California

is the place where I am at the moment.

Lindsy's recommended movies so far:
Memento
Mulholland drive
Vanilla sky (why have I still not seen this?)

Watched The Greatest on the way over and felt all achy that I missed you.

Hello reality! The real smells - ocean and fog and of the plants which grow here - always are here for me when I choose to wake up. The blush on the horizon of the matte grey skies when I wake up, dawn's beauty colliding with the clouds which stretch from my roof to the golden gate bridge. The bay area twinkles its night lights in a vista of unique buildings, the river of red and white (like a peppermint swirl)headlights sliding through it in the continuous throbbing roar. There's a few factory steam plumes which I link from to the fog, as if all that white cloud coming from them turns into my blank grey skies and swamps us all.

'It is terrible to desire and not posses, and terrible to posses and not desire.' W.B. Yeats.

tell the truth as if it were lies

'realism, romanticism, men as they seem, men as they are imagined or 'dramatised', men as they quite simply known NOT to be...'
-Ezra Pound

ABC of Reading by Ezra Pound. Recommendation.

'The intellectual love of a thing consists of understanding its perfections.'

Is that what I ask for when I say, 'understand me, do it'?

Maya is on a boat and I would like to be there with her, keeping everyone safe at night, stars and sea and avoiding other boats, hopping into new countries and buying food from strangers, sunshine and smiles all day, a little music, lots of reading, rocking around in a boat.

my room's all empty

Listening to Breakfast at Tiffany's. The song. The movie is one of the two I bothered buying on itunes, but I'm not taking them with me to California, so they're not on my ipod. I guess I find the movie relaxing, absolutely no brain power needed. The song makes me smile and jump around, two things I feel exceptionally unlikely to do. 'Our lives have come between us' aha...

The only thing unpacked is the packaging of american cheerios (yellow with red heart shaped bowls of cheerios with strawberries stamped over it. I like it.) which seems indecisive about whether it wishes to complete the next stage of my life with me. HAH stage of life. No such thing. Enjoy the continuum. We're not absolutely anything. Grey areas are to be celebrated.

'don't leave me alone at this time, for I am afraid of what I will discover inside.'

Discoveries of the guts of my room - I never finish making bags, except for the ones I've already given away. How irritating. I threw out almost nothing other than paper. Paper paper paper. Enough to reconstruct a small forest. Recycling, go go go. I'm suspicious of our recycling bins, though. Howcome glass and paper and plastic can all go in the same one? In Newbury we're going to have to seperate them out... makes it seem more likely they'll be useful, even if it's going to be irritating.

Flowers poking up through the cracks in the concrete. Dust dust dust everywhere there are reciepts and pennies and dust. I guess those are the things which slip through the gaps around me. And hangers. Where did all these hangers sprout from?

Stupid wooden roses all scented and awkward. I can't take them! I can't throw them away! They're not a metaphor!

I JUST SKIPPED A JOANNA NEWSOM SONG IN FAVOUR OF MUMFORD & SONS...

I
I can't promise you that I won't let you down
And I
I can't promise you that I will be the only one around
When your hope falls down
But we're young
Open flowers in the windy fields of this war-torn world
And love
This city breathes the plague of loving things more than their creators

I ran away
I could not take the burden of both me and you
It was too fast
Casting love on me as if it were a spell I could not break
When it was a promise I could not make

But what if I was wrong?

But hold on to what you believe in the light
When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight

And now this land
Means less and less to me without you breathing through its trees
At every turn
The water runs away from me and the halo disappears
And the hole when you're not near

So what if I was wrong?

But hold on to what you believe in the light
When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight

So hold on to what you believed in the light

it only reminds me of you

which pisses the hell out of me. Cooper Temple Clause is mine, get out. Shoo.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKhDDK7b2FI Rhysmix of a rather good song. Not sure which I prefer.

THIS IS MINE: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJ0BX8vdWQw leave it alone.


'When I do wrong, I am with God, she thought. When I feel lost, I am not at all.'

No No No. I should have been at a gig but i got trapped in the dust panes.

So I went to hide in Bright Eyes, but you were pulled up by Classic Cars. Not the negative references... That 'you' would be to Mailee, as opposed to the ones before. Who were at whoever I feel like them being at. Second person address, it's fun. Has everyone noticed my lack of spell checker on this thing.

Cleanse Song by Bright Eyes....

Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and all of this sorrow
See the new pyramids down in old Manhattan
From the roof of a friend's I watched an empire ending
Heard it loud and long the river's Om
Time marching on to a madman's drum

Don't forget what you've learned all you give is returned
And if life seems absurd what you need is some laughter
And a season to sleep and a place to get clean
Maybe Los Angeles, somewhere no one is expecting
On a detox loft through a Glendale Park over sidewalk chalk
Someone wrote in red, "start over"
So I muffled my scream on an Oxnard beach
Full of fever dreams that scare you sober
Into saltless dinners

Take the fruit from the tree, break the skin with your teeth
Is it bitter or sweet? All depends on your timing
Like a meeting of chance with the train station glance
Many lifetimes had past in a instant reminded
Of a millstone house in a seaside town
When your heart gave out in a mission bed
So your wife gave birth to a funeral dirge
You woke up purged as a wailing infant
In Krug Thep, Thailand

Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and our joy and our sorrow

we dare you to mean a single word you say

((MY BRAIN'S IN A BOX SOMEWHERE AROUND HERE))


Fucking dust. I hate allergies. My foot hurts. I don't think I'm thinking in short phrases but I probably am. Music... The Cooper Temple Clause. YES. Beat out all those thoughts. Especially the ones going la la la you're a terrible person you threw up on someone's HOUSE la la la ow how is that even possible ow la la and left the only piece of incriminating evidence la la la and you're pointless and la la la yeah fun shmun...

Last night was good. Except for leaning over a sink for a few hours. Even that could have been worse. Walking home this morning every Bright Eyes song sounded like it was applicable to my life - just like I always wanted.

What's more important, thoughts or actions?

My family always said that all my memories were based in food association. And so we begin:

Picnic. We brought food in Sainsburies in Poole; picnic with rose wine and white bread. Went to Cheryls, 'give us fire' - whisky in little bottles.

BBQ at beach. Fail sausage, ketchup reverting to bubble tomatoes when heated. Goethe and walking to the pub.

(skipping Bournemouth and groynes... no food.)

Mailee's party. Punch!

Tower park, pizza.

We walked by the river bank and I kicked the heads off dandilions. I don't think we ate but there was so much green it gets put as consumption of colour.

I think we went to the beach and drank cider and things.

Eurovision... did I bring m&ms with me? (Re-reading texts now. Did the tone change, there?)

I think we went to talent call, and I drank lots of free water and we took strange busses which were relatively unexpensive and when I came home I ate a horrible old chocolate cupcake. And juice. The juice was quite nice. Everything was weird and didn't make sense. Dancing was awesome.

We walked around Poole Park and hid in the reeds...

Folk festival, pims in the pub, drinking pear 'cider' on the bridge, old stone and trying to work out how to get bottle caps off, then smushed in a heap on the grass with everyone.

Beach times, pub times, sitting in a cricket field talking and feeling happy and centred but uncertain what those words mean. Believe!

Exams end, and Matt has a gig... at Mr Kyps. The end of eating fried eggs and rasberries, or oreos and baked beans. I poured lime cordial over someone's head. Someone got a subway.

Went to Devon. Wrote. Maple syrup and walnut ice cream. Boiling eggs at random hours. The Winking Prawn.

And then I got tonsilitis. And I tried to eat dark chocolate and it really hurt... I haven't been able to eat it since then, except last night. And that wasn't dark chocolate, that was a bar of cocoa. YUM. 90% win. When I had tonsilitis I did try eating ice cream, but most of the time I couldn't eat at all. I remember crying over a thin slice of melon of which I could eat nothing because it hurt too bad. So I went to the prom and smiled and chatted and ended up not being able to sing in my final choir show with my school. And I still couldn't eat, I only had a jd and coke there... Then it was my last day of school. I sucked sweets to numb myself so I could thank stuck up fools. I ate couscous. Then I went to Hop Farm Festival. I ate a burrito. I was proud of myself, managing to eat anything. Then I got hungry. We drank lots of water and I was scared I'd infect everyone. Churros and chocolate at midnight.

And since then... bbq-ing biscuits on the beach. And, they gave us dried fruit and seeds, we went to that cafe, and sat by the river with its floating debris and you ordered a cream tea for lunch and I managed a repeat by ordering a toasty. I like their toasties, there, it's like being a kid and ordering fish fingers. I haven't had fish fingers in so long.

We went camping, and ate pasta, and whisky in the pub, and cider, and for breakfast... baked beans on flatbread.

... I come to the conclusion that we should have eaten more. Drank enough. And that I should be more specific. That isn't everything. Selective.

Last night, there was whisky, and there was dark chocolate. I still haven't had a coffee, but I had an espresso just before. For all my suffocation of feelings it took you about three seconds to undo all my good work. And that was an endX

'In the world of mules there are no rules'

laced with weirdness

Sitting on busses thinking about them falling over. I'm leaving Dorset soon so I've found myself doing things like buying cups of 'dorset tea' and entire 'dorset apple cake's to eat on busses which travel across the county. I want to go to the seaside.

So I've been endlessly reading feminist internet thought streams, which have made me happy. I think some of them, for example an article on Queer Theory, may have been written by my brother, but this could be entirely wrong. It's an assumption based on his favorites and the name John. Have a look here: http://www.gender-agenda.org.uk/discuss/169/dualism-dilemmas/

I'M GOING TO CONUSE YOU.

I brought Stornoway's album, Beachcomber's Windowsill today. Good name. Brilliant music.

Here is a poem I found in a book by Sharon Creech who I happen to think is an awesome writer. The book is called 'Love That Dog'.

APRIL 26

Sometimes
when you are trying
not to think about something
it keeps popping back
into your head
you can't help it
you think about it
and
think about it
and
think about it
until your brain
feels like
a squashed pea.

....

I LOVE IT!


'REALITY IS DIVINE'

In other news, I have discovered for myself Pier Paolo Pasolini. If someone wanted to lure me into dark and mysterious places they'd just have to tell me something about him was there. I'm crazy about him, at this moment in time. Obviously I don't know if I still will be in a second, let alone tomorrow. But right now, this gorgeous being is totally rocking out.

Here's a scene from a movie called Teorema which he wrote and directed: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRfOa8MiUS8

His homosexuality makes me happy.

He wrote:

'I lived... that page of a novel... the only one in my life:
otherwise, [what can I say]
I have lived inside a lyric poem, like every obsessive'

Inside... Not lived A lyric poem, but lived INSIDE one. Like inside a box. A box of poetry. Words entangled like vines all over, beautiful lyrics framing your life.

He didn't always want to be read as a poet is read. I want to read Pasolini; Forms of Subjectivity. I wanted to put images in here so I, in my bourgeois environment google imaged him - his dead body is the third image in. I couldn't deal with putting his (rather lovely) face on here all whole and stuff whilst that image of his mauled remains was floating around. And the other images were all naked guys. So we have no images. Go find one yourself.

Nineteen Forty-four


The rats no longer crawl, the swallows are screeching
Pigeons won't fly, chickens are scratching the ground.
No warning bells for tempests, only for Avemaria.
The garden gate swings open and a pale child
Comes out running , he sits on a pile of stones
And plays all alone with a shiny tin can.
His mom is in the kitchen, with shaky hands
she chops kindling sticks, her knee on the worn floor.
Then lighting a match she hangs the milk pot
Over the fire while blowing to kindle the flame.
Outside again bells ring everywhere Avemaria,
in every poor town filled with melancholy.
At fifteen, at nineteen years! Buttoning their pants
the young men come around, they pull her pony tail:
Mom, we're really hungry, get our breakfast ready!
Half-naked they run outside underneath the down spout
and from the rain barrel, laughing, one washes up
while the other combs his hair, like two poplar trees.
O dear God, don't forget what has happened to us
protect our passions, look upon us and have pity.
Our lands are in the hands of total strangers,
they made us prisoners in their own homeland.
The children and the old they hung in the square,
our unmarried women they raped and abused.
Our happiness and joy has dried up in our hearts,
our smiling and our laughter have flown so far away.
Along the railroad tracks, along those endless roads
we jeopardize our lives to find a piece of bread.
Call us to you, O Lord and we will call on you,
bring back our days of old as they were once before.

The woman's knee on the worn floor is an image which has been haunting me for a while now.

foy vance

so i've been singing him all day. just listened to Gabriel and the Vagabond, which is beautiful, but the lyrics to this, 'Indiscriminate act of kindness' are better, and it's pretty amazing as a piece of music too. His irishness is rather lovely, too. It reminds me of someone, which is nice.


She came from the cold wet
Dropped her luggage bags
Looked the concierge in the eye
Said, 'I need a room for the night,
But I don't got no money.
Would you take payment of any kind?'

He said, 'It's alright
I got a room here, you can share mine.
Make the bed in the morning and that'll do fine.
You can change in the bathroom,
Hang your clothes on the line.'
A tear came to her eye
She thought how could he be so kind
How could he be so kind

She sat down on the bed with a needle
He said, 'I'd hate to see you bleed,
Just fetch a warm towel,
I'll sit with you til you're dry.'
She started to cry
Said, 'Why? why? why? why? why? why?'

Consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.

She was cold turkey
He was holding her hand
She said, 'I was ruined by man,
This was never in my plans.
I dreamed of men who loved me,
Together we'd see the world.
Somehow I lost myself among the insults they hurled.'

'I'm sure you're a wonderful woman,
And someday there will surely be someone.
So just relax now, it's important that you're calm.'

She said, 'How is it you can see past me as I am?'

Consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.

'When you took your chances,
It was like you placed a bet.
And sometimes this is the reward you can get.
I was always taught
If you see someone defiled,
You should look them in the eyes and smile,
And take their heart, no better yet
Take them home, home, home.'

She awoke early in the morning
Made the bed, gathered up her clothes to leave
Saw the concierge curled on the settee
Said, 'What you did for me was hard for me to believe.'

'I was just doing what was right.
No one that knows love could leave you out there on such a night.
If you can help someone,
Bare this in mind
And consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.'

Consider it an indiscriminate act of kindness.

old old thoughts

Packing.. requires me to have finished unpacking from the move last summer first. So I found a notebook from then. So I wrote out all of it which wasn't numbers or facts or pictures. It was almost all pictures. Music for today: 65 Days of Static.

'you deserve to melt like a slush puppy'

Ray Lamontagne

'The fewer the substantive differences between the two parties, the more bitter their mutual hatred'
'we are born subject... one mark of this subjection is the certificate of birth... either you are given... the certificate of state, thereby acquiring an identity which during the course of your life enables the state to identify you and track you (track you down); or you do without identity and condemn yourself to living outside the state like an animal (animals do not have identity papers)'

it doesn't make any sense to view your spiritual life as separate from the physical world

what do you hate most?

'I hope this don't sound too ungrateful, but history gave modern man telephones to talk to strangers, machine guns and a camera lens'

Now this is something new - you insist in believing I am here - in this body - of pleasure - pain radiating through its core - why? - I am not there - I am numb.

'why candles'

images of words I like - feverish - ghastly - writhing - perpetually - SNUGGERY

Neitzche

The person you want to think you are. I do doubt. Whether. That person is real. And I dislike the nest of maggots his artificiality covers. What lies beneath.

I believe in you - yes i can believe in you - although I stand here in the cold night - watching a lamp above me flicker - and ice form on the windshields - and wait in the rain - I check my watch - despite murmured assurances your jokes - stay with me like - mixed with your deep clear thoughts - the music of what you call your soul - I can believe that you meant to be here when you said that you would be - but I doubt that the person you want me to think you are exists.

Rain - falling from the sky . But somehow different, as i stand in this smudge of lamplight and they appear, and I wait. Has anyone else noticed that rain drops fall at different speeds? Some softly, like snow, others fast, bullets streaming from above scoring a direct hit to my left eye. In the lamplight they look like sparks. Tiny burning fragments streaming from the sky.

'I don't think you are ever 100% in the room'

Let's abbreviate

Standing on the rocks (cooked fish rocks, striated like bones) and you just can’t say... let’s not make assumptions here, let’s not promise that you’re so far away that I can be alone. Purple shells falling through fingers keeping hands apart do you even realise I and my green glass Buddha are only attached to any of this by a little kite thread... I’m twisting in the wind above us can’t you feel the fabric of my shirt ripple in the breeze?

It’s like there’s this falling through orchestra all around us and it’s all in the light and in the barnacles and the seaweed, it’s in the fisherman, it’s in the dark skinned girl and her raggedy dog, there’s violins in the water and trumpets in the clouds, there’s flutes in the way our toes disappear into the sand. There are cymbals in the way you turn your head.

Let’s drink in time, rhythm to rhyme.

And then I’ll remember the ducks tapping out nom nom nom in the pondweed.

My mom just gave me a sticker. It says ‘California State Parks – Junior Ranger’ and it has a picture of a bear on it. She says I have to go smell our sweet peas.

Orgasmic Pendulum. Lovely.

So, panic time. I have no idea what I’m going to do in California because I’m too interested in what’s going on here – and now I’ve realised I do need to work that out. Then, I need to see everyone to say goodbye – moving date’s getting closer far too quickly. I have to pack – boxes for Exeter, boxes for Newbury, suitcases for California. I have to throw out a load of old stuff. I have to give presents to my old teachers. I have to go rescue all the stuff I left in school. I have to write an exam paper. I have to read a load of books. I have to remember who I am.

29. You're a Genius all the time

examining

Lab rat to lab rat... why am I not writing properly, why am I climbing inside someone's emotions all the time now hmmmmmm? Someone slip me the key. I don't even know where to begin, it's not like I’ve found the modern coliseum... what age am I, are we? Never had much of a chance, skipping through an avalanche. TEN NINE EIGHT SEVEN SIX FIVE FOUR THREE TWO ONE.

When you cease to exist, who will you blame?

There's something about listening to an aged troubadour sob his heart out which is comforting. The imagery - blindfolds and diamonds, angels and marching men. Like the world ending.

I saw a dead hedgehog on the way home today. I told Vivi to look away. Biggest hedgehog I've ever seen, and lots of guts and folds of bloody mass and brain next to its twisted neck. I once had a pet hedgehog called Grace. She was tiny and adorable and perfect and knew my smell, she knew when it was me. We'd rescued her.

Living through a pear. I hate count downs. I hate that I have limited time.

What was it you wanted?

I'm like a tear drop at the moment. That's how I feel. Good, bad, whatever. I don't mind, I'm not moaning about it. It's my turn to cry awhile anyway, isn't it.

Don't.

Bob Dylan

Where Are You Tonight? (Journey Through Dark Heat)

There’s a long-distance train rolling through the rain
Tears on the letter I write
There’s a woman I long to touch and I miss her so much
But she’s drifting like a satellite

There’s a neon light ablaze in this green smoky haze
Laughter down on Elizabeth Street
And a lonesome bell tone in that valley of stone
Where she bathed in a stream of pure heat

Her father would emphasize you got to be more than streetwise
But he practiced what he preached from the heart
A full-blooded Cherokee, he predicted to me
The time and the place that the trouble would start

There’s a babe in the arms of a woman in a rage
And a longtime golden-haired stripper onstage
And she winds back the clock and she turns back the page
Of a book that no one can write
Oh, where are you tonight?

The truth was obscure, too profound and too pure
To live it you have to explode
In that last hour of need, we entirely agreed
Sacrifice was the code of the road

I left town at dawn, with Marcel and St. John
Strong men belittled by doubt
I couldn’t tell her what my private thoughts were
But she had some way of finding them out

He took dead-center aim but he missed just the same
She was waiting, putting flowers on the shelf
She could feel my despair as I climbed up her hair
And discovered her invisible self

There’s a lion in the road, there’s a demon escaped
There’s a million dreams gone, there’s a landscape being raped
As her beauty fades and I watch her undrape
I won’t but then again, maybe I might
Oh, if I could just find you tonight

I fought with my twin, that enemy within
’Til both of us fell by the way
Horseplay and disease is killing me by degrees
While the law looks the other way

Your partners in crime hit me up for nickels and dimes
The guy you were lovin’ couldn’t stay clean
It felt outa place, my foot in his face
But he should-a stayed where his money was green

I bit into the root of forbidden fruit
With the juice running down my leg
Then I dealt with your boss, who’d never known about loss
And who always was too proud to beg

There’s a white diamond gloom on the dark side of this room
And a pathway that leads up to the stars
If you don’t believe there’s a price for this sweet paradise
Remind me to show you the scars

There’s a new day at dawn and I’ve finally arrived
If I’m there in the morning, baby, you’ll know I’ve survived
I can’t believe it, I can’t believe I’m alive
But without you it just doesn’t seem right
Oh, where are you tonight?

stollen: imagery of my existance

Stornoway.

Stornoway.

Stornoway.

Beautiful band. Makes me happy and wanting to put on a burny coloured jumper all warm and soft and go wander around the countryside in long dew-wet grass patting random horses and holding hands and wearing spotty wellies and jumping through grey puddles which splash reflections of branches up around my feet.

Soul.

I love music which is kind of sad when you hear it recorded, but live, it becomes a celebration of everything. Bon Iver. Mumford & Sons. That kind of sad, and then live you just want to jump around and laugh and love everyone.

We were born to be free, but birth was an invasion of privacy.

I don't have much to say for myself, except that I like knowing who matters to me. And I know you do. I'm not sure where I draw my lines where betrayal would happen. I want to be free, free from lines.

Peppers. Peppers. Peppers.

I love guacomole. Avocados are beautiful.

Once upon a time we were shadows in the candle light. Now we walk tall in the day light down the middle of the road, knowing ourselves and the foxes.

Let's ignore the confusion. That sparkly grey cloud can just waft around for now.

Been listening

OH MY GOD. Ohmygod! ABSOLUTELY OOOHHHH MMYYY GOOODDDDDD. You see, I CAN sound like an overexcited plastic injected idiot. SO MUCH was brilliant. The best day of this year. Best day I can remember having. Nothing went wrong afterwards. Nothing’s been stolen (as far as I can tell). This shouldn’t be allowed to happen.

Humanity is beautiful. We can be lovely amazing people. I have complete and utter faith in it. Take James the university student for an example. James, okay, he has faults. He is irresponsible. He lost his friends in the first five minutes of Friday morning, continues through the day only consuming brandy, sleeps in a random tent, goes and buys alcohol on Saturday morning, still having eaten nothing but brandy, leaves the alcohol with someone he’d met 5 minutes before, races to the front of the crowd. Meets us. Dances around with us until he almost faints, is given a Satsuma and some water by me, and is absolutely wonderful to all of us all day, even teaching us some weird dance in return for learning how to freak dance (this was me, freakily dancing. Not real freak dancing, if there are any rules to it).

ANYWAY everyone there was gorgeous. The prettiest crowd I’ve ever seen. They’d been selling flower rings to put round your head, or your hat, or whatever (I didn’t have one. I was the gross crazy dancer who kept sitting on the floor. Yay.) and loads of people had them, and pretty material and straw hats and AHHHH.

Chinese lanterns at night time, floating over, glowing orange and Maya whispers, - quick, make a wish, and bob dylan’s singing ‘forever young’ and he sings, at that second ‘May your wishes all come true’.



Johnny Flynn.

This man made my day by playing every stringed instrument possible (he’s playing a violin! OH MY GOD IT’S A VIOLIN! I PLAY VIOLIN! WE HAVE, LIKE, A SPIRITUAL BOND! Maya, Leo and Rupert: yeah. You do. Well done Florence.) and then bringing out a random trumpet and just BLASTING away.

Pete Doherty. Seasick Steve. Most adorable man on earth. So thankful, but funny and interesting and original and ARGHHHH LOVE HIM. Standing up for about 13 hours. Win. Churros and chocolate at midnight. Yes.

One thing bringing me down: someone who I always thought was okay, she sat next to me in biology sometimes, named her photo album of my school’s ball, i.e. last time I’m ever seeing her or any of them, as an insult of the dress I wore. Not an insult. Just, a snide comment. EW. ‘Uuh. Flossy’s wearing your day dress...’ STOP FUCKING CALLING ME FLOSSY. I REFUSE TO KNOW YOU. I’M NOT EVEN IN THE ALBUM. WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER. –end rant-

I’m enjoying this pettiness.

tonsillitis

it's main weapon is that no one ever knows how to spell it until they've had it. this allows it to wonder around and no one even notices it, as it rattles pipes, boogies through the underground, shouting, laughing, smoking its way through the countryside, splashing towards me, ignorant and happy, and it staggers over, all disguised in sea water, and then suddenly...

suddenly it's made my entire life seem in perspective, but at the same time, it's completely wiped out any chance at hope for perspective. i know things would be different if i didn't have it - this week had potential to change the way i exist, dammit.

the poems below, they're probably not about what or who or whatever you thought they are. I don't know. Maybe you do know. I do. I think. Although, it's always open to interpretation, right? Like when I read 'In a Garden' and thought she was talking about her ex and it turned out she was on about god.

God? god? God? god?

goddess.

connotations much.

right now i measure my life by when i take pills. problem at the moment is that i took off my watch and now i cant be bothered to find it and put it on again because I'm just going to have to take it off again tomorrow.

I'm supposed to be in a concert tonight. I have to lead it. This isn't going to work. My tonsils are like footballs in colour and consistency. More like rotted and slightly burnt flesh in every other way.

Tomorrow is pretty dresses day, and standing up first to get the prize first, and not falling over stairs, and reading a story i wrote to everyone without rushing, loudly and clearly ignoring the pain, and singing, if i can manage it, and then playing a solo, and finding food by stealing it from everyone else, and then maybe relaxing, and then bright lights and photos and drunk idiots and dodgems and english english englishness.

I may have to crawl into my toenail and just stay there for a bit.