34
ahaha i sayit alloud. which is why i am worried about my sexual preferences, but not really because i know i prefer guys but sometimes i really am so... conscious of holding the same oppinions as people of other sexual tendancies....
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:35
haha. sexual preference is one of those things that doesn't really matter. like hair colour ;D
[You]
15:36
win
i might have to put this on my blog
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:37
haha
also, its a good excuse to not get with people ;D
or, to get with someone
[You]
15:37
ahahaha why was it my mind said that about half a second before you wrote it
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:38
XDD we are psychic
[You]
15:39
i like thinking about it like hair colour.
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:39
haha
it can change easily on the surface but in the end you are what you are
[You]
15:40
win
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:40
=D=D my philosophical thought of the day

unsteady

I was up all night dying over the sink. All night. And some of the morning. And now I have to write an essay and then go to a meeting about universities in the us, if i an make it up the hill. Aiden took 5 paracetemol and was confused and his head hurt and his vision was spotted. He dreamed that Matt was trying to kill himself, and that he walked into a house and Matt was hanging from his head from the ceiling and had no eyes.

I lost myself on a cool damp night
I gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotized by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree
I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see
and be what I want to be
When I think more than I want to think
I do things I never should do
I drink much more than I ought to drink
Because it brings me back you...

Lilac wine is sweet and heady, like my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, like my love
Listen to me... I cannot see clearly
Isn't that she coming to me nearly here?
Lilac wine is sweet and heady, where's my love?
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, where's my love?
Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isn't that she, or am I just going crazy, dear?
Lilac Wine, I feel unready for my love,
feel unready for my love.

inventory of items

fresher's week - red, white and black dress, too short but comfortable, and pink tea cups from my 18th for whisky

then my green skirt and new wellies and tin tin bag.

then the just below the knees skirt covered in old fashioned bicyclists with moustaches and top hats for movember and a lighter.

then 'the goat', a vintage fuzzy coat/cardigan thing with embroidered big shoulders.

now mid calf length tweed coat and black leather backpack.

Balm

Xavier Rudd wasn't as good as when Maya was there. He seemed less enthusiastic. Less dancing - still some, he was still him, but he wasn't yanking people out of the crowd, he wasn't drinking funny tea, he wasn't in love with us. Maybe there were loads of technical hitches, and the fact that most of the crowd couldn't see him as the stage was too low must have been annoying, but... it made me sad. I probably annoyed the people I was with through comparisons. Ben Howard attracted more attention though - more of the crowd seemed to know him. Which was lovely. Still, they're such beautiful people, spinning through life happy happy happy I love the peace of their energy. And Xavier's first two just him songs were amazing. Amazing didgeridoo and bass drum and everything...

I can't wait for Johnny Flynn this Sunday. Determined to get there at least 20 minutes early. Might have to take a taxi from Jess's birthday festivities. I have to get better for it.

Last night I slept through most of it, only woke up 3 times, and only one of those had paranoia and coughing fits sprouting from it. My mattress is ridiculously uncomfortable, and for some reason I got the idea in my head that there was a person hiding beneath it with a chainsaw (I shouldn't have watched that smidgen of American Psycho...). Then I had a nightmare about dead babies because of Will and Tom's jokes about it, and because of that scene in The Omen... shudderful...

Now my lip balm is making me feel ill. The Dr said that it was a viral infection so she could only treat the symptoms. Hocus pocus.

And now people are thinking about Chiristmas presents. Fuck. 50 quid left in the bank.

god, i'm glad i'm not me

i would like to know what is at the centre of your world.

>> salt

you just want me to be who you want me to be.

>> sick

i can change in the course of a day. i wake, and i'm one person, and when i go to sleep, i know for certain that i'm somebody else.

>> sin

i didn't come out of some cereal box.

>> sure

Realisations

Maya actually knows everything I told Scott. It was just the difference in context which made me think it was new. Fail.

Engaged guy (from now on called EG) took me out for coffee and, as per usual, told me I was gorgeous and that he desperately wanted to kiss me. But the interesting part was that he'd been traveling this summer in some of the same places I had - he'd stayed at the Green Tortoise hostel and Yosemite, travelled through LA and San Diego... but our experiences were so different. He brought a $700 suit and got in to clubs, bars and gambling in Las Vegas. I slept through Las Vegas at the end of the most perfect bus tour ever. He worked at Yosemite teaching kids rock climbing. I squatted illegally in various campsites and wandered around during the day getting scared by bears. He learnt to surf in LA. I talked to a guy who had just come out of prison and whom attempted to get $30 off me, and took the next train onwards.

We went to some shops - he brought a fake Christmas tree; I brought tissues.

He said I had a nice bum, I called him a dick.

He said that his fiancee said he could flirt/kiss with whomever as long as he didn't tell her. I don't know what to think. I don't know what I feel. I don't know what to do. Damn it.

I think I shouldn't go near him ever but I've agreed to watch The Royal Tenembaums with him. In his bedroom, because he has cider and a big tv to watch it on. And a duvet. And a blanket...

I think I need to sort this out.



A load of girls are singing the 12 days of Christmas outside. Dinner time.

wishful thinking

Talked to Scott about sexuality. Told him stuff I never told anyone. Feel strange. Not sure if he understood. I'm pretty sure I need to go to Vassar, I don't want to let myself hope that it'll help with self-discovery stuffs, but it might help confirm suspicions. Scott said that the problem with not being straight is that he finds that if a guy knows, he assumes Scott wants to be in his pants. Damn social norms. Damn judgement. Damn expectations.

It was snowing last night, the boys kept coming in and telling me, so that exploded my early night theory, so I watched Transamerica, which is a movie about a transsexual woman finding the (ridiculously attractive) boy she fathered. Who happens to be a bit of a prostitute/ petty thief/ druggie, in New York. Lots of driving across America. Lots of interesting moments, challenges of preconceptions. Then the boys came in during one of the boy being a prostitute with an older man scenes, and it was all a bit awkward.

Going home tomorrow!

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green
I'm going to make a lot of money
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby cry

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby say goodbye

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on.

salt and iron

my head is a flock of birds which may fly away
while the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
definitions of your prison bars

i went to a student protest yesterday and we yelled in a crowd of college kids and then i turned to see jac, bright orange curls under a grey/blue hat. Looking active as a squirrel, taking photos, taking notes, yelling enthusiastically. Compatible. Drama students, though, are supposedly to be avoided.

Speaking of which, Adam needs to be dealt with. I think he lives relatively near my family home though! I could totally sort him out this Christmas. Over a coffee. Or a few drinks. Or a bed. Say whuuuut?! Bad me.

Need to hand in job application for this summer tomorrow but waiting til I go home first. And need to write an essay for tomorrow and don't want to.

A guy I know from getting drunk in a pub with appeared at dinner yesterday and (eventually) asked for my number. He's kind of cute. Butt, when we were drunk, he talked dirty to me for a good long time and apparently wants to do all sorts of interesting things to me, annnd most importantly, he's engaged. We're meeting up for coffee tomorrow, for some reason. Why? Why?

When actually I wish all these situations were with someone else.

Effluvium

I've started saying things to see people's reactions to them rather than because I mean them. This is bad. It's not what I want to be doing. The kind of person who does that is not who I want to be.

I kissed Jade and her cousin Roxy last night. Quite a lot. John said it was hot. Which was funny even if, in the cool light of day, it makes me feel a bit squeamish.

Why would I kiss girls?

1. They were running away from a scary big guy who wouldn't leave them alone, so I told him to fuck off and kissed them.
2. Is it also kind of because guys think it's hot?
3. Am I attracted to some girls? Am I questioning my sexuality again? (Is the reason I don't like this one because how selective which girls that could be is? Or is it because the idea of doing anything more than kissing with a girl strikes me as quite repellent?)
4. Is it because kissing no longer matters to me?
5. Do I just not care?

Thing is, I've started caring about something. In my own special way. Aidan. I made Matt and John come outside so that I could breath and weep about Aidan at them. I think I burst into tears more than once last night. I made the bar man tell me if my eyes looked okay afterwards. Repeatedly. He was lovely. The ones at that particular cocktail bar in Arena always are. Or maybe it's always the same one. So what's bothering me about Aidan? My perception of him as unobtainable? My rather affectionate feelings towards him? His opinion of me? What is going on here?

Huge amounts of gooey greeny yellowy face eating snot effluvia oozing from poor nose. How gross is that sentence? Effluvia is such a gross word.

i use my life as a game of chicken

I spent Sunday with Alex Turton, or Alex Le Clezio as I call him, and it was lovely. I get uneasy when people actually just like me, as a person, with no ulterior motives, because it's unbelievable, but he apparently does. We went dusty book-shop finding, and only found oxfam, bu he did not know how much of a fail that was and happily brought books and I then found Mervyn Peake's 'A Book of Nonsense', and as anyone who knows me well would expect, I got entirely over excited about it. It was only 99p and is now joining a ticket to watch Ani Difranco in london this January in the pile of presents for my brother. I'm just uncertain whether to give it to him this weekend as his 21st birthday present (the ticket is definitely being given) or to keep the book back for Christmas. I might have to do that, it's much more sensible, but it's irritating because it would have been a nice suprise as he already knows about the ticket. Meh.

And then after I had danced for joy we walked to the quay. The Quay in Exeter has these big stony man made walls after a couple of pubs and they have these big old cellary things at the bottom of them, presumably previously used for boats (I thought maybe for horses but apparently people wouldn't need horses there. I think they would for barges.), but they've all been gentrified and lovelyfied and most of them are little shops but one of them is a cafe which is all nooks and cushions and Alice in Wonderland tea pots and amazing cushions and fabric roofs and the bathrooms have sparkly purple paint on the walls and there are beautiful pictures everywhere.

Alex brought us coffees and a slice of cake to share and I tried to take really small bites but that ended up with me eating very small amounts very quickly so I don't know if I achieved my aim of making him eat more with his very big bites eaten slowly. Hm.

We then went outside and Alex got cold and it was shivery and cold cold cold so we linked arms and huddled our way past the Cathedral and to Sainsburies where we got overexcited on the innocent smoothie deals (2 for 1!!!! on the big boxes! this meant that you could get TWO for 2.97ish when normally it's 2 for a fiver, annnnnnnd, that's even better a deal than Sainsbury own brand which is two for three pounds. Yay.) and then about the cider and whisky/port (me/him) deals. It waas awesome. We scared everyone by going crazy over certain brands - someone walked around the corner and I was singing a lullaby to a bottle of Highland Park and he was stroking a bottle of Port. Apparently it was nice port.

Then we had to carry all this liquid home and it hurt our backs and he put on my coat because he only had a t-shirt and a scarf whereas I had a scarf, hat, gloves, jumper and coat. He looked funny in my coat.

When I got home as I was trying to open the door a bottle fell out of my bag and broke on the concrete and it was one of the nicer ciders I had brought and I remembered that I have no money and I felt like crying.

Then I cleaned it up and went and practised for the open mic night with Matt and Emma. It was good. We're now called Matt Blythe and The Mob. I guess I'm The Mob. I'm okay with that.

On a final note, the open mic night went well, and afterwards one of the waiters gave me a free brownie and I had a moment of pure joy and mentioned that it was better than sex.

Apparently this could be taken as being offensive to various menfolk.

Woops.

Cuckoo, cuckoo

Watching One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, I realised that my corridor and the inmates of the mental asylum were far too similar for peace of mind. Not specifically, but in the interactions as a group. When I got back last night I even figured out which one was which but I couldn't remember the characters' names, and it's not always a perfect fit. And we definitely do not have a nurse character because she is a biatch.

And wierdly enough, the bedrooms in the movie's asylum were rather similar to the ones in Moberly. I don't mind, it simply confirms my belief that I am living life to the full.

So, CHICKEN.

9am, somewhere between town and university

rusted railings
a woman pushing an empty pram
white flowers
fallen leaves
a tescos bag in a well-tended garden

GOOD NIGHT LAST NIGHT
face hurts. mouth hurts. sinuses hurt.

I DON'T THINK PEOPLE WHO HAVE NO VIRTUES SHOULD BE MODEST. I think we should be rebellious and stubborn and filled until the seems burst with laughter. I think modesty is something people who are presumptiously full of 'virtues' need a good helping of. What does someone lacking everything have to be modest about? Once you have nothing everyone can see that, so why bother being virtuous.

Fair and True by Festival. Song for today.

Things I am sorry for.

Only being able to think about things as they relate to me.
Being so forgetful,
Worrying you,
Forgetting your name.
Not trying harder.
Not knowing what to expect -
Not living up to your expectations,
Not caring enough.
Not being ready.
Being scatterbrained;
Being disorganised.
Hating.
Forgetting.
Loving.
Forgiving.
Not forgiving.
Drawing attention to myself.
Wanting attention.
Not keeping secrets,
Talking too much,
Loving too much,
Not knowing what I want.
Not knowing who I am.
Eating.
Not being happy.
Being too happy.
Being mad.
Forgetting that every moment counts.
Not being there for you,
Not reassuring you.
Being less than what I need to be.
Not saving you.

valuable?

1. What has attracted you to this job opportunity and why do you think you’ll be a valuable member of the Lair staff this summer?

I have been a Lair camper from birth, and my Grandparents have been going pretty much since it was started, so we have a big family tradition surrounding the Lair. We’re the kind of campers in which every member of our huge family knows all the traditions (sometimes better than the staffers themselves), who spend their year waiting for the Sunday bbq, and who are shocked every time anything changes. When I was a kid my answer to ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ was always a Lair staffer or a forest ranger so that I could live up at the Lair the whole time.
Aside from my enthusiasm for the Lair, I was attracted to the job for the physicality of the role, the people relations involved and the shows. I really like the mix of capacities involved, and feel that they would suit me as I have always split my life into a multitude of contrasting activities. I’m used to living in close proximity to others not only from university life, but also from a trip I took last summer on a Green Tortoise bus, where all 35 or so of us slept on the big bed which covered the bus’s insides; cooked and ate together and spent every waking minute as a group.
I think I’ll be a valuable member of the Lair staff this summer because I cannot imagine anyone who is more enthusiastic, more excited or more entrenched in Lair tradition than I am. As I have two younger sisters (ages 7 and 14), I’m used to being a role model for children, and also working with and looking after them.

gel

Chaos = Life
Order = Habit.

Got it.

Will's still with the girl. So far. Yay.

I really miss Maya. -waves at- I say this not only because I've realised I could possibly see her within a month or so. Also because I'm listening to songs from Once and sobbing. Not sure why. Maybe because I feel like I meet people every day. Maybe because I keep forgetting I have a choice in anything I wish to have a choice in.



They put electrodes all over my head and fixed them on with gel which they inserted between the scary cap and my skull with a needle. It felt like they were squirting aliens onto my brain. It felt like they were disecting me. It felt like a head massage done by the dead. Then I sat at the screen and pressed buttons until the grey made my eyes go funny so that there were different shades all over it and the green and the yellow were one and nothing had any meaning.

Then I washed my hair and thought about the collapse of consciousness.

Investigating 'Eels', the band. Because I listened to them for half an hour through the wall. I wonder what it would be like to be tied to the earth by a rope, to be floating away... I think I know. It would feel like when you don't know whether to take that pill to make your headache go away. When you walk away from someone's eyes. When you smile at the exchange student and realise he's not up his own ass. When someone runs after you. When you pour tea from a teapot into your friend's teacup with its own chipped saucer.

Behind on all work.

Dropped a melted dark chocolate digestive on my presentation notes.

Face eating snot.

Amazing hyper moment earlier. Felt like I was back at Christian groups in Canford when the hot guy would try to show how Christian he was by talking to wierdo old me and then someone would pass the cookie tray and the smiley face sandwich one on it and I would get squeaky and jump around and he'd look painfully constipated or just embarrassed.

Which leads naturally onto someone who I'm going to call 'Guy', because that's his name. He always looks terrified of me. Unless he's completely drunk in which case he's about to leap on me. In which case he looks slightly less terrified and more determined. Not that he's done that recently, of course, but still... I've spoken about him before, and I'm still concerned about him. If only because people ask me how we're doing when we're clearly not 'we'...

Could we be?

No.

Maybe.

'Ever looked across a room and seen somone and been like, wow? Complete physical amazement. And then have you looked again and realised that's the person you're with? The one you're going to be going home with that night?'

I look over at her. She smiles. My mouth smiles back without me making it do so, and I tell her I know what she means.

velvet and stripes

in on and about this round planet of ours
and she wrote, she wrote this monolithic poem
called, a woman is talking to death, which i can't
read to you, because it'll take all night,
course - ahh.
this one... i found this poem and it reminded me
of me, sitting in kennedy airport with my little
shaved head and my carry on, you know...
'i'm going where they're nice'

(ani difranco)

THE GOOD-MORROW.
by John Donne


I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear ;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

semi-colon.

His words cry out like rats in a plague
discovering the basic lies behind tea cigarettes;
he sits on grey steps covered in
the foam of reality. The orange of the moon
grinning like whisky; the sky is full of goldfish

weeds drift between the lights, it all kaleidoscopes
in the lobster clouds, stopping desire
with corks of frozen rain, pressing
downwards, escaping, until it floods
like waves, down every road.

The cartoon of round golden apples on the kansas
of bare branches, moss dripping its loss
across the descent of the light, purple in his hands...
convinced that those who do not
change water into wine are static, are statues

he drinks from the clustered grapes -
of dank twigs against his crashing lips. He sees
the trees spread in thick silver threads
his environment evaporating in sugary smoke
curling upwards in clouds.

perhaps i'll be a bird one day, if i'm good enough

Sheesha (shisha. hookah. bong.) with Eva and Will is rediculously relaxing. I wouldn't mind going invisible now. While I'm in this mood.

We walked on the other side of the valley and I got covered in burrs and it was lovely having you down, Alice. You deserve more intensty than I had on me, but scribbled on a scrap, stuck in the hem of my wallet, is the reminder that at least my friends are there for that. I like us as a group, and I like you being here with us so that I can be in and out and like a double reflection but at the same time just, me.

Can still taste sheesha in my hair, in my clothes, in the back of my throat. There's something like haze in my pores. It's rather chilly. Laura Marling cold.

In the works read so far, women have played a marginal role in the stories. Yet, some critics would argue that the impact of such marginal roles is crucial to the overall development of the plot in such works. Choose one or two of the female characters in ONE or more of the works studied and explain why the role(s) in question is crucial to the story.

I accept chaos. I just don't know if it accepts me.

Aha.
'I lost my virginity to a shoe'
'my Dad ejaculated a whale'
'whoever heard of a fatalistic farmer'
'yeah I saw the christmas lights when we ran down the streets last night... dressed as smurfs...'

YAY ALICE IS COMING DOWNN.

NO I HAVEN'T FINISHED THIS GODDAM ESSAY.

Changed it to be about Bob Dylan. Seeing how I'm in love with him. Perhaps foolish at 1am the day it's due, but it's done now.

'He who is not busy being born is busy dying.'

Were you born today? I think I was. Can meeting someone count?

Liv Torc stands at the front trying to hype us up a bit. 'Who likes kissing?' I think my hand shot up faster than anyone elses. I do! It's like running supermarket trollies into each other! C O L L I S I O N.

Smurf? Where?!

First time out sober whilst here.

Knew Will would need me, I was FREAKIN RIGHT, poor kid. But I got bored. Didn't say man up but thought it, loudly. He's sopping when he's drunk, believes he's unconditionally in love... Do all drunks dramatise their lives. I think I probably do. 'OH but YOU DON'T KNOW my storyyyyyy'.

Another funny thing about not being drunk is that I found myself looking for people I know more than I would otherwise. And, being overtired, I was pretty out of it anyway. Amusement. 'ARE YOU SURE YOU'RE NOT DRINKING?'

I love appletisers and J2Os. Especially Appletiser. So cheap! So apple-y! So bubbly! Imagine this, me walking through the club with a full glass of lovely soda WITH SOME STILL LEFT IN THE BOTTLE because - yes - it was more than could fit in the glass. When would this happen whilst sober?

On the other hand, no one believes in my resolutions.

And, I'm dressed as a smurf and this blue paint is starting to itch. Except apparently I look more like an avatar. SHOWAHHH TIMES. at 2am.

When I was three

I wanted to be a forest ranger like in the Smokey the Bear books. But that was never enough, I wanted to be a chef, I wanted to be a farmer, I wanted to ...

What animal would you like to be?

Black bear.

She stops, looks at the pictures on the wall. Where did that poster come from? Why were there naked people and old women and movie stars and movement all mixed up on it? She stares at the edges of the paper, her ears soaked in songs. How to adapt to brick walls and hard floors? Someone asked her how she lives like a tramp, like this, but she thinks it's luxury, heck there's a mini-fridge in the corner! You can't ask for much more than that. She daydreams in place of drinking, remembers how to go on midnight walks. Different dangers, maybe.

She walks to the stairs which go up. Up is just an idea some fool had. And we shall make fools of men. She feels as if she is wrapped tight, suffocated in her duvet, even though she's outside with the patting hands of the rain. People are like trees around her, even when they're all asleep. They say society is like a tree, politics in the trunk, arts in the leaves. She wouldn't know, because who knows the bigger picture when they're a dot in the corner, falling off the edges of the paper.

She thinks of the world as something to hide in, to avoid everything which is outside. To blind yourself by snuggling into it. She always loved the word 'snuggery'; always loved the idea of a room of pillows. When she was a child she bounced in a room of mattresses and they told her she was warm.

Nowadays there are ashes in her hair and she trails her fingers in the pools of people as if she can make a difference to lives through ripples. She leaves stains on them all, but she doesn't think they notice. She kisses to say that she is alive and lovable, although separate from those she kisses, kisses them because she recognises the loneliness in them, because they're hurt.

Detroit Annie, Hitchiking by Judy Grahn (once beautifully read by Ani Difranco)

Her words pour out as if her throat were a broken
artery and her mind were cut-glass, carelessly handled.
You imagine her in a huge velvet hat with great
dangling black feathers,
but she shaves her head instead
and goes for three-day midnight walks.
Sometimes she goes down to the dock and dances
off the end of it, simply to prove her belief
that people who cannot walk on water
are phonies, or dead.
When she is cruel, she is very, very
cool and when she is kind she is lavish.
Fisherman think perhaps she's a fish, but they're all
fools. She figured out that the only way
to keep from being frozen was to
stay in motion, and long ago converted
most of her flesh into liquid. Now when she
smells danger, she spills herself all over,
like gasoline, and lights it.
She leaves the taste of salt and iron
under your tongue, but you don't mind.
The common woman is as common
as the reddest wine

smoking.

no alcohol.
except when Alice comes down...
for two weeks.
unless Will's girlfriend and him really split,
in which case it's for a month.
and even if they don't,
no more than 5 units per occasion.

AND

no one's getting any fun little things off me except a nice chat and a cup of tea. They can go wank themselves off. Or something.

ANI DIFRACO'S BACK... Red Letter Year >>>> POSITIVE THINKING.

words and monkeys

incredible like iced imps inspecting imperial indians igloos in incredibly interrant interest.

non-crack-smoking, rent-paying, rectum-clenching mouth-breather (is breathing through one's mouth really that bad? I apologise for my existence, everyone.); baggy-pants-wearin’, ghetto-fashioned bozo; Snoop-Dogg-emulating Dollar-Menu-splurging pustule.

I wonder what the worst things I do are.

Most of the time I presume I'm having fun, but not right now. First time so far that I've felt utterly down. I need to keep my jabberwockery retarded lunchbox of a mouth shut.

What's the answer?

CAMUS... THE PLAGUE.

Rob. Who I find ridiculously hard to understand due to the way he speaks. Who travelled all over the middle east this summer. Who has brilliant taste. Who understands my passions. Who kissed me when very drunk and who didn't, to my surprise, manage to forget it. Who knows more about me than I'd expect.

Is this a good person to take chocolate fudge from?

Will and my friendship is strained. Breaking down like a heart shattering you know, when you feel it disintegrate but sharp and fractured.

My heart hits the ceiling every time anything even mildly unexpected happens. The door opens. Someone walks past. I seize up like a chicken waiting for the axe to hit.

Trembling

Put The Rural Alberta Advantage's 'Don't Haunt This Place' on.

There are too many things which have happened in my life for me to be able to write them all down, but I think I have comunicated almost all of them at one point or another, because I am a veracious story teller. The story doesn't always have to be true, it just has to interest me.

This one's true though, and it's horrific, but I have to set it out clearly and if you're following my blog you'll already know how screwed up I am so you'll have to forgive me. Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Drugs being tea. Rock and roll being clubbing. Sex being un-wished for.

What happened last thursday:

A couple of friends and I had decided to go on a 'Harry Potter' themed pub crawl. The university charity group has organised it and their themed pub crawls are always hilarious. So we got tickets, and then on the night, they all chickened out. So I called my friend Jess who had been looking for tickets after they sold out, and her and Cain, the guy who ought to be gay but gets with girls, were overjoyed to take the spare tickets. We predrank a bottle of whisky and a good amount of jager, and headed out.

(Mistakes 1 and 2 of the night - not sticking with my flat mates, and, pre-drinking, then bringing drinks in plastic bottles with us so that we wouldn't sober up on the walk there.)

We were late onto the crawl so we joined up with them on their third 'pub' - the downstairs of Timepiece, which has a club upstairs which wasn't open yet, and which is kind of dark and wooden and I rather like it. I had some nice neat whisky and realised I knew hella people on the crawl, so started chatting with various groups, one of which involved my friend Rob from my old school, which was funny to me in the state I was in.

(Mistake 3 - not sticking with one group of friends.)

We then hit the last bar (Pitcher and Piano) before running off to the club. I cannot actually remember the walk between them aside from standing on a bench with the folks from B1.

(Mistake 4 - hanging out with people I had already gotten off with.)

Once I was there I didn't even bother getting a drink, I was that gone. I went up to the smoking area and felt upset that there was no one there I really knew. The next thing I remember is this dark south-african guy putting his hands down my pants but not kissing me. Intriguing.

(Mistake 5 - allowing that to happen.)

He then drags me off the dance floor and I agree that I want to go home as WOW he lives just up the hill from me so maybe we could just share a taxi back. As we exit the club I realise I don't want to leave but his arm's around me and we're in a cab and he's doing unmentionable things to me and then we're in his room and he's on facebook. I'm serious. He said something like, don't you always check facebook when you get home from a night out. I say no. He gets me naked, has a rather large dick (terrifyingly large) and I tell him I don't think I can do this. I feel absolutely horrified at the idea of anything that large approaching my delicate self. His friend calls him and he holds me down with one hand whilst answering the phone. He then gets me all het up and so on, and it ends up with us having sex. I don't say 'no' until about half way through when I'm in major pain and he either doesn't hear me or pretends not to. I don't say it that forcefully.

(Mistake 6 - not making myself clear. The words I wanted were, 'I'm saying no, and if you keep going, that will be classed as rape.')

He keeps going on about wanting to make me come, but I don't and I eventually manage to slide out of bed and lock myself in his bathroom. I come out and ask why he didn't kiss me at all, whilst I get dressed. He says he only kisses his girlfriend. I tell him I don't think my boyfriend would be too impressed with me (you expect me to tell him the truth about anything?) and run out the door, ask someone down his hall for the way out. Yes I was too drunk to remember which door was which.

Once outside, I run down the hill crying my eyes out and thinking 'I'm going to go cry on everyone in my flat and then Will won't be mad at me.' I don't know why this is the thought I'm thinking, but I was mainly worried about Will being mad at me as I'd told his friend something I shouldn't have earlier (see post before this one). I notice a guy in a big coat ahead of me, am half terrified but then the hill gets really steep and he's concerned and I end up holding his arm. He's french. He says, What happened? I say, Someone had sex with me, and, I didn't want them to, and, I'm all wrong, and, look, I'm even doing this wrong.

He says he's going back to his room. I ask if I could come and have tea. He says yes. I go and have tea and he has posters of John Lennon and Spiderman cartoons around his room and two left handed guitars and his room is just perfectly messy enough.

(This ought to have been a mistake but it wasn't. Hurrah.)

I leave and run home.

I get here, go into my room, get scared, wonder where everyone is, put on a hoody, go into Reshi's room, that's where a load of people are, and collapse crying. They take notes on the details and tell me I should report him. I go sleep in Eva's spare bed.

I don't think I want to report him. What if they don't believe me? What if he gets deported? What if he really did think I wanted to do stuff? I just hope to god I didn't imagine the bit where he put on a condom.

And I have two massive hickeys.

Afraid of everyone.

well.

Positives: Crying and running home, I bumped into a random french guy called something like Jean-something. Who had a big coat and glasses. Who I immediately fell deeply in love with. Who likes John Lennon. Who has a spiderman poster. Who has perfect glasses and hair. Who has heard of J M G Le Clezio, even read some of him. So what I was hysterical and forced him to let me go to his room and drink tea without milk or sugar. So what I can't remember if I was awful. He was amazing.
And, the pub crawl was fun. Saw Jack of the curly red hair who was wearing a green hat and dancing like an elf. Why is he always in my life? Why can I never decide what he's thinking? Freekin drama students.


Negatives: Will's mad with me for mentioning about his girlfriend to anyone else. He didn't say it was private but I guess I should have known it was his news to tell. I was drunk and someone who has really personal conversations with him and has known him since he was six asked me how he was. 'Not so good.' 'why not? I thought his girlfriend came down?' 'Well, exactly. Don't think that panned out quite right.' 'Oh... I should call him.' 'Okay.' And then he's mad with me!
And, I am bruised and have huge marks on my neck and sobbed all over my flat mates. I don't know I don't know 'report him for rape' 'no he's south african'.

Fuck's sake.

THE NATIONAL. hide in them.

Had a bath. The ceiling seemed really far away. Bath's don't make me feel clean unless I have two of them. One to get grime off, one to get soap off. First rediculously hot. Second comfortable temperature, or just below it. The room is freaky coloured, made me feel like in The Yellow Wallpaper. Or like the scary woman in the bath in The Shining.

I wonder if Will hates me now.

This would be a love song, if the sky wasn't on fire.

That essay was rediculously bad.
I'm starting the next one NOW. not the morning it's due. NOW.

Falling for The Low Anthem. And The Tallest Man on Earth.

Will's girlfriend's told him they're on a break. He comes into my room (without knocking, as usual, if he'd been a few seconds earlier he could have seen my sexyful victoria's secret underwear which I'm only wearing because I've run out of the boring stuff. This makes me sad. I don't like wearing it if no one's going to see it. Ho. Ho. Ho.) and says 'She pecked me on the cheek, hugged me as a friend, and got on the bus. She's gone.'
-She told me she was going to do this. Why did I not yell at her and scream protestations. Look at him. Is this my fault? How could this be my fault?
'Are you okay?'
'No I'm fucking not okay.'
-He's not okay, stupid question. Stop talking. Maybe he needs to rant.
He rants.
He apologises for ranting. I wish he wouldn't aplogise. I like being here for him. I suddenly think of Alice and Paddy.


Gemma sits between the stone walls outside the club, her shadow-slick eyelids lowered to gaze into her phone. There's nothing on it, but you look rediculous if you sit alone outside a club and aren't smoking or looking at your phone, and she's run out of fags. Her legs are stretched before her and her mind is elsewhere, examining the reflected stars in her phone screen, wondering where her friends have gone, what she's going to do now. She doesn't know the answers any more.

She stands up unsteadily, wanders towards the door to the club. A guy with short, blonde hair and stubble stretches a hand towards her. She stares at it. Someone did that earlier, put out their hand towards her. She hesitantly takes it, wondering if this is shaking hands or what. Within seconds he's kissing her. She's shuddering inside but she was alone before and she's not now so she lets him.

did i tell you about the cushion?

'Rorty, writing in the introduction to the aptly-named Everyman Library edition of Pale Fire, traces the way “we readers” experience the novel: the way “we” become immediately seduced by Kinbote, experience mild irritation at the poem’s interruption of his narrative, reconnect with our hero in the commentary as the dazzling story of Zembla unfolds, only gradually apprehend that we are in the company of a madman, and then realize, with guilt and remorse, that we’ve too hastily overlooked the novel’s central event, Hazel’s tragic death. Through a timed-release reaction, the novel’s meaning lodges itself in the reader’s psyche, “for there is now a small dent in the real world, right at the place where we forgot about Hazel,” and we finish the book “worrying about whether we are all right, wondering whether we like ourselves” (Introduction xii–xiii). Rorty believes that for Nabokov, as for Shade, the password is pity.'

WORRYING ABOUT WHETHER WE ARE ALL RIGHT, WONDERING WHETHER WE LIKE OURSELVES.

obsolete venacular

my brand of freedom
falls through roofs;
spins in rain splattered spirals,
like blowing bubbles;
finds death in the flower beds.
you'll never understand
why a teddy's torn skull
equates to liberty,
but you'll take advantage
of the alternate colours on my
nails like shells - will explode
my jaw simply because you thought you knew
what independence meant.

you'll never drain sense into me
through all those shots twisted on my tongue,
and i will fly away
away from your certain face.

listened to Carla Bruni all day. think i have conjunctivitis.

'Nabokov's art grows out of Romanticism in the Platonic tradition; because
he sees this world as a pale reflection of another, his novels abound in
doublings, mirrorings and inversions. 4 The glimmerings of another existence
beyond our own may occasionally be discerned in nature, in fate's workings,
and in art; the puzzles and rich referentiality of Nabokov's texts are designed
to send the reader on a quest for the transcendent.'

'beyond the 'real', a word Nabokov said must always be used with quotation marks'

'structured on the idea that reality has an infinite succession
of false bottoms.'

'If we consider Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as an allegory - the
struggle between Good and Evil within every man - then this allegory is
tasteless and childish.' - Nabokov

'the double theme began to be popularized in ways that trivialized the real/ideal opposition, reducing it to an allegory of Good/ Evil. Double tales illustrating German Romantic philosophy depict the dilemma of the impossibility of embodying the ideal in the real world; characters go mad attempting to reconcile the irreconcilable'

'The varieties of doubling convey how difficult it is to discern the ideal through the veil of the everyday; Nabokov uses them to show art and reality intertwine. The mirrors reflect a succession of (illusory?) images of eternity barely perceptible from the shifting vantage points of our world. Zemblan, the "tongue of the mirror" (note to line 678), reflects these resemblances.'

...cross referencing makes into further hall of mirrors.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALICE

once upon a time there was a little girl called Alice who invited Florence to her Bat Mitzvah. They had really shiny apples there.

Once upon a time there was a girl called Alice who went to school with Florence for eight years, which is the longest anyone's ever gone to school with her (and still talked to her at the end of it all!).

Once upon a time Alice and Florence went to a folky festival and were a little retarded but it's all good.

Once upon a time there was someone called Alice who was best friends with Florence and they dated two best friends and even sometimes double dated and it was funny while it lasted.

Once upon a time Alice and Florence when clubbing at Alice's university and got a little bit trashed and Alice threw up.

Once upon a time there were two people who shared too many experiences to write into a single blog post.

i'd like to walk around in your mind someday -

i'd sing all of my songs and find out just what they mean to you.

did i mention halloween is my favourite day? WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT MAKING IT MORE OF AN EVENT THEN? hmmmm?

This morning my lovely flatmate Will of the dislocated if gorgeous shoulder attempted to break into my room in order to wake me up. At the moment it's lucky if I'm even wearing pj bums let alone some sort of top to sleep in, and the sudden sound of man hitting opposite side of door combined with realisation of lacking of clothes is enough of a wake up call to get me out of bed, startled, into jumper and yelling good morning far faster than one would presume possible. Can't open the door yet, though, because I have to take out my retainer, because it is gross and spitty and if I think about it too much makes me feel a little ill. This was a comparatively good start to my day.

They dragged me to town for costume searching. This is a process which for me takes about 5 minutes and for my macho lads takes about an hour and a half:
'oo if i got an axe I could be an executioner'
'are they really going to let you into a club with a 6 foot axe?'
'this hat makes me look shmexy'
'no it really doesn't'
'if I wear this kitten mask and these devil horns...'
'...you will get hit on by all the homos there! Yay!'

I have to admit that I cannot deal with masks before I've had my coffee. Especially ones on people the store had hired to jump out at you. I have the constition of a stranded jellyfish when it comes to fear - I try to sting anything which comes near me. Or which I imagine comes near me. I scream too much. I hate people who scream at the little things and use words like horrible, but I'm afraid I did. Ugh.

Now I'm tapping my fingers waiting for someone to realise that I need MORE from this Halloween. WHERE ARE MY CANDY MONSTER THINGS? WHY HAVE WE NOT CARVED A PUMPKIN?

One other thing. I miss Trader Joes.

freakin awesome blogpost: http://wateringtheelephants.blogspot.com/2010/10/off-market.html

but i love halloween

http://lesinfin.blogspot.com/

One: The desperate will smoke things they find laying on the ground.

Two: You cannot be punished if you don’t care.

And three: Direction is relative.

CAKE SONGS - hem of your garment.

i miss summer.

http://www.simonebadour.com/

which i found through

http://peterdewolf.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/summer.pdf

aha finally got some sleep

seeing straight at this time of the day! Not too much alcohol in the system despite centurians!

but still not entirely straight as my guilty feelings just transfer themselves from one thing to another. Oh dear, abandoning you after such a cocky little comment 'well this is a new record for us - normally we're all over each other within ten minutes. I think we should give it another half an hour.'

but don't you see? It has to be my decision. For some reason. So I abandoned you. I'm not very good at taking people seriously anyway. Like Avatar Cullen boy. 'You're only the second girl I've ever kissed. And then you went and kissed him right in front of me.'

So why am I blogging this? Well, it's an image isn't it. A life fragmented by others emotions. I wonder what I feel? A little amused, a little guilty, a little disgusted... But mainly like I'm a bad person. And under all that, really interested. My little lyric poem I'm in is getting gnarly. I wonder what this is doing to me? I wonder how long it will take for me to get bored? I wonder if I will ever find someone who takes me seriously.

Last night, sitting in the corridor with Rob, reading out J M G Le Clezio and discussing Kerouac and Kafka, finally felt like I was at university. The problems with this scene: -does he remember he kissed me that night he got really drunk and if so what does he feel about that? -i'm tipsy -there's too much going on around us -i feel bad about something or other -i haven't done my work yet -i don't really 'get' rob, at all.

Blitzkreig by Pure Reason Revolution.

I promise...

...that I do actually care. The heath with its gnawed gum horizons. I care. I'm just fucked up right now.

...that one day I'll make you forgive me.

...that I don't mean to be like this.

...that I want to give, but I'm not that kind.

...that I still feel.

...that I know how fucked up it is that I kiss people simply to see how they react, who they are, to know them, because it's like the urge to smoke while drunk, it's like an addiction, a habit when I find myself in certain situations.

...that I am still capable of deeper thoughts.

this is not my obligation

you'll say,
did they love you or what?
and i'll say
the love what i do - the only one who really loves me is you.
and you'll say,
girl, did you kick some butt??
and i'll say
i don't really remember... but my fingers are sore and my voice is tender.

The wind is exploding the amber leaves outside, flicking them off the earth, plucking big yellow sheets off the trees, twisting branches, refusing to let go.

Song for today - Oren Lavie's Her Morning Elegance.

And, she fights for her life as she puts on her coat, and she fights for her life on the train. She looks at the rain, as it pours... And she fights for her life as she goes in a store, with a thought she has caught by a thread. She pays for the bread, and she goes - nobody knows.

I wake up with my hair greasy from the people who have run their fingers though it. It takes a second for me to realise I'm late for running over to see Mailee before she leaves so I roll over and there's someone knocking on the door, and in comes the guy from the night before who wouldn't leave my room. I growl a conversation at him, the original Miss Grumpy. Then I bite my pillow and pluck up the paranoia to get out of bed and change my pj bums for a skirt, put monkey hat on over the thick greasy mask covering my skull, pick up a carton of juice which has been out of the fridge for a few days, fall over the internet cable, find my face next to a mostly empty buiscuit packet. This is not what I expected to be there. I stand up and jam my toes into my shoes, borrow Eva's phone to call Mailee so she'll let me in, almost fall down the concrete stairs again, and walk down the slippery road to the carpeted luxury of Opal. I need to ask Mailee if I can borrow her oven when she gets back, to bake some cupcakes. I forget to do this. Instead, I write a birthday card, am disorientated and probably awful at conversation, and am amazed by her beauty but forget to tell her this. Why can I not be wearing a pretty dress? My mind is proud of her but it's like when you write something you don't understand into your essay just to sound clever - I could never look that good even if I wore that dress. Sad times. Devotion unswerving I get over it and we go downstairs and I remember glaring at Matt and getting with... three? guys in a row infront of him because he was NOT my only option. Waltz through the empty streets.

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? You're a hard one! But I know that you've got your reasons, these things that are pleasing you can hurt you somehow.

Why is autumn not heavy with fruit? I walk past an apple tree when I go into town and all the apples are rotten and I think of them as empty and squidgy, soft gourds which would disintegrate under my touch.

Do you remember everything?

Maybe.

The bathrooms in Rococo's are my favourite place to talk to myself.

I've run out of credit, again.

I don't know what you and your sisters do, but please don't - please stop - this is not my obligation.

How many lies can we all tell?

Are my kisses lies?

I think so.

'don't do this, i don't understand why pretty girls can't just admit they're beautiful!'
'i'm not'
'at least you can say you're not ugly'

You've got it all wrong! Why the hell do you feel the need to compliment my appearance, to force me to agree with your idea of what I want to hear?

'Please leave'
'But I'm comfortable'
'I need to sleep'
'No! You don't have any lectures tomorrow!'
'So? I still need sleep.'
'I'll be really quiet'

What the hell? Are you a four year old? I love having someone I love in my bed. Love in that broad sense. In my bed in the spatial sense. Yeah, it's lonely if there's no one there. I'm not getting locked into depending on that though. I don't mind being lonely.

if

I look at people like I look at trees

how can I incorporate internal beauty?

buds?

memories?

There's pictures of me practically kissing girls all over facebook right now. This comes at the very moment I decide that, although I take each person as an individual and try to ignore my preconceptions about how I should behave towards them, I do indeed tend to prefer guys to girls, sexually and romantically.

I probably ought to start paying attention to my course rather than my social and spiritual and romantic life.

I sent the bitchyest text ever yesterday. It made me feel happy at the time and now I feel awful. He'd been texting me about whether I 'wanted his virginity' and whether I'd basically go over and screw him. Firstly, I'm too lazy to walk all the way over there simply to tell him to go fuck himself. Secondly, I'm not some sort of call girl, waiting on his word to tell me when he wants me. Thirdly, so untactful to just put it out there like that!

'O dear. You know i never believed your virginity crap and even if i did its getting a bit wierd! Especially as alice seemed so keen to get me into your bed too... If you wanted to fuck me that badly you could have offered a date or something vaguely interesting rather than your inebriated txts... Remember that next time youtry to get anyone other than a complete slut to screw you :) see you around XXXX'

Obviously I'm refering to not Alice Smith. Who is lovely.

I'm a bad person.

When I knock over the plastic cups at dinner I leave them for the people who work there to clean up. How awful can I be :( :( :(

i cant be fucking bothered to text you back, bastard

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVBsypHzF3U

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ05vzaLibY

found my femenist reasoning.



to be honest, i'd never really listened to Telephone before, let alone watched the music video. totally worth it. IDENTIFIED WHERE I'M GOING WITH ALL THIS.

i refuse to be put into gender stereotypes. i refuse to make a distinction.

but where do i wish to make a distinction? if i'm breaking out of traditions, then where do i stop? 'we all think' - but what about people with minimal brain capacity? 'we're all human'... does this work? i'm sure i must be missing something. it'll do for now.

but actually i don't like that anyway. why put people into types? it's the individual that counts! we are not conforming - by holding these views i'm not promising to hold other views, or to act in a certain way. i am only propounding the view i have right now at this moment.

so yeah, fuck you. i hate answering messages. stop texting me asking where i am because you want to fuck me. stop texting me stuff i cant understand. stop calling me because you need someone to listen. i'm waiting for you to talk to me face to face.

fight fight fight

have you noticed when you tear a cookie in two, if it's a good one it makes a soft damp noise?

i'm a feminist. i'm an emancipated woman. if i give reasons like 'i can do whatever i want, i'm using them, not the other way around' then that's totally okay, as long as i occasionally kiss someone of the same sex in order to perpetuate queer theory. no? i need to research exactly how i want my feminist argument for my existance to go.

will's gone and i didn't see him for like 3 days before he left and i miss his humour and i miss him being there for me, and i miss waking up to see him outside my door, and i miss watching ridiculous programs with him, and i miss his shoulders and i miss his smile. i miss other people thinking there's something going on between us.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2010/oct/16/easy-a-is-so-intellectual adaptations of some interesting novels. great. what i always wanted, really.

i am worried that blethyn is coming back because although he's brilliant and makes me laugh and laugh and laugh and fall over giggling he also is my witness. and i ruined his night. squeak squeak squeak.

i think i go for people i think will be interesting. music, words, ideas. i haven't once thought, o, he's hot, let's get with him. this distresses me. particularly when i look back at every single guy i've ever liked and discover it's always been that way. always.

i people watch by kissing.

they brought me drinks and drinks and i kissed him for being late and we fed the birds bread and bread and bread and they'd blow up if we gave them bicarbonate of soda and they were flying right at my face like they'd tear the bread from my hand and i screamed and felt silly. it was like seeing the australians (m&m) again, and i felt guilty and nervous and amused. why does anyone bother with me. gross gross gross i don't really want to ... o we did?

i enjoyed kissing jess more than most of the guys i've kissed recently. (sorry if jack still reads this i probably ought not to mention these things but there we go)

i've been drunk for the last 24 hours.

tomski tomek tomski tomek.

how to scour sick from my sink with only tissues and my hands?

change the sheets!

'let me in!' 'you're a dick' 'this is making me laugh so much' 'go get your duvet you little gimp' 'come with me' 'okay' 'eva unlock the door' 'no!' 'you alright man?' 'they locked me out' 'eva?' 'where's he gone?' 'i'll change it' 'hahahaha'

o, the deep and meaningful conversations leaking under my door from the hallway.

She’s got you high

Song for today: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pjsh2j7W6Bo Nancy Sinatra’s Sugar Town. I love the way she walks at 1:30. I watched The Great Race which is from two years before Sugar Town, and still found it hilarious, beautiful, awesome, and hyperbole-deserving. A movie with people fencing in it is always good. Speaking of which, I miss watching The Princess Bride.

Average of 10 a week.

Could be worse, right?

Irish rogue! You’re Welsh, not a Catholic! Don’t pull that one on me...

I don’t like not having any credit. Or battery. It’s depressing. Feels like I’m reluctantly playing hard to get. But then, I thoroughly dislike being continually contactable.

It was a time of confidence.

Not sure what work I should be doing.

It’s weird being home. Have I changed? Everyone thinks I’m utterly ill. It’s nice to have that much concern directed at me, without it being about whether I was okay the night before.

I miss being able to sing.

I miss being able to breath.

I feel like my mouth needs cleansing.

It’s cold. I brought a hat. It’s Alex’s, to be honest. My new coat makes me look like a failed attempt at the 20s. Or the 80s. Some time with big shoulders. It’s like a living thing – leaves hair all over the place. It’s embroidered. I made them take it off the manikin so that I could buy it before I even knew how much it was. I miss money.

Best cake ever this morning. Apple and almond slice. Moist, fluffy, heavy, light, cooked apple slices, almond shards, nom nom nom

bedsprings are just awkward

so is waking up at 6:30.

i wonder, do you miss the earth?

once upon a time there was a terrible person who now needs to go curl up in a hole and die.

im feeling particularly ungrammatical.

im feeling particularly naked.

living by your side, what a heavenly way to die

No. no no no. I refuse. Fuck off.

Gutter gutter gutter cliché

I look like a monkey / wisdom / chatter / you’re Chris, right / repetition / monsters / terror / darkness all around / hand on shoulder / I am not alright / it will be amazing / who are you / black black is the night / yellow / what / yellow is the moon / who said that / asexual you sexual me / wall against bare back / whose voice is that / can you hear a printer? / the corridors are too narrow / where / no / why is the back bare? / come on / it would be fun / pickaxe / I’m scared / here have a cigarette / sitting on beer barrels / butterbeer / gullible tours / first to four / first to four / shots? / I’m on three / no I like the wall / no I like the fabric / sledgehammer / beautiful gay guy / gay / who are you? / you’re fine / no / are those nines? / where’s nancy / why are there eyes there / chandelier / unplug fridge / why does this feel necessary / red trunk / falling

I’m alive.

There’s a field of flowers here and a pond and trees and I love love love walking around and it’s like there’s never any time any time at all.

Song for today - Us by Regina Spektor.

Why didn’t you tell me that the darling buds of May only lead to Flowering? Spring/Summer but you’re trying to change all that she wants to be Autumn I want to be Summer but we’re always the wrong way around. How funny that intelligence still gets trapped in the imagery of the screen.

Everyone is archetypal.

I don’t care. I don’t care where we’re going. I don’t care who knows. Why should I believe in privacy? Put it online, why should I hide? I’m smiling in the photo, right? Is that a smile? Or is that just a shape? My friend sees shapes when he listens to music. Why am I listening to The Smiths?

It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright.

I kind of wish I hadn’t watched any movies, ever.

I have to find The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser. My meditation leader has beautiful breath and a beautiful voice and recommended it.