I'M WILDE

sex and sensibility
do you believe in ants?
Oliver twisted me
Charlotte's wet
i have great expectations
I <3 (porn) literature
GO TEAM TEAM
Hello traveller
Shakespeare is sex
I <3 (c)lit soc
Shakespeare turns me on *growl*
grope me
rape me i'm a librarian
virginia wolfed me
e e cummings is my jesus
a tale of... (... two fitties)
without books my life would be empty
captain hook(er)
I <3 DICK(ens)
wanna meet after hours?
i <3 boob(k)s

all this on a white t shirt, the outfit made COMPLETE by the spandex legs. Literary society graffiti pub crawl. Just broke my plugs extension cord or whatever, so I only have one plug, which my fridge needs. I'm not entirely sure but I think the fact I keep unplugging it is bad for my food and things. I'll probably get cancer off it, or something.

University is exhilarating. I love most of my flat mates, find it hard to exist, here, without them. Dancing tonight was crazy old and pretty awful style but the funniest and lightest so far - every other night it's been intense clubbing come and get me moves and then tonight making fun of them all was amazing. My room's a mahusive tip, because I still (5, 6 days in) haven't had a single moment in which to tidy it. I'm going to die when lectures start because I'm pretty certain I'm already behind, having done a very very small amount of the reading. The rooms here have no carpets (this shocks every other accommodation people, because that seems like a basic thing) and we share one loo, one shower and two baths between about 14 of us, which is not exactly ideal, especially with my weird obsessions with not letting anyone near me when I'm in a bathroom. I love one of my flat mates in particular and was actually really upset that we've spent a night not together in the clubbing, even though variety is good and it might be a good thing to get rid of the impression that we're fuck buddies that everyone seems to have got - he may have pictures of me in my bra as his desktop background but he also has a girlfriend. Not to mention him being witness to my many less than virtuous moments. University is almost exactly how I'd expected it to be - grungy, drunken, hilarious, sexyful, full of terror at being behind academically, allowing me to be independent when I need to be, full of really individual people, confusing, big...

... but then it also has this strange dreamlike quality, as if it's not permanent, as if nothing matters, as if I'll wake up any minute now. That's probably due to being continually drunk or hungover.

ALICE

that's the plan, see. do what you want. empower yourself :D this is what uni is about, empowerment. we should write this all over our walls in some sort of schizophrenic attack. we can say that we thought we were Napoleon and Nelson was forcing us to scribble on the walls. or something.
POST IT NOTES FTW!

in response to statements concerning time
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a small copper coin weighing one tolah, eight mashas and seven surkhs, being the fortieth part of a rupee!
Make that a statement of my general existance, right now.

in defence of bad english

Him
hui.. how is it going?
22:14Me
Hi!
hurrah!
it's good. you?
22:14Him
it s very good.
22:14Me
haha where are you now?
Him
but i just decided ,that i am hungry
22:15Me
aha you should probably eat then
22:15Him
i have to
still staying at vanice beach.. near sta monica
everything seems like crap in la
22:17Me
yeppp
thats why i've never been
22:17Him
and they have no rain to wash all the dirt away from the streets
22:17Me
apparently they get 130 days of sunshine there
it was raining here today. massive storm. thunder and lightning and everything.
22:18Him
i didn t know
but im glad..had a surf lesson this morning (=
that was fun!!
22:18Me
yay you any good at surfing?
22:19Him
I am very talented (=
22:19Me
of course haha
22:19Him
no.. was the first time in my life.. no big expactations..
but sometimes i could stand on the board...
i love it!!!
=)
22:20Me
aha i can never stand on it. i always fall off
i just swim instead =]
22:21Him
maybe it was good, that I stood a few times on my brothers snowboard (=
22:21Me
ahh yeah. that would probably help..
i dont believe you're still in america... so jealous
22:22Him
rightly!
22:23Me
aha
so whats jack like?
22:23Him
he is kind of Matt and Matt (=
Fun to travel with them...
22:24Me
ahaha >.< you all drunk the whole time?
22:25Him
hmm.. probably sometimes (=
but i think all of them have a different
hmm..
22:26Me
nice... a different?
22:26Him
wait for it
i dont know how to say
.. they think different about girls..
22:27Me
yeah ahaha i know
22:28Him
... have I already mentioned that i m hungry =)
have to go!
c u online
22:29Me
yeppp. haha okay have fun. seek happy nights to happy days.
22:29Him
seek happy nights to happy days?
22:29Me
shakespeare
22:29Him
means?
22:29Me
it's a quote from shakespeare. means, go be happy.
22:30Him
ah.. i gonna use that in future (=
bye
22:30Me
aha k. be careful who you say it to though. byee


The problem with me is that I care. I ask. People either don't notice or get annoyed by it. I reckon it actually means, go, fuck romeo and have fun. Isn't it marvelous when you can't remember things? When you can rant and rage and your eyes are glistening and you're glad you can hate?

heard geese fly over at about 3am

I never knew geese flew around during the night.

'the dense, brilliant mass of blue night... I covered my face so I couldn't see the excessive, incomprehensible beauty of the night'

You cannot walk with the holy if you’re only after peace of mind.

Just found my 'personal child health record'. In the year of my birth, September was when I got my BCG, I was somewhere between August's measurements of 17lb, 8oz, (with lots of question marks), and October's, which are 8.50kg and a length of 71.5cm. I was just climbing above the 50th percentile for weight, I think.

Don't believe I'm 18.

My mom's accidently locked the radio, on full volume, in the cupboard I just painted. The paint won't dry for another 16 hours, so we have strange voices in the house until then.

Music for today. The Beatles - I'm looking through you. I was humming it whilst I painted the surgically white cupboards. It's the colour my mother thinks she wants.

If you were a fly trapped in paint, would you suffer?

It asked how many cigarettes I smoke per day. It asked how many units I drink each week. I lied for both of them.

It asked if I'd ever had a serious operation and I wanted to put about when I had cancer and them chopping a chunk out of my arm, but that doesn't count as serious, because it was benign. In fact, it wouldn't count as serious anyway, operation-wise.

if i die, will you please fuck my grave up before they put me in it?

worthiness

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ukJiBZ8_4k&feature=related

only now do I fully understand my objections to objectivism, and at the same time, I now see the points I agree with in it. Freedom, huh. Destroying our edifices, please, go ahead. Challenge the concept of altruism, of course, I've never gone for the moral servitude, clearly. I hadn't even noticed that I could be responsible for others' happiness. I've never noticed anyone loving anyone above themself, thank god. I've not been overly conscious of a capacity for thinking in that way in myself, though. 'You love them for their values, their virtues'. Well, fuck, we're all screwed, the presenter's only good point. And if you think like that, if you have to expect yourself, and others to be perfect, then you'll end up dead. Which of us is deserving of anything? I hate that thought. It's easier to think, well, we're all the great unwashed, get over it. It's easier to think, maybe we fell down, maybe we're dirty, but wasn't it fun? It's easier to think, I can't expect myself to live up to all this, I'm not made for perfection, we're all just here for corruption. It's easier to try to get what you can out of life. It's easier to say, fuck it. The concept of perfection is materialistic anyway, the idea that one needs to be worthy doesn't tally with the idea of living for oneself. For me, it doesn't add up quite right, because there's still these ideals which might as well be gods.

Music for today - the whole of the album Boxer by The National.

Chocolate

In my dreams everyone's altered. Anything from voice to hair colour to gender. People's eyes become all important, take up the entire picture, pulsate, embrace, take. I walk along a beach and watch the sky splash against my hair. I find myself naked in my old school, casually pouring jugs of multicoloured liquids onto my jabbering teachers. Other times, we're sniffing tictacs and eating flowers. I find myself sitting under mushrooms as various friends inform me in unison of the life-changing news which will and shall be said as soon as I do something... The light is often dark, and the concept of truth does not exist.

My mother just came in and gave me a chocolate from See's Candies, which ought to have been a candy from Willie Wonka's. It was white chocolate on the outside, which is why I had never tried it before. However, once in the mouth, you could taste the pastry, the cooked apples, the cinnamon, the exact replica of the perfect bite of apple pie, probably one made with granny smith's. I always knew they were magical.

My mother, by the way, hit her head really hard and now has memory problems and her vertebrae hurt. She can't be bothered to go see a doctor. She took me out to lunch and I had something called 'fillet de loup' which was sea bass and was amazing. She had a salad with tuna on it and ended up eating mine.

Last night I made a tomato soup. I roasted tomatoes (1kg cherry tomatoes, red and yellow, idealy the ones you buy on the vine, and when you pull them off you can leave the little green hats on them) and a chille in an oven pan with olive oil and seasoning for about 12 to 15 minutes, during which I put 2 roughly chopped red onions in a pan with olive oil, which I also added 4 tbs of balsamic vinigar to. Then we put the cooked tomatoes into the sauce pan, threw the whole thing into a blender with a load of basil, at which point I realised I'd forgotten to put the four crushed garlic cloves into the original roasting pan, so I put some garlic paste into the mixure as well, and then da da bung some sort of cream stuff on the top and all is well.

Vivi was proud of me. The measurements on here are so that I can do it again after I've lost the recipe. It reminded me of tomato juice and pumkins seeds, not in taste, but in concept.

My grand shopping excursion with ma mere ended up with me buying a watch, tissues, duvet cover and toothpaste. Apparently I don't actually need anything for university.

Newbury's funny. If I notice someone I almost definitely will see them again 10 minutes later. A woman with long auburn hair driving a bright green van covered in flowers. A french woman with huge dark eyes. A man who looked just like Clement Freud paying his bill next to a half finished meal, and then appearing in Sainsbury's with a bottle of wine.

I quite like it here, choosing pictures and curtain rails for the new rooms, the victorian terraces at the other end of town which look exactly like the houses in Skins, Donnington Castle which seems to have a strange night life and always has great views, people who randomly yell compliments meant as insults at me and there's enough bikes to make it feel like it's going somewhere. I'm even getting used to being alone all the time, to not having to get anywhere by any time, to having to be creative in my attempts to alleviate the dullness. Maybe it's going to be okay.

Newbury/ Berkshire County Fair

Free samples and food tents are two things which make gatherings of strangers worthwhile to me. I tried every type of cheese, sausage, chutney, chocolate, fudge, cider, spirits, and general produce possible. My mother described me as 'on a mission', which was just her way of telling me I kept leaving everyone else behind and going into my own little zone of free food-ness. It was better than Costco. Not as good as getting 6 free chocolates from See's, but I suppose my standards are pretty high.

There was a live band playing something between rock and dubstep and Holly, Vivi, Mom and I looked really cool waiting for half an hour for them to start playing, and then we listened to one song, during which Vivi and I danced like crazy (she is now my favourite person to go to gigs with) and then we left.

The music made me laugh, because live music by unknowns always makes me feel amused. I think this is because I consider it precocious, which is a bit irritating of me. These people were the type who dress up, as in, Holly thought they were all bisexual because they had long hair and one of them seemed to be trying very very hard to become Russel Brand, but once he took his sunglasses off (he clearly needed them, what with it being so cloudy and all) he looked really sweet. We tried to decide what kind of underwear people were wearing, and even got the chance to find out a couple of times, because guys have a wierd habit of leaving theirs on show, and we were pleased to find out we were right about most of the guys in the band. Calvin Kleins, and then the most bisexual looking one had cute little blue cotton ones (he'd probably describe them as powder blue). I was pleased to note that everyone seemed to actually be wearing underwear.

Donnington Castle

'TODAY'S WORLD HAS LOST ITS WAY AND IS NOW HOPELESSLY LOST. WE NEED TO REMEMBER THE WAY. REMEMBER YOUR PAST. (signiture)

COME ALONG SALLY LETS DO 12 HRS OF ACID!'

This was written on a note next to the castle.

It made me happy to think that someone feels the need to inform strangers of their thoughts. It was also heartening to find that the hand writing was exactly the same as my brothers, the triangular exclamation mark being more like something he would have written at 15.

There seem to be an almost inexhaustable number of ways to get to Donnington Castle. Even if you don't want to go there. But once there, I always find myself walking back through the country club, which has the most beautiful lake which seems determined to catch whatever colour the sun is (it was twilight and the water was burning), with some lovely ducks on it.

I walked home thinking:

'The sun is a theif: she lures the sea
and robs it. The moon is a theif:
he steals his silvery light from the sun.
The sea is a thief: it dissolves the moon.'

When I got here the family were back and my dad told me it was not necessarily wise to go on walks at night time by myself.

will you pick up your fiddle and pray?

I wore a floor length stripy skirt today. It's made of this really soft, stretchy stuff. I got up before noon. I unloaded the dishwasher. I thought about going for a long walk, but decided to have lunch first. Then I made some fancy pasta involving bacon and peas and parmesan and chille peppers, which ended up looking like coagulated shit, and was edible to me, but which my mother tried and then walked out of the room telling me she wasn't in the mood for pasta and in fact doesn't even like pasta.

It had called for egg yolks, so I was left with some egg whites. I checked my watch, and figured I had enough time to whip up a quick meringue. Why this was my first thought is beyond me, as I have only attempted them once before, when I thought I had to whisk them by hand and ended up with a thick soup of half-burnt too-sweet egg stuck indelibly to the bottom of a pan. But I was determined, today, that I could change my fortunes. This was to be the beginning of the new, accomplished me, who wouldn't ever be a housewife but who would, goddammit, be perfectly able to create amazing deserts whenever they were called for.

So, I researched various recipies, carefully. I checked all of the ones which I have been told are reliable. The ones which have five star ratings. The ones which are supposedly awesome. I took my egg whites with the pinch of salt which they are supposed to be mixed with. I took the electric whisky. I created a cloudy substance which stood up in stiff peaks when it was supposed to. I added my sugar slowly and carefully, mixing when instructed, folding when it was called for, sifting icing sugar slowly and with care. I made sure I greased the tray. I dolloped the stuff on.

They came out coffee coloured, as instructed.

They were crisp to the touch and slightly hollow sounding, as I had been promised they ought to.

I slid them off the tray, ignoring the fact that some bits stuck to it.

I took a bite.

They were soggy, and became a hard, thick, sugary, unswallowable substance the minute they hit my toungue.

I sat on the grey floor for a while an examined my toes.

Then I went to the cupboard and got out the betty crocker chocolate cup cake mix, and I mixed up that mix, and then i poured some of the meringue goop which I hadn't cooked yet on top of tiny cupcakes of the chocolate cake stuff.

And I baked that.

And it was just fine.

monsters

'Á Bao A Qu is a Malayan legend described in Jorge Luis Borges's 1967 Book of Imaginary Beings. Borges claimed that he had found the legend in the book On Malay Witchcraft (1937), by C.C. Iturvuru.

The Á Bao A Qu lived in the Tower of Victory in Chitor. The Tower of Victory consisted of many spiraling steps, from the top of which one can see the most beautiful landscape in the world. The Á Bao A Qu waits on the first step for a man brave enough to try to climb up. Until that point, it lies sleeping, a translucent blob, until someone passes. Then, when a man starts climbing, the creature wakes, and follows close behind. As it progresses further and further up, it begins to become clearer and more colorful. It gives off a blue light which increases as it ascends. When the climber ascends halfway up the Tower, the Á Bao A Qu's tentacles become visible. But it only reaches perfection when the climber reaches the top, and achieves Nirvana, so his acts don't cast any shadows. But almost all the time, the climber cannot reach the top, for they are not perfect. When the Á Bao A Qu realizes this, it hangs back, losing color and visibility, and tumbles back down the staircase until it reaches the bottom, once more a colorless, dormant blob. In doing so, it gives a small cry, so soft that it sounds similar to the rustling of silk. The creature has no eyes, but can see with its entire body. When touched, it feels like the fuzz on the skin of a peach. Only once in its everlasting life has the Á Bao A Qu reached its destination at the top of the tower.'


It is not normal to spend all night sitting in one's room with no food making up monsters. But that's what I just did.

A Gwickling is a seven-to-eight-foot-tall, troll-like being from the island of Brog. A Gwickling’s features are covered in a film of pink gloop which is produced by their pores and is said to repel the huge insects which their native land is infested with. They have three nostrils, from one of which a peach-coloured slime continually drips. Their single eye is usual placed high in what serves as their face, and consists of a heavily lidded black orb, generally surprisingly small for the large expanse of flesh it seems to float in, rather like an egg yolk in a fried egg. Their mouths have thick, rubbery rims, and open in all directions at once rather than simply up and down as usual mouths do – this is due to an umbrella-type arrangement in their large jaws, which allows them to swallow their prey whole (including hooves and antlers). They have two very long arms which end in two (per arm) fleshy, pincer-type appendages rather than hands. They have short, fat, hairy legs on which the pink goop tends to congeal, often crusting over around the bottom, which creates a protective, elastic encasing, which helps create the huge bouncing leaps with which they move. Their thought patterns are known to be minimal, although their instincts are keen and shrewd. A Gwickling will eat almost any living thing, although they are known to be partial to mushrooms. They tend to travel alone, although they do have tribal gatherings in order to combat large numbers of threats.

Gwickling have the following traits and abilities:

1. They have poison arrows.
2. They can create sand at will, which they use as a weapon.
3. They control strange shadow creatures which are believed to be the souls of those they have killed.
4. They tend to kidnap children rather than killing them.




The Nalim (or, Nahleem) are creatures which are supposedly the offspring of a piranha and a hyena. The early monk Gwen Lin wrote this description in his legendary work, ‘Beyond the Gates of Oden’:

‘Like a piranha, it has a huge and terrifying jaw and a slim, finned body, the rest of it being in all ways equipped as that of a hyena, including fur and legs armed with claws. On the ground, they have a distinctively bear-like gait, but usual they prefer to use their magical gifts to swim through the air, much like their fishy ancestors. They are distinguishable by their spotted fur coats, from which we derive their name: 'nah', meaning furred, '-lim', meaning fish.’

Nalim tend to travel in groups of over twenty or so individuals, and if one somehow finds itself alone it will swiftly go mad, turning its frustration at being isolated in on itself, eventually chewing itself to pieces. They have short front legs and longer back ones, like hyenas, which trail below them when they fly, as they are propelled as fish, partially by magic and partially by the movements of their bodies, and thus have little use for them. Their plentiful teeth are more like those of a hyena in individual shape, but are arranged like those of a piranha - by organising their teeth so that the bone-crushing premolars do not interfere with the meat-slicing carnassials to the rear, nalim can crush bone without blunting the carnassials' blades. They are inexplicably given to chewing off only small portions of their prey, but their practice of travelling as a group means that this can be effective and lethal to even large groups of people. They are opportunistic feeders like hyenas, with the ability to process and obtain nutrients even from skin and bone. As a group they are notable for their patterns of dominance, co-dependence and submission. Their general appearance is like that of a shoal of misshapen fish, except that they are in the air. They have two magical abilities: the first is being able to fly, the second is to control their size, and so, although they are usually quite small, about the size of one’s hand, which is the smallest they can go, they can grow to be the size of a large dog. To defend oneself it is necessary to wear heavy, tough amour, shield oneself effectively, or take arms against them – it is also rumoured that they are put off by the scent of lavender.




Borogoves: Small creatures resembling sea urchins which run on extendable legs, their feet being rather like flamingos. Their natural habitats are beaches. Their spines are poisonous and hard, sharp as needles and projectile. They come in all colours, on beaches they tend to be yellow, beige, or brown, but once taken from their natural habitats they often become brightly coloured, particularly pinks and blues. In their natural habitats they generally have their numbers kept down by freak storms or by each other, but once taken away from beaches their natural cannibalism stops and they breed hugely, often overrunning areas until everything on them is consumed and they start to resemble beaches. No features or markings apart from their spines and extendable legs and feet are noticeable, so it is impossible to tell their gender or individuals apart, aside from by their colour. It is also hard to discover any sort of mouth, so it is hard to tell how they consume, anything, although digestive juices have been known to be squirted from them onto their victims. The only noise they make is squeaking, which they emit generally from their center.


....

Can you imagine meeting one, though?! Why do I do things like this? Why couldn't I just write a nice story about some kid going on holiday and jumping off a cliff? Maybe I can write some sort of myth about the Nalim eating some wizards. Fucks sake. The scent of lavander?? Doesn't even make any sense biologically.

Not that

anyone's responsible for my emotions, in fact, if you think you know what I'm upset about, and you're not Maya, then you're wrong. I'm not upset about anything that happened in the last few days. It's totally unrelated, although those things didn't help. In fact, I'd say my main issue here is that I can't seem to get anything done, and I never cope well with being at home for too long (just over a week not including the fact I went away for two of those nights and Alice came over on one of them this is shocking how is that too long). I kind of also am stressing over the fact that there is a neighbour who is my age who I haven't met yet and I can't decide whether I should 'just go over and make friends'.

I'll just stand here with my back against the wall.

Maya's awesome. Did I mention?

'He must have known it would be impossible for you to change your plans at that stage. And what a shit reason. Shadow board meeting? Shadows can't even speak. Idiot. Feel free to forward this to him. Hope you've vented hour anger now. Sorry I can't be there/wasn't there. Xxxxx'


...might be inappropriate to write this on here.

Also, totally singing Two Little Girls to her. Not that it applies :P (we were always half crazy... REALLY? here comes naked little me... SHOWERS)

Maybe

it's a bit strange, all this Independence. Maybe realising that I can be significant in other people's lives should have happened earlier. Maybe I can burst into tears over words much more easily than I should do, and then be completely unable to write what I mean out. Maybe I haven't been writing enough. Maybe I'm hearing the term 'smiling' used about why I'm good to have around too often, and excusing it with 'I'm always happy to be where I am' too much. Maybe I always wanted to be dark and setting fire to trash cans and not caring or at least really wanting not to care, maybe I can't deal with how sunshiney some people think I am. Maybe I can't say what I want to with words, right now, because I haven't been practising enough. Maybe I should just throw away that bottle of spray because I never even liked the smell of fake vanilla. Maybe I shouldn't try to put cigarette tobacco into a pipe. Maybe I couldn't even feel content with being there for people even when it's not writing, even speaking. Maybe being unable to express myself makes me feel weak. Maybe I hate being a physical being. Maybe I'm worried about Germain Greer. Maybe I'm scared of what I'm going to do at university. Maybe I'm scared of what I do right now. Maybe I'm scared. Maybe I wanted to be kind and loving and when I turned back to watch my actions fall, they were brusque and cruel. Maybe I can't spell. Maybe I just want to be back somewhere where I'm not. Maybe I'll end up doing things which I'll regret just to shut the fucking row in my head up. Maybe it terrifies me that sometimes I can't control a full orchestra playing in my head, or a accordian, or a piano, and it sounds so real, and that's a sign of mental illness. Maybe I never had much of a chance, never had those certainties they suspected in me.

I enjoyed being in Dorset. I also hated it. I had lots of fun. I don't regret anything because who believes in regret? I disliked the sea being beyond the groynes. I enjoyed talking at 2am. The first time round it was light and white and soft and the second time it was dark and red and hard and choking. Maybe I talked to someone at the bar of a pub just because I'm going fucking CRAZY with all these voices in my head and all those eyes outside my head, all those eyes everywhere looking at me, and it's enough to make me crazy, the number of men who are taking me far too seriously. Just imagine this all said in a totally hysterical voice.

Who the fuck am I now? I know who I am I can point to a letter someone wrote to me and I know it's to me.

monday 18:30 til wednesday 10:00

not,

'the most intense love is a negotiation between solitudes' (Steiner)

perhaps,

'the most intense solitude is a negotiation between loves'

as if I know. Try falling when you're being lifted up. I've been wondering wondering wondering wandering wasting precious time. A rainbow posed to fall, miraculously arched with no supports, I'm jealous, you can tell by the way my fingers reach towards it, perhaps I want to hold it, not just grab it, but, rainbows can defy gravity any day.

Ophelia

'Says she hears
There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart;
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection; they aim at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures
yield them,
Indeed would make one think there might be thought,
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.'

Bodies all over the place. Made me fall even more deeply in love with Shakespeare. Not even his work. I mean, glorious, but imagine the guy who wrote it. The way he allows his characters to be utterly adrift in their emotions. And yet I didn't even choose 'Shakespeare' as one of my modules. Vaguely upset me to see David Tennant playing Hamlet, he's too old, and too smooth, and although the way he acted out acting mad was perfect it was not brilliant. I hate to say that I'd always imagined a character (especially one with such a fate) to be in essence alike to someone I know (as it gives me doubts about when I write characters) but who hasn't compared Hamlet to their idea of an acquaintance? Good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

green tortoise shots from the mysterious larry.

Larry uploaded onto his... site:

http://lahosken.san-francisco.ca.us/departures/usa/gt2010/photos.html

Mystical, huh.

Ani DiFranco again.

I miss Maya. Every time I say this, I laugh because I remember drinking gin with her. Or I remember her running around the showers naked. Or doing sit ups whilst eating the best chocolate ever. Or me getting stoked about all my emotions whilst walking around beautiful rocks and instead of letting her appreciating them, ranting. Or her talking about teachers whilst two birds spiralled from the sky, mating in September, into a colourful canyon.

Why am I awake? I can't bring myself to get into that lonely bed in that lonely room.

The I'm-so-bored-room.

Remember, sitting in the mystic springs and I almost drowned him, I did, I was determined. Remember me rising dripping from the tub, god I was scared, thought he didn't have trunks on. Remember, your profile with the stars blue and silver and the sky practically white behind it, you whispering he was so angry? Fucked up, right, that that was the moment I decided I never wanted to miss anyone again. Remember the milky way like some sort of flowery arch, it was that bright, and that Irish girl, remember the one, whose name looked all wrong when she wrote it, remember her teaching us to float, remember being a dead man? Dead man float, dead man float. That was me, my head back, arms up to embrace the warmth of the red rocks, the red that the natives rubbed on to protect themselves, remember how we fell through the water yelling, whirlpool, how the rocks created storm clouds on my knees, red and purple and raised with pain? Remember how warm it was, and how we thought he must have put something in the water there were that many pairings up in the morning. Remember lying out on the tarps (but you didn't, you hid in the bus) and I remember that the sky made me fight off sleep, with Charley on one side and David on the other, all squished in so that we wouldn't roll off the mattresses, and remember how we all didn't want to sleep so that we could look at the stars just a little longer, o god, I wasn't too worried then, was I, about that anger, it wasn't til the next morning when he had red eyes and the look he gave me was so pure, because it was anger, and vengeance, and hatred, all twisted up into something which burnt white hot so that I couldn't get back into the hot water, for fear of what he'd do, couldn't run away, because we had to get on the bus (but I tried, didn't I?), how he was empty with anger and hangover. How he whipped out at me that night, how I sank from metal to concrete, wishing to fall off the edge and crying and something tugging tears from places I had never cried from before, was it just that stuff we were smoking? How I wound up with arms around me, don't cry honey, its okay. How I made you go because I wouldn't ruin your night (although I probably didn't help it much). How I can't think without brackets, now.

mystichotsprings.com/index.html

vapid and disingenuous.

I can write whatever I like on here.

Tonight, I can write the angriest of lines. Write, for example, 'the stones are vibrantly dead and threaten us with the hum of the wind against them'.

Read the fucking subtitle. I will not be told that by playing with words I am playing with people.

I can write that I do not know how awful it is that I allow myself to dash my brains out onto a screen, knowing that in some way I must be looking for its understanding when really the action itself curtails all that. I can write that I refuse to know that this is the worst possible way of dealing with emotions. I can write that I am aware of this, if I like, and that I do not care. I can write that the negative energy of my thoughts must meet the negative energy of the internet (which my soul rejects, I can write, as if my soul can reject) and then I can section it behind me as I sectioned smoking to beaches in America. That I can quit emotions as I quit smoking, decide I don't like them having dipped my toes in, and thus run away.

I can write things that I would never say.

I can write things that I would never mean.

I can write things at different times of the day which have different meanings depending on every chemical which has ever bounced off my brain.

I can write everything I would text if I had the fucking credit. Who's to say I can't? And at the same time, I can say that this is not my answer, that only assholes would take this crap and assume it was meant to them.

I can make my thoughts into stories. 'I never said you were obsessed' - the perfect six worder. Think of the fiction one could make from that. Think of the narrative tensions. Consider the words individually, say them out loud and feel how they shape your mouth. The 'you' in the middle lengthening the angrier words, lightly brushing downwards before the hiss of 'obsessed'. Consider truths and lies, and how the man with no feelings requires no words, and the man with no words loses the finer particulars of his feelings. Consider spending a winter without company, and how at first you long for the concept of others, and then you reject it, and then you learn to deal with it, so that when company returns, you can hardly interact with it, and are considered rude and uncultured. Consider desire and repression. Consider how this ache is what I meant to avoid. Consider how my language has changed. Consider the repetition of words, forget their meanings as we all must do in order to understand them.

--

La Canción Desesperada


Emerge tu recuerdo de la noche en que estoy.
El río anuda al mar su lamento obstinado.

Abandonado como los muelles en el alba.
Es la hora de partir, oh abandonado!

Sobre mi corazón llueven frías corolas.
Oh sentina de escombros, feroz cueva de náufragos!

En ti se acumularon las guerras y los vuelos.
De ti alzaron las alas los pájaros del canto.

Todo te lo tragaste, como la lejanía.
Como el mar, como el tiempo. Todo en ti fue naufragio!

Era la alegre hora del asalto y el beso.
La hora del estupor que ardía como un faro.

Ansiedad de piloto, furia de buzo ciego,
turbia embriaguez de amor, todo en ti fue naufragio!

En la infancia de niebla mi alma alada y herida.
Descubridor perdido, todo en ti fue naufragio!

Te ceñiste al dolor, te agarraste al deseo.
Te tumbó la tristeza, todo en ti fue naufragio!

Hice retroceder la muralla de sombra.
anduve más allá del deseo y del acto.

Oh carne, carne mía, mujer que amé y perdí,
a ti en esta hora húmeda, evoco y hago canto.

Como un vaso albergaste la infinita ternura,
y el infinito olvido te trizó como a un vaso.

Era la negra, negra soledad de las islas,
y allí, mujer de amor, me acogieron tus brazos.

Era la sed y el hambre, y tú fuiste la fruta.
Era el duelo y las ruinas, y tú fuiste el milagro.

Ah mujer, no sé cómo pudiste contenerme
en la tierra de tu alma, y en la cruz de tus brazos!

Mi deseo de ti fue el más terrible y corto,
el más revuelto y ebrio, el más tirante y ávido.

Cementerio de besos, aún hay fuego en tus tumbas,
aún los racimos arden picoteados de pájaros.

Oh la boca mordida, oh los besados miembros,
oh los hambrientos dientes, oh los cuerpos trenzados.

Oh la cópula loca de esperanza y esfuerzo
en que nos anudamos y nos desesperamos.

Y la ternura, leve como el agua y la harina.
Y la palabra apenas comenzada en los labios.

Ese fue mi destino y en él viajó mi anhelo,
y en el cayó mi anhelo, todo en ti fue naufragio!

Oh sentina de escombros, en ti todo caía,
qué dolor no exprimiste, qué olas no te ahogaron.

De tumbo en tumbo aún llameaste y cantaste
de pie como un marino en la proa de un barco.

Aún floreciste en cantos, aún rompiste en corrientes.
Oh sentina de escombros, pozo abierto y amargo.

Pálido buzo ciego, desventurado hondero,
descubridor perdido, todo en ti fue naufragio!

Es la hora de partir, la dura y fría hora
que la noche sujeta a todo horario.

El cinturón ruidoso del mar ciñe la costa.
Surgen frías estrellas, emigran negros pájaros.

Abandonado como los muelles en el alba.
Sólo la sombra trémula se retuerce en mis manos.

Ah más allá de todo. Ah más allá de todo.

Es la hora de partir. Oh abandonado.

--

Oh abandonado. Oh abandonado. Oh abandonado. Oh abandonado.

Dream.

I had a dream last night that I was back in school. Why am I always rushing in dreams? Is it significant that I dreamt it the day before my old school starts term? What about Eoghan's theories about the realm of dreams? To look at my hands, or not to look at my hands?

My foot is bleeding.

Google image Mystic Hot Springs Mike. That's where I was last thursday night.

Haha. I just wrote: 'Her own ‘romances’, lack of passion: kiss ‘stolen’ from her. Tensions between generations, university a blank.' about Andrea in Nada. Shit.

‘The never-know house’

Song for today: St Vincent's 'The Party'.

You must be wondering why I’m not responding to anything. I don’t have any credit (everyone knows this). I don’t want to go backwards though. I only want to see my future, now. I’m not interested in my past, right now. I have no obsessions, nothing I want to do except things for the future, or completing things I have promised to do. I’m sorry for it. I’ve had life changing experiences (I can say this totally factually as things have happened to me, and I have seen things, and I have done things, which mean that I cannot go back to the way I lived before), and much of what I used to do has to go.

I no longer want to know who is reading this. I am only writing it because it needs to be said, somewhere, my thoughts need to be straightened, and I lost a notebook so I can no longer trust them.

I miss having ten or more people in my bed. I felt so alone in the space unoccupied by bodies and feet and sleepingbags this morning.

I have a new favourite place, although my soul still lives in the Sierra Nevada mountains, and this place is in Utah at the Salt Lake in the few moments before and during dawn. Flocks of birds silvered by the sun, whirling over the earth, the wide expanse of water, and land, rimmed but not limited by mountains at the edges, and then the sky, huge, overpowering...

In a haulting German accent: - 'If you had a girl whom you loved, who was moving on her life, and needed to be alone, and told you she did not love you, would you let her go?' - 'If you had a guy who you were not sure that you loved, but he loved you, and you had to choose between him and your new life, new friends, new work, what would you do?' Thanks David. Thanks for showing me the fall out.

Would you rather walk forwards, but stub your toe every step, or walk backwards for the rest of your life?

Would you rather fall in love with someone you'd never see again, or have someone you didn't love be obsessed and in love with you and always with you?

Would you rather stay indoors for the rest of your life, or have it rain wherever you were for the rest of your life?

Today my sisters took me to the 'never-know house'. It's called Dragons House, it says so on the gatepost. My seven year old sister, however, is convinced that rather than the dragons this clearly entails, a witch actually lives there. But she will never know because it only has two cars parked in the garage and you only see people (I am led to believe these are either slaves/ disguises/ magic) entering or leaving it. I've never seen such an ordinary residence for such an extraordinary being.

I summarily recommend the Green Tortoise to everyone. Particularly anyone who has any sort of obsession with anything, as they will be utterly cured.

The only issue is if you are an 18 year old girl who happens to be mildly straight. Especially if you have a prettier friend with you. (Not her or the Green Tortoise's fault, of course, as I could have told them. I could have told someone to get me out of there but I was trying to sleep.). You end up being dogged by some guy or other. I don't want love, now. I'm cured. Uninterested. Perhaps slightly scarred (you don't want to know where).