i had a bath, lush bath bomb, deep deep bath, and oh fuck, it was wonderful. i was going to drink until i passed out, but now, i am going to have water, and breathe deeply, and go to sleep.
cbt 101. incorrect thoughts.
1. you will never love ANYONE AGAIN, he is the best human being in the whole world, ever, and you are trapped alone in misery.
answer - no, i know from my previous experiences that i will love someone else again. i will love many other people again. i will not be in love with him forever, and nor will i never get over my feelings for him. love is a choice, to an extent. to an extent. and i can work with that extent.
i also do not define myself by being in a relationship. it's ok, i LIKE being single.
2. he made you SO HAPPY.
answer - elizabeth. you are sad. very very sad. you have been sad for a long time. you only went back because you felt vulnerable. if not for the Bad Work Thing, you never would have started trying to sort it out. you were resolved, sensible, and decided. and you then crawled back because it seemed like a good idea, and you were vulnerable, and sex seemed like a Great Idea.
3. you are pathetic.
answer - you FEEL PATHETIC. not are. it's ok to feel as though i am pathetic. to regret my actions. but i am not pathetic. i am FEELING pathetic.
4. no one likes me.
this is refuted by how wonderful my friends have been.i am loved by many wonderful people.
i am strong. i am strong. i am strong. i am strong. i am strong. i am Strong.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
increased rationality
i am back in canberra. nemo said i looked calmer and more at peace. i guess that is how i feel.
my friends in brisbane, and in canberra, are incredible. i am very grateful for the wonderful people i have in my life, who love me, care for me, call me, look after me, and i know will be there for me when things get shit, no matter what. for this alone, i now know i am an amazingly fortunate person.
i miss my rabbits.
i am more solidly resolved.
i've been through a lot. a stage of wanting to bribe you with children (you know, ha, stupidly, i thought you meant it, i thought you really did want to have children with me, and i was excited that one day this would happen.) i'm slowly discarding all the dreams i had of being with you, of a house together, of meeting your family, you meeting mine (proxy friend-family, and sister), of doing paintings for your walls, of travelling to europe (ha, that one was almost a given in my mind, cemented as fairly relatively soon, i was even saving for it, stupid me), of even little things like exploring drains and urban sites, of more hours spent in your apartment, making love and holding hands. of one day, you driving me to work every day, of so many more times of you cupping my face in your hands and saying you loved me. i know a lot of these things would not have been easy, and i was prepared for the struggle.
until i realised you never actually, in reality, saw us staying together. as much as you said you could see me in your world, you actually couldn't. and then, you threw it all away, all those words, all those dreams, all those hopes. you want to live this out with someone else now, even if you say things like 'i cannot see M in my life like i can see you. ' or 'm only wants to live in a fantasy land, not reality. it won't last'. oh you said that. you also said you would Never leave me for her, and that your feelings about me never changed. so i trust nothing now.
i feel mostly angry at myself, because i knew for a long long time that things would end like this. you repeatedly, veiledly, told me so. and i, at one, stupid point, stopped thinking this was the case, and no, actually, i could trust you, and maybe we could start building a life together. not forever, not anything like that. but think about things we might want to do together later. next week. month. year. shared dreams.
i have lost them, and that makes me very very sad. but i will move on now.
but. i will not be made happier again. i come out of all this jaded, less trusting, and very very hurt. you never even wanted to call me when i was in brisbane. you couldn't even say anything other than 'oh i hurt you' to my email where i talked about why you did. you have not tried to face up to anything. i feel guttered by you. i have not been set free, i've been badly, badly wounded. i will heal, it will scar, but i will not forget what you did. i don't know totally what my heart will do in the future (see, i'm not CLAIMING any bullshit about ALWAYS LOVING YOU FOREVER MORE THAN HER BECAUSE YOU ARE SO GREAT AND SHE IS LAME, i am honest enough to admit i do not know...) but right now, i am starting to see the feelings fade. i am less inclined to beg at you, or weep, or plead for you babies. i have no pride. it's a stupid, weak thing, pride. i am honest. and i have no shame in that. i was hurt, and i needed to get it out however i could, and when you refused to talk to me, i just sent texts. if you had bothered to properly respond, maybe i wouldn't have ranted. but mainly, i don't care.
when i say you sucked my brain out
the english translation
is i am in love with you
and it is no fun
but i don't use words like love
'cuz works like that don't matter
but don't look so offended
you know, you should be flattered
and i wake up in the night
in some big hotel bed
and my hands grope for the light
and my hands grope for my head
the world is my oyster
the road is my home
and i know that i'm better
off alone
dilate - ani difranco
especially better off alone if you couldn't even be bothered calling me.
my friends in brisbane, and in canberra, are incredible. i am very grateful for the wonderful people i have in my life, who love me, care for me, call me, look after me, and i know will be there for me when things get shit, no matter what. for this alone, i now know i am an amazingly fortunate person.
i miss my rabbits.
i am more solidly resolved.
i've been through a lot. a stage of wanting to bribe you with children (you know, ha, stupidly, i thought you meant it, i thought you really did want to have children with me, and i was excited that one day this would happen.) i'm slowly discarding all the dreams i had of being with you, of a house together, of meeting your family, you meeting mine (proxy friend-family, and sister), of doing paintings for your walls, of travelling to europe (ha, that one was almost a given in my mind, cemented as fairly relatively soon, i was even saving for it, stupid me), of even little things like exploring drains and urban sites, of more hours spent in your apartment, making love and holding hands. of one day, you driving me to work every day, of so many more times of you cupping my face in your hands and saying you loved me. i know a lot of these things would not have been easy, and i was prepared for the struggle.
until i realised you never actually, in reality, saw us staying together. as much as you said you could see me in your world, you actually couldn't. and then, you threw it all away, all those words, all those dreams, all those hopes. you want to live this out with someone else now, even if you say things like 'i cannot see M in my life like i can see you. ' or 'm only wants to live in a fantasy land, not reality. it won't last'. oh you said that. you also said you would Never leave me for her, and that your feelings about me never changed. so i trust nothing now.
i feel mostly angry at myself, because i knew for a long long time that things would end like this. you repeatedly, veiledly, told me so. and i, at one, stupid point, stopped thinking this was the case, and no, actually, i could trust you, and maybe we could start building a life together. not forever, not anything like that. but think about things we might want to do together later. next week. month. year. shared dreams.
i have lost them, and that makes me very very sad. but i will move on now.
but. i will not be made happier again. i come out of all this jaded, less trusting, and very very hurt. you never even wanted to call me when i was in brisbane. you couldn't even say anything other than 'oh i hurt you' to my email where i talked about why you did. you have not tried to face up to anything. i feel guttered by you. i have not been set free, i've been badly, badly wounded. i will heal, it will scar, but i will not forget what you did. i don't know totally what my heart will do in the future (see, i'm not CLAIMING any bullshit about ALWAYS LOVING YOU FOREVER MORE THAN HER BECAUSE YOU ARE SO GREAT AND SHE IS LAME, i am honest enough to admit i do not know...) but right now, i am starting to see the feelings fade. i am less inclined to beg at you, or weep, or plead for you babies. i have no pride. it's a stupid, weak thing, pride. i am honest. and i have no shame in that. i was hurt, and i needed to get it out however i could, and when you refused to talk to me, i just sent texts. if you had bothered to properly respond, maybe i wouldn't have ranted. but mainly, i don't care.
when i say you sucked my brain out
the english translation
is i am in love with you
and it is no fun
but i don't use words like love
'cuz works like that don't matter
but don't look so offended
you know, you should be flattered
and i wake up in the night
in some big hotel bed
and my hands grope for the light
and my hands grope for my head
the world is my oyster
the road is my home
and i know that i'm better
off alone
dilate - ani difranco
especially better off alone if you couldn't even be bothered calling me.
Friday, March 06, 2009
new and interesting
today, well, right now, i have a New Stage.
now, not only do i feel sick thinking of M, and her stupid habit of extrapolating on her relationship with you through her religion on facebook (it really isn't stupid, it's sort of cute, it's just that i hurt, you know)... but the realization that you ended it with me, in order to date her, is really really painful, in a sick, base of tummy way.
remember when you said that i was more clever, more attractive, more interesting, kinder, whatever? numerous statements, words to that effect. it's stinging more and more, the little repetition earworm of your regret and pain at breaking up with her and knowing you regretted that more than ending it with me... that strange sick feeling as you said you needed to resolve it with her, 'resolve'... i echo back to when you said that this was nothing more than a little glitch in our relationship. a bump. we were in this for the long haul. this was a week ago, e, a week ago. i hurt. a lot. this is hurting. i am less angry than i am just really hurting now, because what can you say? did you lie then, or have you changed your mind? or, despite the fact you think i am 'more' these things, you are less in love with me? or what? i don't get it. i DO not get it. i know you've explained it before. but i'm not angry right now, just really really sad and rejected. however you try and say 'well, i am MORE in love with you, but i am going to date HER,' it's going to sound like bullshit.
i feel like nothing. i feel like every pretty word you ever said was aimed at ... i don't know. i don't know. but that now, it's meaningless because despite all what you said, all the reassurance 'oh, it is different' that you don't want a relationship with me, but with her. you have, essentially, rejected me. totally. said, no, not you. i want her. not you. the action is more important than the words, and her joy over it is too much for me to bare, and i cannot think of seeing her, or the fact you are probably with her right now, with my little bunnies on her lap, the two of you cuddled up as i sit here, miserable and feeling like vomiting, a few states away.
that's really really really intensely painful.
she'll take you back. and you'll live out what we were going to do with her. she gets affectionate nicknames. and love, and hand holding, and lunch breaks, and i feel like all that has been stolen from under my feet, after you promised it all to me. you broke that promise something chronic. you took back all those words. and now, are you going to say those things to her? 'i love you more than elizabeth' 'you are so much more beautiful than her, so much more intelligent and funny and wonderful than elizabeth,' 'you are such a better lover,' etc? you can see how that runs around my head after having to live as the silent third party in your relationship with her for so so long.... this hurts, this hurts. this Hurts.
like i said, it's less anger now. it's a really profound sadness and sense of betrayal. that feeling of someone else being joyous at my misery, and thanking the universe for how unhappy i am. i hate this. i hate it. i don't hate you, but i look forward to the day i don't love you, and i can be rational, and see how much this has hurt me, and how horribly you have behaved, and that will make my heart move away from you, towards someone who will treat me with the respect i deserve.
do you know how belittling it is for me for you to say that you are stealing my youth? can't i decide what i want to do with my youth? i know you hate the age difference, and it makes you sad. is that the best reason to be falling in love with someone else, because they are 11 years younger and not 20? hey, i know there is more to it than that. but if i was 33? what then?
i just need to vent this out, because i am hurt now, and i know you won't reply to my texts because you are holding her, touching her, making her feel loved, while i cower in another city and cry myself to sleep again.
now, not only do i feel sick thinking of M, and her stupid habit of extrapolating on her relationship with you through her religion on facebook (it really isn't stupid, it's sort of cute, it's just that i hurt, you know)... but the realization that you ended it with me, in order to date her, is really really painful, in a sick, base of tummy way.
remember when you said that i was more clever, more attractive, more interesting, kinder, whatever? numerous statements, words to that effect. it's stinging more and more, the little repetition earworm of your regret and pain at breaking up with her and knowing you regretted that more than ending it with me... that strange sick feeling as you said you needed to resolve it with her, 'resolve'... i echo back to when you said that this was nothing more than a little glitch in our relationship. a bump. we were in this for the long haul. this was a week ago, e, a week ago. i hurt. a lot. this is hurting. i am less angry than i am just really hurting now, because what can you say? did you lie then, or have you changed your mind? or, despite the fact you think i am 'more' these things, you are less in love with me? or what? i don't get it. i DO not get it. i know you've explained it before. but i'm not angry right now, just really really sad and rejected. however you try and say 'well, i am MORE in love with you, but i am going to date HER,' it's going to sound like bullshit.
i feel like nothing. i feel like every pretty word you ever said was aimed at ... i don't know. i don't know. but that now, it's meaningless because despite all what you said, all the reassurance 'oh, it is different' that you don't want a relationship with me, but with her. you have, essentially, rejected me. totally. said, no, not you. i want her. not you. the action is more important than the words, and her joy over it is too much for me to bare, and i cannot think of seeing her, or the fact you are probably with her right now, with my little bunnies on her lap, the two of you cuddled up as i sit here, miserable and feeling like vomiting, a few states away.
that's really really really intensely painful.
she'll take you back. and you'll live out what we were going to do with her. she gets affectionate nicknames. and love, and hand holding, and lunch breaks, and i feel like all that has been stolen from under my feet, after you promised it all to me. you broke that promise something chronic. you took back all those words. and now, are you going to say those things to her? 'i love you more than elizabeth' 'you are so much more beautiful than her, so much more intelligent and funny and wonderful than elizabeth,' 'you are such a better lover,' etc? you can see how that runs around my head after having to live as the silent third party in your relationship with her for so so long.... this hurts, this hurts. this Hurts.
like i said, it's less anger now. it's a really profound sadness and sense of betrayal. that feeling of someone else being joyous at my misery, and thanking the universe for how unhappy i am. i hate this. i hate it. i don't hate you, but i look forward to the day i don't love you, and i can be rational, and see how much this has hurt me, and how horribly you have behaved, and that will make my heart move away from you, towards someone who will treat me with the respect i deserve.
do you know how belittling it is for me for you to say that you are stealing my youth? can't i decide what i want to do with my youth? i know you hate the age difference, and it makes you sad. is that the best reason to be falling in love with someone else, because they are 11 years younger and not 20? hey, i know there is more to it than that. but if i was 33? what then?
i just need to vent this out, because i am hurt now, and i know you won't reply to my texts because you are holding her, touching her, making her feel loved, while i cower in another city and cry myself to sleep again.
i ran away to brisbane...
and all you got was this lousy playlist.
1. independence day - ani difranco
"telling myself i was finally free,..."
2. 100,000 Fireflies - The Magnetic Fields
" you won't be happy with me,
but give me one more chance
you won't be happy anywhere.
why do we still live here,
in this repulsive town...? "
3. done wrong- ani difranco
"how can you do nothing and say 'i'm doing my best',
how can you take almost everything then come back for the rest?
how can you beg me to stay, reach out your hands and plead
then pack up your bags and run away as soon as i agree?"
it just all slips away so slowly
you don't even notice til you've lost the lot...
i am tired, i am broke i feel stupid and i feel used
and i am at the end of my little rope and i am swinging back and forth about you..."
4. I Know It's Over - The Smiths
"with your triumphs and your charms while they're in each other's arms
not for you my love, not tonight my love... love is natural and real... but not for such as you and i, my love.
obvious.
5. bodily - ani difranco
you broke me bodily the heartache the half of it and i'll never learn to laugh at it in my good natured way....
and i knew you'd be the death of me, so i guess that's the price i pay."
so i'm trying to make new memories in cities where we fell in love, my head just barely above the darkest waters i've ever known..."
and still i think i'd stoop for you, stoop for your eyes alone"
6. Temptation - New Order
we listened to this together so many times at your house. you said it was your favourite new order song. one of your favourite songs in general.
7. Babies - Pulp
you played this for me at ALIA, in the middle of the world, in the conference centre, red dusk rocks little wallabies up the grubs indian food starlit dancing, serious, oh so serious, little hand, little hand, swinging around, and around, and walking home and pausing, and that gap, that gap, oh that gap...
8. jack the ripper - Morrissey
i played it for you in the phoenix, you had never heard it before. i couldn't believe i could ever show you anything, teach you anything that you didn't already know, let alone about morrissey. one time, as we sat there, you asked me if i was embarrassed to have your arm around me, because you were 'so old'. i wanted to laugh and wanted to cry because you are so beautiful.
9. What do you want from me - Monaco
i once noticed you had a facebook status saying you were listening to Monaco, and this was the only song i could find of it. it makes me think of you.
10. Dilaudid - The Mountain Goats
'now you say you love me, pretty soon you won't...'
is also about driving.
11. Hounds of Love - kate bush
kate bush. self evident.
plus, once we had a discussion about the speed of little bunnies heart beat, and how it reminded you of a kate bush song. it was about the fox in the song.
12. Winter - Kristin Hersh
it's clashing and beautiful and cold, and makes me think of heartbreak.
13. Roberta C. - Casiotone For The Painfully Alone
"listless intellectual, in her prime
scrabble high score 409,
with nothing remarkable to leave behind...
a note on the bed reads
'true love is hard to find'"
14. Bluebird - Swan Lake
again, like 'winter' more about the music, the clashing and the falling.
15. Call It Off - Tegan and Sara
maybe i could have been something you'd be good at...
16. No Children - The Mountain Goats
angry and sad and falling-apart, and just that little bit funny as well.
17. I don't want to get over you - The Magnetic Fields
'i could make a career of being blue, dress in black and read camus
smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth, like i was 17, it would be a scream"
18. Handsome Devil - The Smiths
i'll never forget the look on your face when i first showed you my tattoo. or the drawing you did of it the next day. or when you told me what your reaction to it was.
19. disintegration - the cure
goes in every sad-time playlist. it reminds me not of you, but of a montage of misery from years ago to now, from depressive episode to the next, of pushing metal into lightbulbs until it was hot, then pressing into skin, and watching skin bubble, of pain, of blood of distance of suffering, of physicality, of being of real of knowing something when everything else was taken away, of being unable to breathe, breathe breathe. but i survived. and i will survive this, easily.
20. origami - ani difranco
i am an all-powerful amazon warrior
1. independence day - ani difranco
"telling myself i was finally free,..."
2. 100,000 Fireflies - The Magnetic Fields
" you won't be happy with me,
but give me one more chance
you won't be happy anywhere.
why do we still live here,
in this repulsive town...? "
3. done wrong- ani difranco
"how can you do nothing and say 'i'm doing my best',
how can you take almost everything then come back for the rest?
how can you beg me to stay, reach out your hands and plead
then pack up your bags and run away as soon as i agree?"
it just all slips away so slowly
you don't even notice til you've lost the lot...
i am tired, i am broke i feel stupid and i feel used
and i am at the end of my little rope and i am swinging back and forth about you..."
4. I Know It's Over - The Smiths
"with your triumphs and your charms while they're in each other's arms
not for you my love, not tonight my love... love is natural and real... but not for such as you and i, my love.
obvious.
5. bodily - ani difranco
you broke me bodily the heartache the half of it and i'll never learn to laugh at it in my good natured way....
and i knew you'd be the death of me, so i guess that's the price i pay."
so i'm trying to make new memories in cities where we fell in love, my head just barely above the darkest waters i've ever known..."
and still i think i'd stoop for you, stoop for your eyes alone"
6. Temptation - New Order
we listened to this together so many times at your house. you said it was your favourite new order song. one of your favourite songs in general.
7. Babies - Pulp
you played this for me at ALIA, in the middle of the world, in the conference centre, red dusk rocks little wallabies up the grubs indian food starlit dancing, serious, oh so serious, little hand, little hand, swinging around, and around, and walking home and pausing, and that gap, that gap, oh that gap...
8. jack the ripper - Morrissey
i played it for you in the phoenix, you had never heard it before. i couldn't believe i could ever show you anything, teach you anything that you didn't already know, let alone about morrissey. one time, as we sat there, you asked me if i was embarrassed to have your arm around me, because you were 'so old'. i wanted to laugh and wanted to cry because you are so beautiful.
9. What do you want from me - Monaco
i once noticed you had a facebook status saying you were listening to Monaco, and this was the only song i could find of it. it makes me think of you.
10. Dilaudid - The Mountain Goats
'now you say you love me, pretty soon you won't...'
is also about driving.
11. Hounds of Love - kate bush
kate bush. self evident.
plus, once we had a discussion about the speed of little bunnies heart beat, and how it reminded you of a kate bush song. it was about the fox in the song.
12. Winter - Kristin Hersh
it's clashing and beautiful and cold, and makes me think of heartbreak.
13. Roberta C. - Casiotone For The Painfully Alone
"listless intellectual, in her prime
scrabble high score 409,
with nothing remarkable to leave behind...
a note on the bed reads
'true love is hard to find'"
14. Bluebird - Swan Lake
again, like 'winter' more about the music, the clashing and the falling.
15. Call It Off - Tegan and Sara
maybe i could have been something you'd be good at...
16. No Children - The Mountain Goats
angry and sad and falling-apart, and just that little bit funny as well.
17. I don't want to get over you - The Magnetic Fields
'i could make a career of being blue, dress in black and read camus
smoke clove cigarettes and drink vermouth, like i was 17, it would be a scream"
18. Handsome Devil - The Smiths
i'll never forget the look on your face when i first showed you my tattoo. or the drawing you did of it the next day. or when you told me what your reaction to it was.
19. disintegration - the cure
goes in every sad-time playlist. it reminds me not of you, but of a montage of misery from years ago to now, from depressive episode to the next, of pushing metal into lightbulbs until it was hot, then pressing into skin, and watching skin bubble, of pain, of blood of distance of suffering, of physicality, of being of real of knowing something when everything else was taken away, of being unable to breathe, breathe breathe. but i survived. and i will survive this, easily.
20. origami - ani difranco
i am an all-powerful amazon warrior
Thursday, March 05, 2009
time
after pain last night, i feel slowly calmer and better today. i feel far more human and rational and though, hurting yes, i can survive the world a little better, no, a lot better. definitely made the right decision in going to brisbane for the week - feel so much safer warmer happier better surrounded with people who i know longer than people from canberra - i guess what is hard is that the magic, the moment i saw you, something moved inside of me, and has never moved back. and that was longer than the friendship i've had with anyone in canberra, which makes it hard for perspective.
heat and sleep couple well right now. planning delicious pastry treats. sad envy too, a little, at plans enacted with someone else, but i understand a little more, a little more, and it makes more sense, and it hurts, but i know this, and i can deal.
heat and sleep couple well right now. planning delicious pastry treats. sad envy too, a little, at plans enacted with someone else, but i understand a little more, a little more, and it makes more sense, and it hurts, but i know this, and i can deal.
i was meaning to post this. before.
now, i feel i still need to.
" You had once asked me if i was afraid of dying.
I said I was afraid of not living.
I don't want to eke out my life like a resource in short supply. The only selfish life is a timid one. To hold back, to withdraw, to keep the best in reserve, both overvalues the self, and undervalues what the self is. "
Written on the body
Jeanette Winterson.
i want to repeat to myself that i should not hold back i should not hold back i should not hold back. even when you let go, hand slipping over hand, heart falling down cliff-face no return, no return, no return, even then, it is living, and it is feeling, and it is letting go of the self in order to find it. it is not worth regretting, but celebrating, because the pain makes us human, and is not always a bad thing, a bad sensation, but something engorging and heavy and overwhelming, but with a worthwhile, profound beauty to it, when the pain is caused by something wonderful ending.
" You had once asked me if i was afraid of dying.
I said I was afraid of not living.
I don't want to eke out my life like a resource in short supply. The only selfish life is a timid one. To hold back, to withdraw, to keep the best in reserve, both overvalues the self, and undervalues what the self is. "
Written on the body
Jeanette Winterson.
i want to repeat to myself that i should not hold back i should not hold back i should not hold back. even when you let go, hand slipping over hand, heart falling down cliff-face no return, no return, no return, even then, it is living, and it is feeling, and it is letting go of the self in order to find it. it is not worth regretting, but celebrating, because the pain makes us human, and is not always a bad thing, a bad sensation, but something engorging and heavy and overwhelming, but with a worthwhile, profound beauty to it, when the pain is caused by something wonderful ending.
independence day
"Independence Day" - ani difranco
we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp
on the 4th of july
we sat out on the hood with a couple of warm beers and watched the fireworks
explode in the sky
and there was an exodus of birds from the trees
but they didnt know, we were only pretending
and the people all looked up, and were pleased
and the birds flew around like the whole world was ending
and i don't think war is noble
and i don't like to think that love is like war
and i gotta big hot cherry bomb, and i want to slip it through the mail slot
of your front door
don't leave me here
i've got your back now
you'd better have mine
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time
so many sheep i quit counting
sleepless and embarrassed about the way that i feel
trying to make mole hills out of mountains
building base camp at the bottom of a really big deal
and did i tell you how i stopped eating?
when you stopped calling me
and i was cramped up shitting rivers for weeks
and pretending that i was finally free
don't leave me here
now that your back
you'd better stay this time
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time
we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp,
on the 4th of july
and i planted my dusty boots on the bumper and sat out on the hood,
and looked up at the sky
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
rather than the hood of a car, i am thinking of a river where there are rocks and clear water and a beautiful smell as the water falls over the rocks, softly enough to sit in the little pools. it's enchanting and when i was there with you, it was as though the world disappeared and it was you and i, you and i, the water so cold, you shivering helplessly and i giggling, fondly, for how cold you were, wanting to hold you and make you warm, goose fleshed between us. silty mud on our feet and bums and thighs from lying in the river water, the little rocks that pressed into the skin, indented forms.
i think of how i had to change my phone number, and how i don't even care.
i am thinking of the way you looked at me as you cradled my face, and softly said 'what a beautiful profile', with this soft expression of awe as though i would break, as though i would disappear or i was not even real. a part of me worried that you one day would turn over and realise i was real, and that would be the day that i would go to sleep alone. i was not wrong.
i am thinking of the softness of your chest, that little space below your shoulder blade where i could (and i even typed can, and my eyes seized up slightly) curl up. or the softness as i lay, on my side, facing the window in your room, and you curled behind me. i could feel you breathing on my neck, and i felt so comforted, and so so warm.
little flashes of perpetual misery in the bliss skip through, and each little snip comes back to the one thing - she is better to embrace, softer, (i know, skinny little wreck, that's what i am), and warmer - things are more COMFORTABLE with her (and i am difficult, i am a fight, i am hurting hurting, because i find this a struggle and i hurt when you say things and i'll say so but it is because i love you that i fight and by GOD i wish i had never let go i wish i had held on tighter, and i don't mean that, i don't mean that, i don't mean that, but fuck)...
you say you like me more, than more than one other lover. and yet i am the one to go. that shatters me.that shatters me.
i had to run away to brisbane. i lay on a couch last night, not drinking as my friends did because i knew i would cry and fall apart if i was slightly intoxicated. i was in a room with two past lovers, one whom i still have (had?) feelings for. but my first thought when i looked into his exceedingly beautiful green eyes was not of their beauty and me-and-him because i suddenly realised our friendship was perfect as is. it was the solid echo of your eyes, and it hurt me so much, how much i wanted to see you.
i curled up as friends talked, and a friend told me my eyes were sad. i almost cried, but held it back. jule kept an eye over me as i startled in the corner. when we all went out, my body was shaking again, arms, legs, verge of being sick. physically rendered underwater.
it is heavy and humid here. the heat last night drowned me over and over, and i was devoured by mosquitoes. i lay under a pile of unwashed clothes, scattered items as dim protection against the cold, fought and won with bugs on my flesh, periodic shaking. i ponder going to other old haunts today, old bookstore job, comforting place after another, seeking solace in old pain in order to remind myself that i cried myself to sleep before and survived.
but i have only once vomited, and never shook in a ball for days on end. never rendered awake for hours and hours at night, sleeping bits of days and bits of nights but unable to hold one position, unable to remain in any one state, restless.
i think about our imaginary hypothetical wolf-baby. i think of little fingers curled around mine, montage of warm round belly tenderly touched, warm arms, little house for us, the fantasies of you in my house settled or me in yours, it is ours, regardless, it is ours, i sleep in our bed as you faff about the house and i smile blissful. and the possibilities shatter one after another, shot down with the fact there is not enough time in the day for you to love two of us, and it's too intense between all parties for this to even be worth thinking about. but i would do anything trade anything compromise anything to have you, and i say this out of weakness not because it is true, because i know that i am worth more than that.
i feel angry below this, and i would rather not. i feel it rise, thick and acidic like vomit in my throat, and i want to make you hurt like i am hurting, i want to take from you whatever i gave, even though i don't because i love you, and the fact that i love you but am so angry at you confuses me. the love hasn't changed. i love you just the same. i am just so heavily freshly anger, there is not even bitterness there, it is the texture of fresh coffee grinds.
and i know this will pass. this too will pass. i will grow, and it will move into memory. i think of you saying 'well, you know this is a passing thing. it's just a phase in our relationship, a bump. i am in it for the long term, you know - you are the only one that makes me jealous. the only one that makes me cry. we are stuck together' with a sly grin as you walk off, and i am curled up on a solid marble chair small and trying to disappear. and now, i am the one that is gone, gone, gone, and not worth the fight anymore. and i know it is the right decision, but seeing you take those words back with actions, taking phrase after loving phrase out of my heart and back into you, echos as solid as seeing 'Darling Heart' on a text message and knowing you didn't call me elaborate romantic nicknames (even though, well, i wouldn't want that).
i know you'll wake up in another's arms. you'll take her to the drains i was so looking forward to exploring with you. you'll have a life i wanted to share with you, with her now. you have taken that life of possibilities away from me, and given it to her, and i cannot pretend that this doesn't shatter me. the list of things we would do are already being enacted with someone else, someone more comfortable that doesn't make you feel things that make you tired. i make you tired. that breaks my heart maybe most of all.
i'll be back there next tuesday night. the trees are shifting again, just as they did around the time i moved last year, when my dreams were simply to find new people, new friends to have hand in hand walking in parks and finding each other in strange places. i have that, oh yes, but now i walk down streets with heavy memories that are going to beat like a slow and tired heart in my mouth until this stops being so raw. actions are so much louder than words, and i have nothing left in that respect. i will go back to dry air that sits like dust storms, away from my dense humid home, which is warm and gleeful and full of life.
i am couch surfing for three nights, from a dirty sharehouse that makes me feel safe, to my cousins, to my best friends, before settling for the weekend at my sisters place. by then, i feel comfortable being alone some times. up til then, i am remaining surrounded in warmth. i am on the floor hearing little rats, humid cool breeze divine and soft on my skin (the softness of cooler humidity is wonderful in summer, the way you can feel the millions of damp molecules in the air running on your exposed skin from under blankets)...
i am going to rest in this blog until i can resist the urge to beg for your words every few moments. because i get this repetition of seeing you eagerly hanging on texts from someone else, and knowing now, that you are probably dreading every word that comes from me, oh god, it hurts. it hurts. it hurts.
we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp
on the 4th of july
we sat out on the hood with a couple of warm beers and watched the fireworks
explode in the sky
and there was an exodus of birds from the trees
but they didnt know, we were only pretending
and the people all looked up, and were pleased
and the birds flew around like the whole world was ending
and i don't think war is noble
and i don't like to think that love is like war
and i gotta big hot cherry bomb, and i want to slip it through the mail slot
of your front door
don't leave me here
i've got your back now
you'd better have mine
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time
so many sheep i quit counting
sleepless and embarrassed about the way that i feel
trying to make mole hills out of mountains
building base camp at the bottom of a really big deal
and did i tell you how i stopped eating?
when you stopped calling me
and i was cramped up shitting rivers for weeks
and pretending that i was finally free
don't leave me here
now that your back
you'd better stay this time
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time
we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp,
on the 4th of july
and i planted my dusty boots on the bumper and sat out on the hood,
and looked up at the sky
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rather than the hood of a car, i am thinking of a river where there are rocks and clear water and a beautiful smell as the water falls over the rocks, softly enough to sit in the little pools. it's enchanting and when i was there with you, it was as though the world disappeared and it was you and i, you and i, the water so cold, you shivering helplessly and i giggling, fondly, for how cold you were, wanting to hold you and make you warm, goose fleshed between us. silty mud on our feet and bums and thighs from lying in the river water, the little rocks that pressed into the skin, indented forms.
i think of how i had to change my phone number, and how i don't even care.
i am thinking of the way you looked at me as you cradled my face, and softly said 'what a beautiful profile', with this soft expression of awe as though i would break, as though i would disappear or i was not even real. a part of me worried that you one day would turn over and realise i was real, and that would be the day that i would go to sleep alone. i was not wrong.
i am thinking of the softness of your chest, that little space below your shoulder blade where i could (and i even typed can, and my eyes seized up slightly) curl up. or the softness as i lay, on my side, facing the window in your room, and you curled behind me. i could feel you breathing on my neck, and i felt so comforted, and so so warm.
little flashes of perpetual misery in the bliss skip through, and each little snip comes back to the one thing - she is better to embrace, softer, (i know, skinny little wreck, that's what i am), and warmer - things are more COMFORTABLE with her (and i am difficult, i am a fight, i am hurting hurting, because i find this a struggle and i hurt when you say things and i'll say so but it is because i love you that i fight and by GOD i wish i had never let go i wish i had held on tighter, and i don't mean that, i don't mean that, i don't mean that, but fuck)...
you say you like me more, than more than one other lover. and yet i am the one to go. that shatters me.that shatters me.
i had to run away to brisbane. i lay on a couch last night, not drinking as my friends did because i knew i would cry and fall apart if i was slightly intoxicated. i was in a room with two past lovers, one whom i still have (had?) feelings for. but my first thought when i looked into his exceedingly beautiful green eyes was not of their beauty and me-and-him because i suddenly realised our friendship was perfect as is. it was the solid echo of your eyes, and it hurt me so much, how much i wanted to see you.
i curled up as friends talked, and a friend told me my eyes were sad. i almost cried, but held it back. jule kept an eye over me as i startled in the corner. when we all went out, my body was shaking again, arms, legs, verge of being sick. physically rendered underwater.
it is heavy and humid here. the heat last night drowned me over and over, and i was devoured by mosquitoes. i lay under a pile of unwashed clothes, scattered items as dim protection against the cold, fought and won with bugs on my flesh, periodic shaking. i ponder going to other old haunts today, old bookstore job, comforting place after another, seeking solace in old pain in order to remind myself that i cried myself to sleep before and survived.
but i have only once vomited, and never shook in a ball for days on end. never rendered awake for hours and hours at night, sleeping bits of days and bits of nights but unable to hold one position, unable to remain in any one state, restless.
i think about our imaginary hypothetical wolf-baby. i think of little fingers curled around mine, montage of warm round belly tenderly touched, warm arms, little house for us, the fantasies of you in my house settled or me in yours, it is ours, regardless, it is ours, i sleep in our bed as you faff about the house and i smile blissful. and the possibilities shatter one after another, shot down with the fact there is not enough time in the day for you to love two of us, and it's too intense between all parties for this to even be worth thinking about. but i would do anything trade anything compromise anything to have you, and i say this out of weakness not because it is true, because i know that i am worth more than that.
i feel angry below this, and i would rather not. i feel it rise, thick and acidic like vomit in my throat, and i want to make you hurt like i am hurting, i want to take from you whatever i gave, even though i don't because i love you, and the fact that i love you but am so angry at you confuses me. the love hasn't changed. i love you just the same. i am just so heavily freshly anger, there is not even bitterness there, it is the texture of fresh coffee grinds.
and i know this will pass. this too will pass. i will grow, and it will move into memory. i think of you saying 'well, you know this is a passing thing. it's just a phase in our relationship, a bump. i am in it for the long term, you know - you are the only one that makes me jealous. the only one that makes me cry. we are stuck together' with a sly grin as you walk off, and i am curled up on a solid marble chair small and trying to disappear. and now, i am the one that is gone, gone, gone, and not worth the fight anymore. and i know it is the right decision, but seeing you take those words back with actions, taking phrase after loving phrase out of my heart and back into you, echos as solid as seeing 'Darling Heart' on a text message and knowing you didn't call me elaborate romantic nicknames (even though, well, i wouldn't want that).
i know you'll wake up in another's arms. you'll take her to the drains i was so looking forward to exploring with you. you'll have a life i wanted to share with you, with her now. you have taken that life of possibilities away from me, and given it to her, and i cannot pretend that this doesn't shatter me. the list of things we would do are already being enacted with someone else, someone more comfortable that doesn't make you feel things that make you tired. i make you tired. that breaks my heart maybe most of all.
i'll be back there next tuesday night. the trees are shifting again, just as they did around the time i moved last year, when my dreams were simply to find new people, new friends to have hand in hand walking in parks and finding each other in strange places. i have that, oh yes, but now i walk down streets with heavy memories that are going to beat like a slow and tired heart in my mouth until this stops being so raw. actions are so much louder than words, and i have nothing left in that respect. i will go back to dry air that sits like dust storms, away from my dense humid home, which is warm and gleeful and full of life.
i am couch surfing for three nights, from a dirty sharehouse that makes me feel safe, to my cousins, to my best friends, before settling for the weekend at my sisters place. by then, i feel comfortable being alone some times. up til then, i am remaining surrounded in warmth. i am on the floor hearing little rats, humid cool breeze divine and soft on my skin (the softness of cooler humidity is wonderful in summer, the way you can feel the millions of damp molecules in the air running on your exposed skin from under blankets)...
i am going to rest in this blog until i can resist the urge to beg for your words every few moments. because i get this repetition of seeing you eagerly hanging on texts from someone else, and knowing now, that you are probably dreading every word that comes from me, oh god, it hurts. it hurts. it hurts.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
disgrace and the captains table
list!
1.
fucked up uni. more to the point ; i've realised my anxiety disorder needs treating. it's made me exceedingly irrational for the last month or so. i spend all day rocking or trying not to. i went home and vomited. i shook and could not think straight. uni is not worth this. nothing is. i need to sort myself out before i do this again, because i feel like hell, and i have fucked up multiple other things (or at least, made things messier) due to this.
2.
starting to knit a little bit again, for comfort. i forget how much better it makes me feel when i cannot breathe or eat or move.
3.
paper folding.
4.
writing.
5.
i want to make something rich from inside of me more than i want to write essays right now. if this makes my career path fall back a few steps, it doesn't matter. i need to get my brain in order badly.
6.
i am trying to be less afraid of being in love. fear is the mindkiller. all it has done is create confusion. i need to be clear. i want to be clear. and not afraid.
7.
bunny is eating my pretty origami paper. awwww.
8.
i have a new friend - a dead turtle that's been on the side of the road for a few months. now it lives in my room.
1.
fucked up uni. more to the point ; i've realised my anxiety disorder needs treating. it's made me exceedingly irrational for the last month or so. i spend all day rocking or trying not to. i went home and vomited. i shook and could not think straight. uni is not worth this. nothing is. i need to sort myself out before i do this again, because i feel like hell, and i have fucked up multiple other things (or at least, made things messier) due to this.
2.
starting to knit a little bit again, for comfort. i forget how much better it makes me feel when i cannot breathe or eat or move.
3.
paper folding.
4.
writing.
5.
i want to make something rich from inside of me more than i want to write essays right now. if this makes my career path fall back a few steps, it doesn't matter. i need to get my brain in order badly.
6.
i am trying to be less afraid of being in love. fear is the mindkiller. all it has done is create confusion. i need to be clear. i want to be clear. and not afraid.
7.
bunny is eating my pretty origami paper. awwww.
8.
i have a new friend - a dead turtle that's been on the side of the road for a few months. now it lives in my room.
story.
there once was a clockwork girl who lived in a cold little street, in a cold little house, in a cold little city, with two bunnies, and lots of books. she came from far away, from a big sunny house, that she didn’t like, on a big sunny street in a big sunny city that she loved. in the big sunny city, she had lots and lots of friends who would help her turn her key - two very tall beautiful artists; a sister who was half cat, half person, and half in this world and half out; a lizard queen with beautiful animals and a beautiful heart; a very tall man who told wonderful stories and made gentle music while wearing a hat; a lady who made mechanical hands and feet; and more than she could even list. she loved them all very much. she was in love with a magician, though, who pulled shiny shiny jewels out of his hat, and juggled them fast. he told stories too, and danced, and sung, and she could watch him for hours. he loved her, but was not in love with her, and she knew that was ok, even if it made her cry sometimes.
then one day, the clockwork girl moved away, to the cold little street in the cold little city. her new house was much nicer - she still didn’t wash her clothes quite enough, and wasn’t very good at doing the dishes. but she started to learn, and even though the floorboards sometimes had wind blowing through them, she loved her little house more and more. she did not, however, love the little city. it was cold and lonely, and there were not many people, and dead leaves blew down the street. sunlight rained in her old home, and people held hands with strangers; here, people would stare, but never smile. she could not find the people who did chalk drawings, and she missed the magician so much more. He visited her, with strings of silk kerchiefs and colours running out of his pockets, but he didn’t love her, and never told her lies, and she still watched him and dreamed of him from afar after he left, dreaming over the letters they wrote back and forth as she cried herself to sleep back and forth the nights. her key was hard to turn all by herself with cold little fingers made of tin, but she tried, and she got better at it, day by day, twist by twist.
slowly, the clockwork girl started to get used to the cold little city. she made some friends - new friends,; a man who made fire fly; a storyteller from the middle of the earth; a minstrel who was a princess in disguise, but even she didn’t know; a dancer who entranced the world; a lady who bought skulls to life in bright colours; a movie peddler just starting to find his way; a very tall boy with a magical black cap ; a lady with colours on her arms, and two beautiful squids; a big big man who built things, with a beautiful warm heart; .... her life started to seem a little brighter, and she was learning how to walk with the ten jumpers on, and the big coat and the key moved smooth now with the help of her friends, and even by herself, for the first time ever.
the people who sent her to the little city sent her away to the middle of the earth for a little holiday, with some other people, all sitting around and drinking and meeting. while she was there, the girl met another magician. she’d seen him around, and his eyes sparkled, and she’d seen some of the magic he made. but she realized - he made things crooked, without touching them. she was enchanted. and he, enchanted with her. her key was moved, and made crooked too, but it was beautiful, and she made it fit back in, and it still worked ok, and he loved to turn it.
this magician was very different. his magic was less shiny, because he was older, but stronger, more powerful, and she sometimes didn’t even know he was doing it. sometimes, it made her want to fly, but other times, she was just sad and confused - things completely changed faster than she knew what was happening.
and even though she came back from the centre of the earth, her house was not the same. she felt like a part of her was still far away after she came back; that the magician had somehow taken it swiftly and turned it into something else. she missed being in her little house with her little bunnies that she had built herself; he didn’t like being in her house at all, because he liked his house more, even though she had to feed and love and care for her bunnies. she would say things, and then he would make them crooked too, making them sound different until she didn’t know what she had said anymore. she got scared, and confused, but she was enchanted, and he, enchanted with her, and she didn’t know how to break the magic.
sometimes, she tried to talk about it with him, but he would laugh, or pull more colourful hankies out. the girl would even call the other magician for advice, who would answer in cryptic puzzles as always, so she would sigh and turn away. when she asked her other friends, they were sometimes frustrated with her because he seemed mean from what she said; but she was enchanted with him, and wondered if her words were wrong, and didn’t paint him properly, because he was beautiful, and she needed them to see it, but she was hurting, and she needed him to see that. but she would say things, and he would slip them behind her back and move them, twisting them into balloon animals that started to look more and more like angry monsters.
the girl loved him, and tried. sometimes, there were weeks of magic, but then the balloons would burst, or the crooked thing would tilt and look scary and mean. and after a few too many things moved, the girl stopped eating. her breathing was hard. her tummy hurt.
her body felt sad and scared, and started to slow down, because she had forgotten to turn the clockwork key in her back, because she was so scared of the world. she realised that the magician had been secretly turning the key in her back, only the other way so that she stopped working properly. that is why her hands had been shaking, and she had stopped eating. she didn’t know why he did it. or how he did it. but she knew he did, and she was scared. she missed the jewels and how they shined when the magician that didn't love her made them move, because she was sometimes made sad, but never scared by him.
the girl didn’t know what to do. she wasn’t happy. she was very very sad. so sad she could not cry. so sad she wanted to hide and hide until the world went away. she was even scared to talk to the magician, because of how crooked things had gotten and how when she tried, he twisted and twisted and twisted...
the girl didn’t know what to do, so she went to bed and hoped she would wake up with the answer in her house, because she loved her little house, and her little bunnies, and she wanted to find her way home again, properly. the wind had knocked down the door, and the walls were hurting, and she needed to fix them up before she started with the magician. she needed to pull out the key, and get her friends to help her start it up again. she wanted the magician that didn't love her to travel down to her land, flightly troubadour he was, just for a story and some colours, but she would pay for that because she wanted to see him so badly, knowing him, and trusting him, and feeling safe and warm and home with him, even if he didn't love her as she loved him. but she was scared and she didn’t know what to do or how to talk to the magician. she was scared he would make her really small, like he did sometimes, and she would give in. or he would use magic to make her not care that he never made up her mind. but the way the key was turning was breaking her heart. she had no choice, but to do something.
**************************************************************************************
... the clockwork girl slept and slept, and mulled and mulled, for a hundred years. it might have only been a day, but it hurt a lot because she started to know that, even though she loved the magician who loved her, they could not be lovers any more. he turned her key as he thought he should, because where he was from, the water went down the drain differently.
she loved him, and it hurt. and she told him and they spoke and she put the pieces in her blue jigsaw puzzle when she got home.
all the hundred years, she got letters from the people who loved her flying around the world, and voices floated over the seas to make her heart sing a little soft squeaky song.
she knew he loved her and it hurt. but she wanted him to be her friend as well, still, when the sun rose up, for the next hundred years. so she told him not to turn the key anymore. not because of lack of love, but to save it, to let it grow into the love between friends which oh yes, is so much stronger for some people. he put away his magic tricks and held her little tin hands and they knew they could be friends and not lovers, and his crooked making is better for crooked people, not little clockwork girls.
and the little clockwork girl went home to her bunnies, and a jigsaw puzzle, and had little birds fly around her heart, sent by the tall beautiful artists, and read all the letters from the last hundred years, and gently kissed the ring the magician who was in love with her gave her, and patted the bird that flew around from the magician from far away who she missed and she missed them both in her heart, but knew it was time to pick up the pieces, alone and brave, with the help of her friends.
***********************************************************************************
and she thought it was finished until her heart broke.
***********************************************************************************
the little clockwork girl was sad. so so so sad that her heart fell out and she put it back in, sore and bruised and twisted out of shape. she was so so sad without the magician, much sadder than with the crooked bits.
and she realised something, silly little clockwork girl. she'd never told the magician not to turn her key the other way.
and other things, shameful things. she'd taken things from him. little diamonds and coal from another clockwork girl he was friends with. the little clockwork girl had stolen stories of them and hid them in her little cold house until they got bitter and ugly. she was a sad little clockwork, clunking miserably, sadly.
so she sat down with the magician who held those little tin hands as little tin tears fell down her face and she told him that he turned the key wrong. and that she had a box of feelings that belonged to him that she felt she had had a right to.
and then she gave the magician the box. and he held her hand and looked into her eyes and smiled. and she told him about how when he turned her key like that, it hurt, and it didn't work. and he looked sad and asked her how he could help make it better.
and so, they would. he would keep his box, and the little clockwork girl would keep trying to find all the stolen things, and she would remember to tell him when he turned the key wrong, and he would try and turn it right. and she would watch him do his tricks, and he would watch her sing little songs in the rain.
then one day, the clockwork girl moved away, to the cold little street in the cold little city. her new house was much nicer - she still didn’t wash her clothes quite enough, and wasn’t very good at doing the dishes. but she started to learn, and even though the floorboards sometimes had wind blowing through them, she loved her little house more and more. she did not, however, love the little city. it was cold and lonely, and there were not many people, and dead leaves blew down the street. sunlight rained in her old home, and people held hands with strangers; here, people would stare, but never smile. she could not find the people who did chalk drawings, and she missed the magician so much more. He visited her, with strings of silk kerchiefs and colours running out of his pockets, but he didn’t love her, and never told her lies, and she still watched him and dreamed of him from afar after he left, dreaming over the letters they wrote back and forth as she cried herself to sleep back and forth the nights. her key was hard to turn all by herself with cold little fingers made of tin, but she tried, and she got better at it, day by day, twist by twist.
slowly, the clockwork girl started to get used to the cold little city. she made some friends - new friends,; a man who made fire fly; a storyteller from the middle of the earth; a minstrel who was a princess in disguise, but even she didn’t know; a dancer who entranced the world; a lady who bought skulls to life in bright colours; a movie peddler just starting to find his way; a very tall boy with a magical black cap ; a lady with colours on her arms, and two beautiful squids; a big big man who built things, with a beautiful warm heart; .... her life started to seem a little brighter, and she was learning how to walk with the ten jumpers on, and the big coat and the key moved smooth now with the help of her friends, and even by herself, for the first time ever.
the people who sent her to the little city sent her away to the middle of the earth for a little holiday, with some other people, all sitting around and drinking and meeting. while she was there, the girl met another magician. she’d seen him around, and his eyes sparkled, and she’d seen some of the magic he made. but she realized - he made things crooked, without touching them. she was enchanted. and he, enchanted with her. her key was moved, and made crooked too, but it was beautiful, and she made it fit back in, and it still worked ok, and he loved to turn it.
this magician was very different. his magic was less shiny, because he was older, but stronger, more powerful, and she sometimes didn’t even know he was doing it. sometimes, it made her want to fly, but other times, she was just sad and confused - things completely changed faster than she knew what was happening.
and even though she came back from the centre of the earth, her house was not the same. she felt like a part of her was still far away after she came back; that the magician had somehow taken it swiftly and turned it into something else. she missed being in her little house with her little bunnies that she had built herself; he didn’t like being in her house at all, because he liked his house more, even though she had to feed and love and care for her bunnies. she would say things, and then he would make them crooked too, making them sound different until she didn’t know what she had said anymore. she got scared, and confused, but she was enchanted, and he, enchanted with her, and she didn’t know how to break the magic.
sometimes, she tried to talk about it with him, but he would laugh, or pull more colourful hankies out. the girl would even call the other magician for advice, who would answer in cryptic puzzles as always, so she would sigh and turn away. when she asked her other friends, they were sometimes frustrated with her because he seemed mean from what she said; but she was enchanted with him, and wondered if her words were wrong, and didn’t paint him properly, because he was beautiful, and she needed them to see it, but she was hurting, and she needed him to see that. but she would say things, and he would slip them behind her back and move them, twisting them into balloon animals that started to look more and more like angry monsters.
the girl loved him, and tried. sometimes, there were weeks of magic, but then the balloons would burst, or the crooked thing would tilt and look scary and mean. and after a few too many things moved, the girl stopped eating. her breathing was hard. her tummy hurt.
her body felt sad and scared, and started to slow down, because she had forgotten to turn the clockwork key in her back, because she was so scared of the world. she realised that the magician had been secretly turning the key in her back, only the other way so that she stopped working properly. that is why her hands had been shaking, and she had stopped eating. she didn’t know why he did it. or how he did it. but she knew he did, and she was scared. she missed the jewels and how they shined when the magician that didn't love her made them move, because she was sometimes made sad, but never scared by him.
the girl didn’t know what to do. she wasn’t happy. she was very very sad. so sad she could not cry. so sad she wanted to hide and hide until the world went away. she was even scared to talk to the magician, because of how crooked things had gotten and how when she tried, he twisted and twisted and twisted...
the girl didn’t know what to do, so she went to bed and hoped she would wake up with the answer in her house, because she loved her little house, and her little bunnies, and she wanted to find her way home again, properly. the wind had knocked down the door, and the walls were hurting, and she needed to fix them up before she started with the magician. she needed to pull out the key, and get her friends to help her start it up again. she wanted the magician that didn't love her to travel down to her land, flightly troubadour he was, just for a story and some colours, but she would pay for that because she wanted to see him so badly, knowing him, and trusting him, and feeling safe and warm and home with him, even if he didn't love her as she loved him. but she was scared and she didn’t know what to do or how to talk to the magician. she was scared he would make her really small, like he did sometimes, and she would give in. or he would use magic to make her not care that he never made up her mind. but the way the key was turning was breaking her heart. she had no choice, but to do something.
**************************************************************************************
... the clockwork girl slept and slept, and mulled and mulled, for a hundred years. it might have only been a day, but it hurt a lot because she started to know that, even though she loved the magician who loved her, they could not be lovers any more. he turned her key as he thought he should, because where he was from, the water went down the drain differently.
she loved him, and it hurt. and she told him and they spoke and she put the pieces in her blue jigsaw puzzle when she got home.
all the hundred years, she got letters from the people who loved her flying around the world, and voices floated over the seas to make her heart sing a little soft squeaky song.
she knew he loved her and it hurt. but she wanted him to be her friend as well, still, when the sun rose up, for the next hundred years. so she told him not to turn the key anymore. not because of lack of love, but to save it, to let it grow into the love between friends which oh yes, is so much stronger for some people. he put away his magic tricks and held her little tin hands and they knew they could be friends and not lovers, and his crooked making is better for crooked people, not little clockwork girls.
and the little clockwork girl went home to her bunnies, and a jigsaw puzzle, and had little birds fly around her heart, sent by the tall beautiful artists, and read all the letters from the last hundred years, and gently kissed the ring the magician who was in love with her gave her, and patted the bird that flew around from the magician from far away who she missed and she missed them both in her heart, but knew it was time to pick up the pieces, alone and brave, with the help of her friends.
***********************************************************************************
and she thought it was finished until her heart broke.
***********************************************************************************
the little clockwork girl was sad. so so so sad that her heart fell out and she put it back in, sore and bruised and twisted out of shape. she was so so sad without the magician, much sadder than with the crooked bits.
and she realised something, silly little clockwork girl. she'd never told the magician not to turn her key the other way.
and other things, shameful things. she'd taken things from him. little diamonds and coal from another clockwork girl he was friends with. the little clockwork girl had stolen stories of them and hid them in her little cold house until they got bitter and ugly. she was a sad little clockwork, clunking miserably, sadly.
so she sat down with the magician who held those little tin hands as little tin tears fell down her face and she told him that he turned the key wrong. and that she had a box of feelings that belonged to him that she felt she had had a right to.
and then she gave the magician the box. and he held her hand and looked into her eyes and smiled. and she told him about how when he turned her key like that, it hurt, and it didn't work. and he looked sad and asked her how he could help make it better.
and so, they would. he would keep his box, and the little clockwork girl would keep trying to find all the stolen things, and she would remember to tell him when he turned the key wrong, and he would try and turn it right. and she would watch him do his tricks, and he would watch her sing little songs in the rain.
Monday, February 02, 2009
music
first.
a shout out to all my regular/avid readers. i know a few people OS have kindly read all the way back to the beginning, and hell, two or three Different IP's in canberra have too. so, good on you. if you wish me well, then i hope you got something out of that much reading. if you don't, i hope you find something more constructive to do with your time than this, and that you move on from your anger, your hatred, your misreading of situations, your childishness, and your spite. this is a mixed message, to two people. and no, neither of you get the chance for feedback, because comments are staying off, because i don't need you. this blog will go on long after you are gone from my life, and i from yours, and i refuse to stop this one just because i know a few people in fucking canberra read it, who loathe me. ok?
i saw ani difranco tonight. i love live music. it makes me happy in a way that few things do. there is a room full of people, and as you listen to songs that you have heard more times than you remember, with which you have complex relationships develop, which are sacred to you. in a room of people who weep on hearing the same song, or love, or celebrate and dance, or just sing along silently. you catch the eyes of a stranger who sees it too, and you feel it together, and you can feel the sounds below your feet, and the vibration is just completely different from music that's canned.
i adore ani because she is frank, she is bare and naked, and she is shameless. she does not hide. she is utterly vulnerable. she allows people to see her, and take it. they may mock her, or think she is 'adolescent' for expressing emotions, or that she is weak because she cares passionately, feels passionately, sings passionately... i loathe that. i loathe smugness, and that need to remain cynical and bitter in order to be 'strong' because that sort of strength just proves you are weak. this is an angry post from me out to the world of people/person who glares and smirks at me, all smug, because i am full of life, and i don't feel ashamed, and i don't need to skulk, or wear my detachment and bitterness, and my 'hell is other people' on my sleeve. i am not afraid to love, and live, even though it is scary. i fuck up often, and end up in the gutter, but i am not ashamed of this. i get angry beyond belief at condescension and i think if it happens one more time, something will end, what, i don't know.
for another note:
bands i have seen. this list is to comfort me of the fact i missed - beirut, tv on the radio, explosions in the sky, tegan and sarah, et al, in the last year since moving to canberra...
ani difranco - x2 canberra 09, brisbane 04
morrissey - livid (brisbane) 02
the cure - brisbane 07
the mountain goats - the zoo (brisbane) 08
casiotone for the painfully alone - the troub (brisbane) 07
the dresden dolls - the zoo (brisbane) 06 (?)
amanda palmer - the zoo (brisbane) 07
sigur ros - x2 - tivoli (brisbane) 07
bjork - big day out (gold coast) 07
arcade fire - big day out (gold coast) 07
reguritator - x2 - the met (brisbane) 07, big day out (gc) 07
mogwai - livid (brisbane) 02
dirty three - livid (brisbane) 02
bill callahan (smog) - the troub (brisbane) 06
low - the troub (brisbane) 06
animal collective - the zoo - (brisbane) 06
m ward - the zoo (brisbane) 07
patrick wolf - rosies (brisbane) 07
piana - powerhouse (brisbane) 07
tennis coats - x3 brisbane various
pj harvey - brisbane convention centre 05
sufjan stevens - the troub (brisbane) 07
tujiko noriko- x2 brisbane
this is just bands that are big, make music and not sound, and massively effected me. there were others that i have seen that haven't shifted me massively. others, locals, (candy falls, rialto decibel choir, marlinchen, all and sundry, ambitious lovers et al) i have seen multiple times, in multiple venues (lots of rics. lots and LOTS of rics).
i will ahve missed heaps out, but this comforts me. it reminds me of wonderful heavy solid moments that make me cry and feel human so alive so utterly bodily.
and fine, laugh at me because i feel things and am not ashamed to say so. fuck you.
a shout out to all my regular/avid readers. i know a few people OS have kindly read all the way back to the beginning, and hell, two or three Different IP's in canberra have too. so, good on you. if you wish me well, then i hope you got something out of that much reading. if you don't, i hope you find something more constructive to do with your time than this, and that you move on from your anger, your hatred, your misreading of situations, your childishness, and your spite. this is a mixed message, to two people. and no, neither of you get the chance for feedback, because comments are staying off, because i don't need you. this blog will go on long after you are gone from my life, and i from yours, and i refuse to stop this one just because i know a few people in fucking canberra read it, who loathe me. ok?
i saw ani difranco tonight. i love live music. it makes me happy in a way that few things do. there is a room full of people, and as you listen to songs that you have heard more times than you remember, with which you have complex relationships develop, which are sacred to you. in a room of people who weep on hearing the same song, or love, or celebrate and dance, or just sing along silently. you catch the eyes of a stranger who sees it too, and you feel it together, and you can feel the sounds below your feet, and the vibration is just completely different from music that's canned.
i adore ani because she is frank, she is bare and naked, and she is shameless. she does not hide. she is utterly vulnerable. she allows people to see her, and take it. they may mock her, or think she is 'adolescent' for expressing emotions, or that she is weak because she cares passionately, feels passionately, sings passionately... i loathe that. i loathe smugness, and that need to remain cynical and bitter in order to be 'strong' because that sort of strength just proves you are weak. this is an angry post from me out to the world of people/person who glares and smirks at me, all smug, because i am full of life, and i don't feel ashamed, and i don't need to skulk, or wear my detachment and bitterness, and my 'hell is other people' on my sleeve. i am not afraid to love, and live, even though it is scary. i fuck up often, and end up in the gutter, but i am not ashamed of this. i get angry beyond belief at condescension and i think if it happens one more time, something will end, what, i don't know.
for another note:
bands i have seen. this list is to comfort me of the fact i missed - beirut, tv on the radio, explosions in the sky, tegan and sarah, et al, in the last year since moving to canberra...
ani difranco - x2 canberra 09, brisbane 04
morrissey - livid (brisbane) 02
the cure - brisbane 07
the mountain goats - the zoo (brisbane) 08
casiotone for the painfully alone - the troub (brisbane) 07
the dresden dolls - the zoo (brisbane) 06 (?)
amanda palmer - the zoo (brisbane) 07
sigur ros - x2 - tivoli (brisbane) 07
bjork - big day out (gold coast) 07
arcade fire - big day out (gold coast) 07
reguritator - x2 - the met (brisbane) 07, big day out (gc) 07
mogwai - livid (brisbane) 02
dirty three - livid (brisbane) 02
bill callahan (smog) - the troub (brisbane) 06
low - the troub (brisbane) 06
animal collective - the zoo - (brisbane) 06
m ward - the zoo (brisbane) 07
patrick wolf - rosies (brisbane) 07
piana - powerhouse (brisbane) 07
tennis coats - x3 brisbane various
pj harvey - brisbane convention centre 05
sufjan stevens - the troub (brisbane) 07
tujiko noriko- x2 brisbane
this is just bands that are big, make music and not sound, and massively effected me. there were others that i have seen that haven't shifted me massively. others, locals, (candy falls, rialto decibel choir, marlinchen, all and sundry, ambitious lovers et al) i have seen multiple times, in multiple venues (lots of rics. lots and LOTS of rics).
i will ahve missed heaps out, but this comforts me. it reminds me of wonderful heavy solid moments that make me cry and feel human so alive so utterly bodily.
and fine, laugh at me because i feel things and am not ashamed to say so. fuck you.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Monday, December 29, 2008
purge
i go to your door and i am holding a box for you. it is taped closed.
you open the door, and silently, i hold out the box for you to take.
"you can open it later, please, and do with it what you want. maybe, one day, we'll look through it together, and look back on today as the most magical day in the world...'
and you open it, now, taking out a knife from your pocket and cutting the tape that binds the flaps on the top of the box closed for when i carried it to your door. you say nothing, opening it, and reaching inside, moving the items within it around, inspecting some, ignoring others.
'please,' i ask, ' just take it all. that's the only thing. just don't pick out parts, and refuse to take it all because it needs all the pieces to work properly. i can't do anything with just the fragments you leave behind.'
silently, still, you reach through, pulling small shiny bits out, pulling the objects apart. i'm not sure if you are listening to me, or if you can even hear me, but just as watching you open the box hurt, watching you pull these things apart with a look of indifference on your face, it hurts more.
you dig and dig, and select about ten small cogs and bolts and hard and soft things, and you treasure them. you look at them as though they are the most beautiful things in the world. the rest of the box? you shove back at me.
'this is all i want,' you say. 'this is all i need. i can get everything else, hell, better bits, from other people. these are the only pieces i cannot find anywhere else.'
'but, fuck, it doesn't work like that! you need to take the lot.'
'don't care.' you furrow your brow, you look irritated, and i get scared that you'll give me those pieces back too, because you don't need me or want me at all. and i am desperate for you to have something, anything of me at all.
'i'll keep these things, and i will hold them so close that they imprint into my skin. if you ever try and take them back, my heart will break. i will cry to you, it will be the only time it looks as though i care, because i play games and you are a pawn, yes, and a useful one. i want to keep you on the board.'
it hurts.
'i'll kiss you goodbye, never anything else. you are no mystery, but i love you, but i don't. i'll fuck you silently, and look hurt if you try and lighten the mood, because i love you but i don't. you mean not enough to me to mean something, but you mean something. i talk in meaningless riddles so that you will never understand or know what i want because i need you, but i need you far away because you want me, and i don't want someone who wants me.'
he can look into me, because i ripped open my ribcage and there are organs, and a layer of fat, and snapped ribs displaying my heart nestles near lungs that breathe you in. it is not beautiful, there are no gentle butterflies, or fluxus manifesto breaking piano singers there. you cannot imagine and fill in the blanks of my bourgeois self, because the fleshy reality is there, and i refuse to veil it in the mystery and the seduction you crave. i will not seduce you. i cannot seduce you. you can have my secrets and the desert and the nothing and the atom and the neon lights. take them take them take them. you can rip apart the box until nothing works anymore, and i try and i try and things start beating again in other directions and then the flow of blood reverses as soon as i hear your name.
i would write these words for you, but you would never read them. so i write them and they will be read by others who would take the box like it was beautiful and the most incredible sensual thing on earth, not like some toy to scatter around. oh yes, i mean something to them, with my artlessness and my little songs and the way i sleep all day... but you, you cunt? you? you call me, voice breaking, because i needed to take them back, and my head weakened my heart weakened by my head. i'd even be satisfied with intimacy not relationship, but you even deprive me of that. if i go to lean close, or hold your hand, as i would with other friends, you pull back as though i am vile. but i call because i am in town, and you are there, eyes lidded, features too large for your face, so much movement, oh Fuck you, this is pointless, this is always pointless, i cannot get it out but every little bit helps, dual, every little bit helps.
you open the door, and silently, i hold out the box for you to take.
"you can open it later, please, and do with it what you want. maybe, one day, we'll look through it together, and look back on today as the most magical day in the world...'
and you open it, now, taking out a knife from your pocket and cutting the tape that binds the flaps on the top of the box closed for when i carried it to your door. you say nothing, opening it, and reaching inside, moving the items within it around, inspecting some, ignoring others.
'please,' i ask, ' just take it all. that's the only thing. just don't pick out parts, and refuse to take it all because it needs all the pieces to work properly. i can't do anything with just the fragments you leave behind.'
silently, still, you reach through, pulling small shiny bits out, pulling the objects apart. i'm not sure if you are listening to me, or if you can even hear me, but just as watching you open the box hurt, watching you pull these things apart with a look of indifference on your face, it hurts more.
you dig and dig, and select about ten small cogs and bolts and hard and soft things, and you treasure them. you look at them as though they are the most beautiful things in the world. the rest of the box? you shove back at me.
'this is all i want,' you say. 'this is all i need. i can get everything else, hell, better bits, from other people. these are the only pieces i cannot find anywhere else.'
'but, fuck, it doesn't work like that! you need to take the lot.'
'don't care.' you furrow your brow, you look irritated, and i get scared that you'll give me those pieces back too, because you don't need me or want me at all. and i am desperate for you to have something, anything of me at all.
'i'll keep these things, and i will hold them so close that they imprint into my skin. if you ever try and take them back, my heart will break. i will cry to you, it will be the only time it looks as though i care, because i play games and you are a pawn, yes, and a useful one. i want to keep you on the board.'
it hurts.
'i'll kiss you goodbye, never anything else. you are no mystery, but i love you, but i don't. i'll fuck you silently, and look hurt if you try and lighten the mood, because i love you but i don't. you mean not enough to me to mean something, but you mean something. i talk in meaningless riddles so that you will never understand or know what i want because i need you, but i need you far away because you want me, and i don't want someone who wants me.'
he can look into me, because i ripped open my ribcage and there are organs, and a layer of fat, and snapped ribs displaying my heart nestles near lungs that breathe you in. it is not beautiful, there are no gentle butterflies, or fluxus manifesto breaking piano singers there. you cannot imagine and fill in the blanks of my bourgeois self, because the fleshy reality is there, and i refuse to veil it in the mystery and the seduction you crave. i will not seduce you. i cannot seduce you. you can have my secrets and the desert and the nothing and the atom and the neon lights. take them take them take them. you can rip apart the box until nothing works anymore, and i try and i try and things start beating again in other directions and then the flow of blood reverses as soon as i hear your name.
i would write these words for you, but you would never read them. so i write them and they will be read by others who would take the box like it was beautiful and the most incredible sensual thing on earth, not like some toy to scatter around. oh yes, i mean something to them, with my artlessness and my little songs and the way i sleep all day... but you, you cunt? you? you call me, voice breaking, because i needed to take them back, and my head weakened my heart weakened by my head. i'd even be satisfied with intimacy not relationship, but you even deprive me of that. if i go to lean close, or hold your hand, as i would with other friends, you pull back as though i am vile. but i call because i am in town, and you are there, eyes lidded, features too large for your face, so much movement, oh Fuck you, this is pointless, this is always pointless, i cannot get it out but every little bit helps, dual, every little bit helps.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
mr iggy turtle
i was waiting for dinner when lachlan called, sitting in debacle reading a book on rabbit care. i'd ordered muscles, which i was feeling a little guilty about, due to my failing attempts at returning to a vegetarian diet.
lachlan called and the phone cut out, so he called back in a minute. he sounded miserable, but i could barely hear a word over the noise in the resturant, so i asked what was wrong and he said he had really, really sad news. lachlan isn't one to exaggerate, so i went outside, with that sick feeling in my stomach, knowing it was probably about our pet turtle, Mr Iggy Turtle. lachlan contributed the Iggy, as Iggy Pop looks a lot like a turtle, and i contributed the Mr Turtle. it's similar to the naming of my bunny, Mr Titus Tumbles - i did the Mr Tumbles, and lachlan chose the Titus. mr tumbles is sort of lachlan's Canberra pet. and iggy was our baby.
iggy has a prolapsed bowel. if there was any point, the two of us would scrape together ever cent to save her, but really, it'd be selfishness, and she'd probably not survive. she's being put down tomorrow. i didn't cry on the phone, because lachlan was sobbing, until he said 'she's your turtle too. she's ours.' and then i broke down. waited til i was off the phone, and my food came to the table, and i had one look at the muscles and my stomach turned at the smell, and i ate the bread, salty, and drank beer, and walked home, salty tracks. ate sugar plums off a tree on the side of the road that was covered in fruit. it reminded me of the mulberry tree two houses away from my place, and two in the other direction from lachlan's, when we lived five apartment blocks away from each other, on the same street. i cried, and ate sugar plums, wandered home, and let big bunny out to run around gleefully. crying as i watch him.
iggle piggles. i fucking love that little turtle, she's a snappy little bastard, quite grumpy, but so cute, little swimmys around her tank, slowly blowing little bubbles, wandering around the apartment, loose grey skin, that wonderful oily turtley smell...
lachlan called and the phone cut out, so he called back in a minute. he sounded miserable, but i could barely hear a word over the noise in the resturant, so i asked what was wrong and he said he had really, really sad news. lachlan isn't one to exaggerate, so i went outside, with that sick feeling in my stomach, knowing it was probably about our pet turtle, Mr Iggy Turtle. lachlan contributed the Iggy, as Iggy Pop looks a lot like a turtle, and i contributed the Mr Turtle. it's similar to the naming of my bunny, Mr Titus Tumbles - i did the Mr Tumbles, and lachlan chose the Titus. mr tumbles is sort of lachlan's Canberra pet. and iggy was our baby.
iggy has a prolapsed bowel. if there was any point, the two of us would scrape together ever cent to save her, but really, it'd be selfishness, and she'd probably not survive. she's being put down tomorrow. i didn't cry on the phone, because lachlan was sobbing, until he said 'she's your turtle too. she's ours.' and then i broke down. waited til i was off the phone, and my food came to the table, and i had one look at the muscles and my stomach turned at the smell, and i ate the bread, salty, and drank beer, and walked home, salty tracks. ate sugar plums off a tree on the side of the road that was covered in fruit. it reminded me of the mulberry tree two houses away from my place, and two in the other direction from lachlan's, when we lived five apartment blocks away from each other, on the same street. i cried, and ate sugar plums, wandered home, and let big bunny out to run around gleefully. crying as i watch him.
iggle piggles. i fucking love that little turtle, she's a snappy little bastard, quite grumpy, but so cute, little swimmys around her tank, slowly blowing little bubbles, wandering around the apartment, loose grey skin, that wonderful oily turtley smell...
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
blop lop
i feel a lot more human tonight.
new headphones after bunny destroyed another pair awwwwww....
sleepy.
frustrating conference delivery, more 2.0 wank wank tug tug, frustrating as all hell, because the idea of a library 'not about the books, but about the people' misses the point because it's not about the people. i mean, it is. but so is any service delivery place. it's about the collection, and opening the collection to the target audience, for the use that they require. the collection is still the focus. take the focus from the collection, and you negate the library. yes, it may be a collection based on what people want. but it's the collection they come for.
but the wine was good.
and the cheese. very good cheeses.
and now i am sleepy. doctor who finished. now, hausmate and her boy's voices echo in the bathroom, it's not sexual just conversational but enough to make me feel dimly lonely for something i'm missing.
new headphones after bunny destroyed another pair awwwwww....
sleepy.
frustrating conference delivery, more 2.0 wank wank tug tug, frustrating as all hell, because the idea of a library 'not about the books, but about the people' misses the point because it's not about the people. i mean, it is. but so is any service delivery place. it's about the collection, and opening the collection to the target audience, for the use that they require. the collection is still the focus. take the focus from the collection, and you negate the library. yes, it may be a collection based on what people want. but it's the collection they come for.
but the wine was good.
and the cheese. very good cheeses.
and now i am sleepy. doctor who finished. now, hausmate and her boy's voices echo in the bathroom, it's not sexual just conversational but enough to make me feel dimly lonely for something i'm missing.
Monday, November 17, 2008
marking time
two weeks. two weeks of watching traffic imagining being in the path of a fast moving car, seeing glass on the road imagining plunging it deep into my wrist, watching feet on the ground, walking walking walking mindful stop running ahead, i see people mouthing in cars and they are mouthing the words to the song i am listening to, everyone can hear it there are eyes in the grass there are eyes in the grass....
i give it two weeks. when did this start? it started last week, early last week i started down the rabbit hole, it got worse, but this is heavy fog and i'm losing track of time already so i need to count the days tally tally in order to remember what's going on. i need to count the days so i know when it goes into a place that's classified as illness, serious illness, oh, but i'm not sure how violent the thoughts have to be and my mind has to split so far, oh like a peeling banana down goes the skin, slowing easing out the fruit.
tracking tracking bringing it back. note psychotic thoughts, disregard them, note the voice, disregard it, ignore, mindful, go back to the step, sleep heavily whenever i can, take it and dive in because it takes away awareness.
i give it two weeks. when did this start? it started last week, early last week i started down the rabbit hole, it got worse, but this is heavy fog and i'm losing track of time already so i need to count the days tally tally in order to remember what's going on. i need to count the days so i know when it goes into a place that's classified as illness, serious illness, oh, but i'm not sure how violent the thoughts have to be and my mind has to split so far, oh like a peeling banana down goes the skin, slowing easing out the fruit.
tracking tracking bringing it back. note psychotic thoughts, disregard them, note the voice, disregard it, ignore, mindful, go back to the step, sleep heavily whenever i can, take it and dive in because it takes away awareness.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
food fun and dual
feel slightly ill from too much junk and too much booze over the last few days. no, not wild partying. no.
i've seen three movies.
1. v for vendetta
2. american teen
3. choke
first at a friend of friend's house, other two in the cinema. films both slow down time and speed it up. it moves time around in a really appealing way, when i feel like i do right now. i am listening to antony and the johnsons, and it's making me sadder. i'm uploading the smiths best of that morrissey told us not to buy, and i am going to like it.
spent today with New Friend F. this was wonderful, really, amazingly good luck that she called. the previous night was bad, i drank too much, ate m&m's, and fell back into bad habits of yore, to the point where i am mildly embarrassed and don't feel like explaining, nor wearing a jumper in summer again. no excessive drinking while i'm depressed. it's not save. but i forgot how good bad things can be, and how you can watch life life life come up and bead in lines and move, and the way it smells, and the sharpness of the sensation. i know. i'm a stupid, stupid moron. but fuck it.
jule called again. i missed it. he didn't leave me one of his messages (two minutes, long rambles). i want to tell him how i find him in every shadow and every corner and unlikely places. i want to slap him, and cry in his arms. i want to look him in those huge green eyes and say
'you'll kiss a complete stranger almost every night. but you fucked me, slept next to me so many times, looked me in the eye, but wouldn't kiss me. why am i that revolting? why don't you want to care?'
i think he's why i cannot look people in the eye during sex, and why i don't want to feel loved, because the last time i slept with someone i loved more than life, he wouldn't even fucking kiss me. that's how revolting i am.
it's not about that. it's not about this either. i just fell down really fast. i was fine, i was fine, i was fine and then i woke up, and i wasn't anymore, and i was bleeding and counting the hours until i didn't anymore. my heartbeat hurts something deep, each breath is laboured, i move my body and it feels like lead, my eyes bore back into my head, the only thing i can feel concrete and realistic is sharp lines sharp lines sharp lines that are drawing little parts of me back into substance. apart from that, i hardly care. i hardly care at all. i breathe in, and i feel my heard in my throat, i swallow, i roll from one side curled up in a ball to the other. it hurts it hurts, oh god, being alive like this is painful for no actual reason i can't place it, it was falling over me like blindness fading fading but once it was gone, it was gone, and the darkness is shocking again.
this is no ones fault, this is just the way it goes again.
i've seen three movies.
1. v for vendetta
2. american teen
3. choke
first at a friend of friend's house, other two in the cinema. films both slow down time and speed it up. it moves time around in a really appealing way, when i feel like i do right now. i am listening to antony and the johnsons, and it's making me sadder. i'm uploading the smiths best of that morrissey told us not to buy, and i am going to like it.
spent today with New Friend F. this was wonderful, really, amazingly good luck that she called. the previous night was bad, i drank too much, ate m&m's, and fell back into bad habits of yore, to the point where i am mildly embarrassed and don't feel like explaining, nor wearing a jumper in summer again. no excessive drinking while i'm depressed. it's not save. but i forgot how good bad things can be, and how you can watch life life life come up and bead in lines and move, and the way it smells, and the sharpness of the sensation. i know. i'm a stupid, stupid moron. but fuck it.
jule called again. i missed it. he didn't leave me one of his messages (two minutes, long rambles). i want to tell him how i find him in every shadow and every corner and unlikely places. i want to slap him, and cry in his arms. i want to look him in those huge green eyes and say
'you'll kiss a complete stranger almost every night. but you fucked me, slept next to me so many times, looked me in the eye, but wouldn't kiss me. why am i that revolting? why don't you want to care?'
i think he's why i cannot look people in the eye during sex, and why i don't want to feel loved, because the last time i slept with someone i loved more than life, he wouldn't even fucking kiss me. that's how revolting i am.
it's not about that. it's not about this either. i just fell down really fast. i was fine, i was fine, i was fine and then i woke up, and i wasn't anymore, and i was bleeding and counting the hours until i didn't anymore. my heartbeat hurts something deep, each breath is laboured, i move my body and it feels like lead, my eyes bore back into my head, the only thing i can feel concrete and realistic is sharp lines sharp lines sharp lines that are drawing little parts of me back into substance. apart from that, i hardly care. i hardly care at all. i breathe in, and i feel my heard in my throat, i swallow, i roll from one side curled up in a ball to the other. it hurts it hurts, oh god, being alive like this is painful for no actual reason i can't place it, it was falling over me like blindness fading fading but once it was gone, it was gone, and the darkness is shocking again.
this is no ones fault, this is just the way it goes again.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
various
1. sad to be leaving the super fun area at work. they gave me presents. i am going to miss it there so much.
2. need to clean out bunny hauses
3. unusually hot day, which is gross
4. sleepy but i have had enough sleep, really
5. currently have the 'not doing anything with my life' complex. i am used to it, and will surely Move Past It in the next few hours
6. should do something this weekend, but do not know what. something Fun, and Great.
7. still feeling generally and non specifically shit.
2. need to clean out bunny hauses
3. unusually hot day, which is gross
4. sleepy but i have had enough sleep, really
5. currently have the 'not doing anything with my life' complex. i am used to it, and will surely Move Past It in the next few hours
6. should do something this weekend, but do not know what. something Fun, and Great.
7. still feeling generally and non specifically shit.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
larger circles
and now that i know ....
i'll pull out my heart and i'll feed it to anyone
oh i hate it when i find the circles again. i realize i've walked and come what i thought was a really long way a really strong way that i found my way here on my own and i'm not indestructible but i can do it, fuck, i can do it and then i remember and i look down and i see my feet sinking back into my own footprints and there's blood pooling in them like some stupid goth poem, the moments come around and around and around, and i remember i've been here before and i remember how it ends, but it ends here because it starts here again
i'm holding up on bending knees
an addiction of duplicities...
there are many familiar things here but i moved away i worked my way out of this and i am better than this and i don't know why i am thinking like this and i am angry, oh yes, i am fucking angry at this, and the last thing i need is you telling me i'm stupid when i hear it over and over and over again from the voices in my head it's too close to home and it's too near the bone and oh i look like this i know how it looks i can look in the mirror too and i've been here before and it is not how it appears and they always feel sick or sad or pity or bored or whatever when they see that other side that other side it's clearer now there's more of it and it's irritating and stupid and selfish and lazy.
it's simple, ok.
i'm so fucking scared that i will try anything to trick myself out of it. i am not that stupid, and i am not that weak, i am just going down familiar paths, and i am lying in those bloodstained sheets again, and i am beyond this i moved away and i like circles but i hate them when i see the curves moving slowly but steady and heavy. and the salt in the wound makes it better, because at least i can cry, alright, and i don't give a fuck how angst ridden and stupid and childish i sound because it hurts, alright, it hurts enough to make it come out, come out, wherever you are, and i just want to go home. do you know how many fucking hours i have spend walking around here and how much it hurts and how much i want to give up and how much i have fought this and how far i have come and how long i have spend sitting here or lying here and being here and knowing this and living this? if this makes me stuck and selfish and lazy and irritating, well, fuck you. and i mean it. because i am back here again, i got myself into this mess again, and i am getting myself out, oh fuck yes, only i am ever responsible for this, so shut up, and fuck off.
this is not as specific as it sounds. but i am back, back somewhere dark and cold and i need to get out of this again. i hate myself more than i have in years, it's getting worse and worse, and the misery is growing. something in my life isn't working at all right now, some behavior and way of thinking that i am performing is getting me stuck in the circle, and i need to make my way out. words help, and i don't fucking care how shit they sound. and i don't want your veiled inside out insults. my skin is thin, and it breaks too easily right now. this is no ones responsibility but mine, and i can fix it. i can fix it.
i'll pull out my heart and i'll feed it to anyone
oh i hate it when i find the circles again. i realize i've walked and come what i thought was a really long way a really strong way that i found my way here on my own and i'm not indestructible but i can do it, fuck, i can do it and then i remember and i look down and i see my feet sinking back into my own footprints and there's blood pooling in them like some stupid goth poem, the moments come around and around and around, and i remember i've been here before and i remember how it ends, but it ends here because it starts here again
i'm holding up on bending knees
an addiction of duplicities...
there are many familiar things here but i moved away i worked my way out of this and i am better than this and i don't know why i am thinking like this and i am angry, oh yes, i am fucking angry at this, and the last thing i need is you telling me i'm stupid when i hear it over and over and over again from the voices in my head it's too close to home and it's too near the bone and oh i look like this i know how it looks i can look in the mirror too and i've been here before and it is not how it appears and they always feel sick or sad or pity or bored or whatever when they see that other side that other side it's clearer now there's more of it and it's irritating and stupid and selfish and lazy.
it's simple, ok.
i'm so fucking scared that i will try anything to trick myself out of it. i am not that stupid, and i am not that weak, i am just going down familiar paths, and i am lying in those bloodstained sheets again, and i am beyond this i moved away and i like circles but i hate them when i see the curves moving slowly but steady and heavy. and the salt in the wound makes it better, because at least i can cry, alright, and i don't give a fuck how angst ridden and stupid and childish i sound because it hurts, alright, it hurts enough to make it come out, come out, wherever you are, and i just want to go home. do you know how many fucking hours i have spend walking around here and how much it hurts and how much i want to give up and how much i have fought this and how far i have come and how long i have spend sitting here or lying here and being here and knowing this and living this? if this makes me stuck and selfish and lazy and irritating, well, fuck you. and i mean it. because i am back here again, i got myself into this mess again, and i am getting myself out, oh fuck yes, only i am ever responsible for this, so shut up, and fuck off.
this is not as specific as it sounds. but i am back, back somewhere dark and cold and i need to get out of this again. i hate myself more than i have in years, it's getting worse and worse, and the misery is growing. something in my life isn't working at all right now, some behavior and way of thinking that i am performing is getting me stuck in the circle, and i need to make my way out. words help, and i don't fucking care how shit they sound. and i don't want your veiled inside out insults. my skin is thin, and it breaks too easily right now. this is no ones responsibility but mine, and i can fix it. i can fix it.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
ta da! first night of bleaching, Done!
next stage will happen in a week i think, when hair has had a chance to recover a little. however, i am not entirely sure that it's going to work on the Old Dyed Hair, and i might just need to ChopChop down so that it's the length of the platinum bits, with a tiny itty bit of orange on the top.
if nothing else, it's kept me amused for a night.
pre-toner
an unflattering photo. i'm not yet sure exactly how hideous my hair is yet.
fairly hideous. yes.
unbearably? not sure. amusing? sure as hell.
one more step. the toner should calm the orange down.
next stage will be another bleach in the next week or so to get more orange out. i want it white. white white white. this aim is amusing me.. it's fairly arbitrary, to be honest. this is what i do when i get frustrated or cagey.
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