say it enough, it's just noise

Only in the art room can you paint your hands blue
and then do a flapper dance to some hip hop song

before tripping upstairs to find your friend sprawled on a white photography backdrop with a mass of receipts wrapped around her torso and her
lips stained sugar pink.

It's getting more and more okay to be me.

I wish I could send The Couch a letter to tell her how I'm doing.
I'm not sure what I'd say, though. It would be better to send her something describing my day. Maybe photos of a day in the life? I just wanna be able to say thank you, and let her know how happy she's taught me to be.

"Happy"'s the wrong word.

"In love" is a better sentiment. 'Cause there are little details of my day that just make me fall more in love with -
I don't know -
"everything" seems too cliche.

Words words words.

I need I'd like to figure out how to not just be "in love" with "everything"
but be able to chill-ax
and be "in love" with "someone" as well.

(Maybe if I stop saying "I need", that would be a good start. Whenever I get better, it's 'cause I've told myself that I don't "need" to do anything. Turns out that helps.)

I've noticed that every time I like someone now, it lasts about a week before I get tired and decide I don't want to have those feelings any more.
Literally,
I just tell myself I don't have those feelings and I'm making them up.
How do I know when I'm not?

Apologies for the mundane "who am I? What is life? Qu'est-ce que c'est le point?" type blogs. They're annoying me too.

Here's another infinity song.

"nostalgia" v. "fixing old shards"

"Things sure have changed here on Walton's Mountain."

This time last year,
I had never smoked weed
and was only just starting to smoke
loved everything and everyone in the whole fucking world
especially Hortensio
had long blonde hair and a fearless feeling with that
and had no idea that my life was gonna get a whole lotta different.

I kissed Blue Eyed Boy for the first time on the nineteenth of December.
"It was a few days after her birthday..."

I see him chatting to people on facebook and hanging out at parties and walking around college with Barbasian
and I remember how we connected fiercely if briefly
and I wonder what we talked about
and thought about
and how we moved together.

I dunno, I guess it's one of those
"Wow, I've seen you naked!" things with someone like a stranger
as well as "Damn, you triggered my depression!" and "Ha! I fucked your best friend!"

Stuff like that forms an inevitable connection, I guess
and I do feel some affection still.
That's not a bad thing, I've decided.
I was right when I told myself I didn't have to get over him,
I just had to be okay without him.
Ballet Boy was wrong.

Thing is,
before I was terrified that he'd figure out I wasn't good enough for him 'cause I didn't know a whole lot about indie music and his group of friends and poppers
and especially the fact that I was virginal
and recovering from a broken heart
(he COULD NOT find out that I was a whole lot of a screw-up)

but now,
I feel like the tables have switched. I feel like, if I wanted to, I could intimidate him.
So so weird.

I see him and I think,
I'd quite like to be his friend. 'Cause the old B didn't wanna lose him completely. Maybe I owe myself a friendship.
That is,
if Barbasian didn't kill me first.

And Barbasian and I weren't best friends last December. When we finally met, we bonded over hair product and our synchronised love for fucked up boys.
During our friendship, I felt shit.
Y'know those competitive friendships?
I let her chase Ballet Boy when I began to need him
yet he still kissed me in a tent. Ha!
I win, for once.
I wonder what she thinks about what's happened since. I know he told her. I walked past them once at Cineworld. I tried to smile at him, but was met with the cold shoulder and her flinging herself around him and shrieking about how much she loved him.
Uhm.
Is this a combined snub? I wouldn't put it past them.

My bad, her ex fell for me.
Revenge is sweet?

I honestly don't know how I went for so long without Hortensio.
I remember our phone call when Blue Eyed Boy was in the next room
(we were at Jab's).

"Can we talk? I'm really drunk and feel shit."
"Sure."
He talked about his dad.
And some.
"Hortensio, what was the second thing?"
"What? Oh, yehh. Uhm. I miss you."
Said with a resigned sigh.
And then a pause.
"I miss you too."
Floods of apologies. And a promise that we won't talk about it again, if he doesn't want to. I refuse to humiliate him.

And hey, now he's my rock. I missed him so fucking much,
and now I feel like if I ever get in trouble, I can ring him up and he'll do the listening this time.
Maybe
someday
I'll fall in love with him again.
Maybe, I already have.
Fuck knows.

I don't wanna think about that when I have another friend on the brain
who might just be my way out.
I hope.
Argh,
confusion.

I'm not sure why I wrote all that.
It's been a long fucking year, and I've made a lot of mistakes.
Like I said to Fringe-Face? A series of clashes...
I'm done blaming people.

I think my point is,
I've changed so much and it kinda scares me.
I had a doze dream about leaving the laydees for Uni last night, and I nearly cried.

I don't get that with my parents. How sad is that?

I wanna come up with a resounding last sentence, but I'm failing.
I wish I could go back to last December, find B and tell her she'd get through everything headed her way. She'd be okay.

Maybe, I'll be okay too.

chaos, watermelons, clocks... everything.

"I act like an idiot because I have a void in my heart."
Courtesy of PostSecret.

Lying here in the dark and I can't get away from thoughts of you.
This is like the time Crazy Girl had us all sleep over her house, and I slept next to her in the bed facing the wall
and though there was dim dusk light, all I could see was black
and I could feel something pushing my head into the pillow.
That was when things started going wrong last time.

I keep thinking
I can't talk to you
but at the same time, that's the only way that things are gonna be okay.
I don't know why.

It's just that this is a lot like the process of Blue Eyed Boy
(there are similar symptons)
and telling him everything was one step closer to letting go.
Getting him to understand that I wasn't a psycho (at least, so I think he did) helped me be okay with leaving things the way they were.

I really hope I can be okay soon
and be happy with someone else
'cause right now, I remember lying wrapped up in your arms
and peeking at your
(I guess "serene" is the word)
face when we kissed
and running my hands over your knobbly back
and I can't imagine feeling like that anywhere else.

Four months.
Fuck.

i want to show you

Dear Pap-y,

Here's a memory for you.
I'm little. So little that I have to stretch up above my head to hold your hand,
and we're out on a family outing. There's a restaraunt, but it's a shit-y restaraunt (this was in that period where we skipped from Travelodge to Little Chef and back to Travelodge again) and these details don't really matter. I state them anyway. We're all walking towards the exit, you
me
Ma
and Baby
and Baby has grabbed Ma's hand and left you and me walking behind.
"Why does she prefer Mum to me?"
I don't know. "Probably because she's only little."

And that's how it worked, 'cause it was you and me against everyone else.

Then Ma started talking to me more about her life and her worries, and I did the same back. I couldn't exactly talk to you about periods, could I? Or boys or queen bees or feeling ugly. And you were away all the time.
"Sweden" is a resounding word from being a kid for a good reason.
As is "Texas"
and "Cranfield".
Why did you make us follow you away from Edinburgh? You nearly succeeded in making yanks out of us. Not cool. Thank gawd you got a job in England.

So I learnt to resent you, 'cause you stopped being there. And when you were there, you made us do typical family shit "for you" just so you could pretend we were your brother's family. Which we're not.
Our cousins ride horses, climb mountains and plan to take over the world.
Me and Baby kiss boys, drink spirits and hide in the art world.

(Aside: stop trying to make us like them.)

I'm finding weird things in common with you right now.
We both love taking pictures,
and we're both quite good.
And we're both addicted to Stella and Starbucks and the sea
and yehh, my taste in music is very similar to yours.
My work ethic too,
the way I don't stop until I get something done
even if it's at the cost of sleep and health.
I think we both strive to be liked as well.

So that's quite nice.

But I wonder if you've ever really flung yourself to the winds,
not knowing where you were gonna sleep when you left the house to go drinking.
Have you ever got so stoned that you giggled for half an hour?
Dyed your hair a weird colour,
just 'cause you could? Blagged your way into a student bar, then got kicked out again? Kissed a stranger,
felt the rush of a strange encounter?
How can you undermine people who have, when you don't understand why? I wish I could explain it to you, but I think you'd disown me.
I'd like to take you to Reading,
'cause to me, that's what the world should look like
and I think you might finally get it.

I wish I could relate to you a little more. I'd like to spend my money on drink and coffee and gigs, and remember this year for my experiences
as opposed to my stuff.
How can you spend so much money on cars and playstation games and shirts that you'll never wear? How can you blow cash on a personal trainer when you could just as easily motivate yourself to go outside for a run? How can you buy a six bedroomed house when you live on your own most of the time?

I'm sorry I don't care about your materialistic shit and want to spend my money on "non-stuff",
it doesn't make me ungrateful.

I wish I was Daddy's girl again
'cause Ma really doesn't like B
and B finds it difficult to like Ma when she enjoys hating people so much.
I'm terrified of turning into her.
So so so terrified.

man night?

It's all gone a bit weird.

I'm getting good at not feeling
that.
The four letter
death word.

I have so many mates in relationships now
and they look really happy
but I just cannot be fucked right now.
Well,
I can,
but I'm pretending I'm not bothered
which makes me unbothered which is good.
I've tricked myself into staying above the surface.

But let's imagine a girl imagining a boy kissing her head good night
and the butterflies that fill her stomach at the very thought
and her eyes unconsciously seeking him out for days until she finds him waiting in a stairwell to sneak up on her.
It might be nice to have a fuck buddy.
It's nice when he puts his arms around her and holds her hand
and she's hoping that she's not imagining his eyes on her as she moves around the room.

It's nice to feel like this
but to have reins on it
so it doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter.
It can't.

Ket Boy keeps texting me,
and it really unnerves me 'cause as Gooch-y put it
he's
dangerous.
I hope he doesn't become the reason that the boy never kisses the girl's head again.
As my sister says, "At least you've still got 'it'."
And there I was worrying.

I'm having a night in with the pap
drinking beer
and scooping up shepherd's pie with poppadoms.
It's got a little weirder.

don't.

Don't come so close. I don't deserve that. And you haven't earned it.

Show, not tell.
Here I am.


"Grey" by Gerhard Richter

a vivid imagination

Today, we're going to enter a dreamland.

It looks a lot like Hell
(otherwise known as This World)
but like through a camera lens, where everything always looks slightly clearer or nicer or
more pieced together? I don't know.
It's better, in any case.

Today, it's bitter bitter cold. Teeth chattering, skin shaking, hair raising cold. The sky is a very blue blue and water clear, and the sun is shining its weak white winter light. Maybe there's frost on the ground? Maybe not. I'd like there to be frost. Especially in the cracks in the windows.

In this dreamland, I moved out when I could. There's this flat that's kinda shit-y and cramped,
but I like it 'cause it's mine
and I've painted it powder blue and dusky pink and white and cream and
champagne
and there are pillows and duvets and clothes and pieces of paper
everywhere
but it doesn't matter 'cause it's my clutter.
Free.

I've written a novel on a type writer
and published 2009's answer to Catcher in the Rye
and taken the world by storm under a pseudonym.

My friendies are all there
and there's wine and cigarettes and some good music or a DVD or something
and probably some green
knowing Stoner Kid. Wheyy.

And there's a boy in a bubble
(maybe it's Web Boy?
Though now Waster's back on the scene,
however brief...
no, shush).
All I want is to have some fun.
Like I said to Stoner Kid, "fuck love"
and I'm sticking to that.
I become very wise when under influence.

I'm dreaming too much,
though this is a dreamland after all.