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[09 Jan 2004|11:50am] |
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The dilemma is that either she has or or else I'm a complete loon, both of which are mildy troubling to say the least. Turns out it's really not all about suggesting that you don't mind about these thinga.
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[16 Dec 2003|04:27pm] |
So it was obviously going to happen but it's still fascinating to watch it progress slowly but inevitably like some kind of ridiculous sfx rockslide at the climax of a terrible straight to video disaster movie. Like Ballard's autoerotic slow motion car crashes of the id.
Thus far: I still don't feel any kind of jealousy or territoriality, despite the fact that she's with her boyfriend at the moment, but the traditioanlly patheic pangs of 'why hasn't she replied to my email' have started. Still, I'm not quite up to that self-destructive point at which I decide not to call her until she contacts me, or draw any kind of melodramatic conlcusions about the fact that she must have realised what a sparkling bean I am or, even better, that the whole thing has been one big lie.
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| and it was him |
[09 Jun 2003|10:01pm] |
Sat in the sun
counting the letters on your fingers
while I write words
which writhe and loosen
as they sway down with me.
Smiling and sitting on him
and smiling and sitting on him
and filling him
and feeling him
and laughing
and how about i post my
filthy smudge-scrawled over letter
in a fresh clean white envelope?
And then maybe ask
how you dare to
fuck me faceless,
without your eyes.
like a perfect wedding ring at the bottom of a perfect lake.
------------
Hi deano, home now for the summer. wil be popping back for a while shortly but other than that am home for ages.
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| What exactly are you aiming to achieve? If you don't know, consider rewriting until you do... |
[24 May 2003|02:02am] |
You retch me up and spit me out
Then lick me each time from the grainy asphalt,
Straining your jaw against the flat black surface,
Biting and grating your soft white teeth
To crumbled ruins.
And each time you leave a little,
Suck and taste the sticky salty spit
With some new grating dust,
And sometimes there are fragments, flakes of you.
So when you've chewed with garbled bloody gums
This fractured soup, and void it faceless,
Without your eyes, and turn away to leave it
To congeal in the sun,
That is not me.
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| for now |
[18 May 2003|09:15pm] |
Even the prim neap tide drew back affronted,
Drawing her vastness tutting to the mute
Grey horizon, soon waning to a slither.
He looked up only to gulp the stinging salty air
Then fell to, digging as though through
Rubble for a blackened baby son.
Great ugly clods of slopping sand
He cast up and out.
Thrown to rising mounds like looming beasts
which watched and knew.
Pale muddied streams gathered with
the salty trickles now running
lively, over and through the canyons
of his steel gripped white knuckles
which yearnt and rent dark clumps asunder.
And in this way he faught down.
Slow as the day
as the silent hot sun arked over calmly and unpuzzled.
Through drooling sodden land
now bent forward on knees,
some vile dog.
Now into falling into grey.
When darkness turns more black as
great sogged heaves slunk down
the groaning sides and smother
his naked splattered limbs
like dead love.
With time his pale puckered face cleaves too
from this world. Closed over by the sucking earthen lid
it leaves him open-eyed, alone.
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| hmmmm, work in progress. |
[02 May 2003|12:24pm] |
She'd found the box with no intention,
Heart-shaped though it was.
Avacado soft and dew damp.
And with a smile she fell to
Into tearing into
Soggy cardboard plumb skin coat,
All fingers tongues.
First frantic fumbles
To others a mother scrambling
For her buried baby's corpse.
They stared aghast with sympathy
(From a safe distance above).
And she obliged and fell again
Into digging into
More dank earth
More bloodied mulch
And darker
And redder
And down her
Flailing shadow carved.
Through soft sucking clay
Which one would think
Would ooze fresh blood,
And rock which felt and smelt
Like iron on a winter's day.
And out and into hot sun
At point blank.
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[19 Apr 2003|06:44pm] |
Hullo Deano, how's you? am home briefly although I will be in quarantine for the next couple of days at least desperately finishing three essays. Hopefully should have some time if I can get them done though.
Trying to think of early 90's bad/'good' music, e.g. UB40, tasmin archer style. hopefully some really bad reggae. Mainly 1988-91 i reckon. Any ideas? Tis for a kid's style birthday party.
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[05 Jan 2003|05:33pm] |
In Visible Love
I could have loved you.
And bore the scars of
Bleeding bitten lips.
And falling face-first onto concrete,
Bloodied shattered shards of smile
Blunt and Fractured.
But in my shadow vision you're invisible
Perfection blocks no light
And you were perfect!
Drifting hidden past my frantic gaze,
You ghost.
I miss you.
Oh God! I fucking miss you!
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| ...work in progress |
[25 Nov 2002|02:07pm] |
He fell face-forward into treacle love
And hit the thick and sticky sucking surface
Like a falling silhouette turned still
And hanging corpse by twanging noose.
From free-fall
Into sinking into
A caramel lake,
And down into a world where sex lives
In smells
And eyes
And tangled severed hairs in rubber bands
He fell face-forward into thick and sticky sucking treacle love
And sank too slow to see
'Till sunk still
Down with other limp and crystalled bodies
Fallen, landed hodge-podge
And static stacked like pickled people
Vacant gazing painted eyes
But mouths which hold the linger-grin
That they should, twanging, land in thick and sticky sucking treacle love.
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[08 Aug 2002|07:39pm] |
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hey, if deano reads this sometime tonight does he fancy popping round to help relieve some boredom?:)
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[29 Jul 2002|11:07pm] |
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ooh, and can Dean let me know how long he's staying in leicester for? hope you have a grand time, and maybe phone when u get back?
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[29 Jul 2002|11:05pm] |
well, apparently my password's too easy to guess. oh my golly gosh, i feel so endangered.
so I need a girlfriend/soulmate-esque type person. it turns out that i haven;t had a totally honest conversation with someone in about three months, maybe more.
although i suppose before that lj was the only place i could speak honestly. strange really why i don't return to it.
i wonder how many people my age would guess that the most likely cause of their death will be suicide. i know it's the second most common cause of death for under 24 year olds, but is that only because 24 year olds never die of anything else? anyone know if suicide rates stay the same but jsut get eclipsed by diseases later on?
hmmm, god i'm morbid tonight.
and my stomach really hurts, bummer.
anway, gonna go and drink some more before i go to bed so that i can get to sleep. which makes me wonder whether i sholdn;t buy some vodka and drink i like used to when writing on lj. bummer that pot makes me paranoid, otherwise it;d be the perfect relaxant.
can't be assed with a spillchuck.
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[11 Jul 2002|12:48am] |
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Well Homer, it seems you're not as stupid as you look. Or sound. Or our best testing indicates.
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| rehab |
[09 Jul 2002|10:48pm] |
I've always felt some strange quasi-addiction to lj similar to that i feel for exercising at the gym. It doesn't sustain like a normal addiction, i forget how much I like writing in lj, and how cleansing it is, by the morning after my last entry. But at the time of writing, and immediately following, it changes glasses from half-empty to half-full. Trouble is I find it hard giving up giving up. It's a weird retro-addiction of sorts.
Especially in times such as these. Never have I had simultaneously so much leaden, dragging content, and so few outlets at which to dilute, examine, defuse it.
Though it is partly a mere aversion to hollywood melodrama which steers me damagingly away from any self-indulgent expounding of what has been happening recently. Moreover, I am probably (and properly) restrained by a retreated self-esteem which paints my troubles in their deservedly miniature proportions.
--
Specificities aside, any self-reflection shows that few continuities have proved themselves anything less than continuous. Still there is anxiety, anxiety projected onto life's mundane choices, promoting even the most facile and irrelevant of decisions to life or death status. Still too is there fear, fear of the harmless, the fear of the uninitiated child at night. A kind of butterfly-stomach fear, equal parts loneliness and the feeling of being surrounded.
--
Of course, one shouldn't complain; I can now play Blackbird acoustically and with pleasing consistency. And I can fold empty crisp packets into those little aluminum triangles. All the things a dad should be able to do.
I am so scared.
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[12 Mar 2002|11:21am] |
aaaah, a gap in working. just finished reading the first half of the gorgias. I like plato. enjoyable stuff, and engaging. the dialogue format is definately the true format of philosophy. black's identity of indescernibles is incredibly entertaining for a paper on so obscure a subject.
oops, end of gap. russia's 1917 revolution must be studied.
theraputic effects of lj known for ages. nice to have a dose once in a while.
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| back |
[17 Dec 2001|07:44pm] |
hi all.
for anyone interested and anone not, i'm back from 10 weeks at uni :)
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| to explain (and confuse) |
[29 Sep 2001|12:56pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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Standing on the edge. |
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| [ |
music |
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They forget so easy. We ride tonight. |
] |
for the people i took by surprise:
I am leaving home tommorrow, and moving from London to Bristol University for three years, during which i will inadvertantly complete a degree in Philosophy and Politics. (I think i might go on to do a year's Masters degree in Creative Writing at UEA, but that is a bit premature to debate). My first term is thee months long, although there is a chance my sexy laptop will allow me to stay an lj frequenter.
on a less mundane and boring level, aaaaaaaaaaaah. it is both scary and butterfly inducing exciting.
livejournal has reminded me of the power of language, which constantly laps over us unnoticed, and yet is the nectar our souls feed from. people forget too easy.
I have loved these words: i hope their authors don't mind.
"i can't wear my soul down that thin, or my heart. i don't want to fade down to translucent. i don't want to disappear." - aka_jolie
"Work like you don't need the money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
Dance like nobody's watching." - i can't remember, sorry
"i wish someone would be perfect for me. i wish i would be perfect for someone. i wish i believed in any of that..." - aka_jolie
"we are each of us angels with only one wing and we can only fly embracing one another" - vaysha's mother
"by the time she hit
the floor of her own bathroom,
she already knew." - makeyoufakeit
girl: What is the weather like there?
me: I dunno, it's nightime, there isn't weater at night.
girl: "yes, there is actually. Maybe you don't notice, but perhaps you don't have a soul."
"I could not be apathetic if I tried.
Not anymore." - thisjunky
mmmmmmmmm, like groovy emotional fruit salad with political chunks and soulberries.
"People who believe in a better way of life know that the way we live now is criminal. Denial of freedoms, death by starvation and exploitation, denigration of people?s capabilities everywhere. If you see that these outcomes are socially produced, then you understand that every person who dies as a result was effectively murdered. Once you accept the possibility of attaining a humanist alternative, you have to be a terrible hypocrite, coward or cynic to live passively with the contrast beteween what is and what could be." - Albert, Chomsky, et al, Liberating Theory
byebye
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[29 Sep 2001|12:44am] |
vive la revolution
c y'all in three months probably.
(enjoy the music kay:)).
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[29 Sep 2001|12:23am] |
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hmmmm
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[29 Sep 2001|12:23am] |
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hmmmmm
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