A late evening.

she sits on her bed, the floor scattered with candles. Her face is lit in warm tones, but shining with tears. Her heart feels cold because it pines for the warmth of a person long-passed.
Photos are scattered around her. Old photos, of a time she cannot remember but only create. There is nobody to recount. No more bedtime stories.
The soundtrack is a single song with violins. And keyboard. A shaky female vocal with subtle percussion and a powerful ambience. She wept.

Nobody sees her weakness. She hides it well. Her stormy eyes are the clue to discover her past. She's got a rigid positive attitude and a convincing smile.
They're all too wrapped up in their own romances to notice she's drowning in wine and solitude, and melted wax. Flying blind without guidance or support, she meanders emotionally bedraggled through the chapters of her life.

She's got the self hatred of a guilty man on the run. Thoughts linger in her mind, truly, she doesn't want this a minute longer. What's a life if you fake happiness out of habit?

Next to her head at the top of the bed where she seldom sleeps, there's written in small pencil, "time heals, you just have to wait".
She hates waiting. Life pours salt in the wound.



[word vomit, I think I've got an articulate strand of food poisoning tonight. Sleep is for the week that were created by it's initial neglect.]

I realized,
I'm the girl you never thought I was. More than you'll ever realise.
I'm probably already gone, but there's no harm in trying.
Maybe I'll realise I missed out too.

X.

Intimate.

What's it like?
It's like... The instant when you taste the summers first perfect mango. The taste breeds through your salivating mouth like ink through water. But it's like a feeling, manifested into a tiny, tiny space, that controls your every movement.
Like fireworks are set off. All you can do is squirm. And every part of your body goes to extremes. You heave for breath (if you breathe at all) and your heart races faster than it ever should, sometiEs I wonder if it just becomes 'one' really long beat, it drums away so fast.
Hands sweaty, skin clammy, like a fever, but more invigorating.
I wonder what it's like for you.

“Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow”

She meandered across the empty sea-side carpark in the dark with her wine bottle in hand, the edges of her sillouette glowed against the moon. The sound of her abrupt laughter made me jump a little, the sound was harsh but not terrible, it just filled the empty space so suddenly without any warning.

“What was so funny?” I mused, more to myself than to her. I suspected the sound of the ocean would muffle my inquiry too greatly in any case.

“You’d never guess, and I’ll never tell” she said it with such a smile that I could hear it in her voice.

She’d paused at the top of the stairs that led down to the sand. Looking up, her toes were over the lip of the top step. Her dress flattened around her figure as the wind blew in from the ocean, and the flowing fabric danced in the darkness behind her. I approached her quietly, but I could sense that she knew I was there. She didn’t falter though. Her eyes were fixed on the universe above us. Her face seemed pale, but her eyes were alight with life, her breathing was soft, the aroma of the red wine mingled with the salt air.

She was beautiful. She was beautifully allusive.

She looked at me, and smiled. Her teeth were straight and her skin was clear. She had a simple face. She turned away before I could smile back, and she rushed down the stairs.

[...Unfinished]

"It's like a man's best party only happens when he dies"

Humans are cruel.

Humans are stupid.

Every development we seem to make, every glorious step forward is going to be our children's children's children's demise.

We are going to commit self-genocide.

Can't figure out what I'm trying to say.

My little star, my whole constellation, my little brave hunter.

He's so breathtaking when he sleeps. So still, just his chest rising and falling to his own rhythm. So innocent, I don't know that he's not having a nightmare, but at a guess, I'd say he wasn't. Skin so soft and smooth, he seems so healthy.

A fox called Pablo.

A dream so bizarre, forgotten instantly on wake.

Why do our minds torment us so?

This is the life we lead. No greater power has decided this for us, we determine our own path. Every decision you make is vital.

My life is gaining direction and momentum. But I'm lacking motivation.

[Writer's block is a bitch]

13, 14, 15 [November too-thows-and-and-nien.]

I’ve been walking for days.
My mind will not sleep.
My body will not rest.
My determination is ever-long.
I’m going to figure out what it is I’m solving.
There’s a constant dialogue in my head.
I’ve taken a journey to many places in a small space.
Elevators, cradle-sides, dance floors, taxi-cabs, 37th floors, parks and verandas, boardwalks, bedsides, buses, DJ booths, beds 5 cushions high, waterfalls, supermarkets and 4am foreign football games.
All I’ve done is reflect.
Am I walking in circles?
No. I’ve not been here before.
I’ve met new friends.
I’ve mulled over current issues with old friends.
And never the question which is the answer has become clear.
Standing at the river’s edge, I wrote...
“If I cross this body of water, will you promise me you wont try this at home?
I stand here wondering why I just wouldn’t care if I made it to the other side or not.
I know why.
There are women walking past me with paid men holding their umbrellas as they stroll.
They might call that living, but they don’t live.
They simply survive.
I have never ever stopped living.
I never want to be that woman.
Die trying, or die a coward.
I feel like going for a swim. At least I know I’d be doing it for myself.
If I cross this body of water, will you promise me you wont try this at home?”


I am learning.
And for now, that is what I'm best at.

A side-note.

Most of the entries in here are just thoughts, stream of consciousness, but I posted them, mostly unedited too.

A lot are just trying to capture a personality, most of them sad apparently.

But I suppose that's a lot to do with things being fairly shithouse for me lately!

I'm not as negative as these blogs might perceive me to be, promise.

There's a lot to be learnt from re-reading something written in a fit of anger or upset.

Enjoy.