"Stars Like Little Fish"

era.

2010-09-26T09:22:00.001+01:00

So, if this does end up being my last letter, please believe that things are good with me, and even when they’re not, they will be soon enough.

Dear The Couch,

This is the letter I always wanted to write to you but
I dunno. It
seemed silly,
y'see?

Way back when I wanted to say
"Hey,
I'm doing okay!"

(I could have slipped another
rhyme in there).

I wanted to say
"Thanks for showing me
how to be happy.

I've got a new boy now and
you'd really like him. He
has blonde hair
and plaid shirts
and I help him with his art.

And Pap-y doesn't
hate me any more
so I don't hate him.

Sometimes I see
my friends as demi
brothers and sisters which
I've never had
before.

Iz nice.

If we did that shell exercise again, I'd
still pick that horrible
one to represent the world.

I still resent what I used to call
'the machine' 'cause my

hair is too wild
and my boots are too big
and my skirts are too short

for me to get a proper job. I'd rather
die young than
grow grey (not as in 'old',
but into a 'sad charcoal
soul').

But that's okay,
'cause I still have an ideology."

Some of that is no longer
true. Insert slight
edit
here.

"I gotst a nose stud and
I think you'd like it. I wear
flowers in my hair
now and lipstick
everyday.

I was thinking how funny it is,
The Vines and Frank Turner
remained my favourite artists

ever since I was fourteen.

Rock n' roll cannot help but prevail with me.

I think you'd
be okay with that.

It's because of you that
this blog survived. When you told me
this was my method of process, I
trusted you. I'm glad I
listened to you.

I don't wanna be a skinless body in the
dark, in the
nothing any more. I can
be fine without hiding now.

Well, I still
hide on the Heath. But I love
the Heath. I
always will."

I could do a Wayne's
World with my
very own Scooby Doo end? Lolz,
nawr.

"I did it. I'm going to university
today.

I'm going to study English Literature and
dress how I like
and party how I like
and talk to who I like.

And I'm nervous excited terrified happy. All
wrapped into one.

Oh, and I'm gonna see Frankie T in
Decembre, 'cause
old habits die hard."

"Spaceship will carry B home."

the playlist

2010-09-25T15:53:00.028+01:00

Dear Art Boy,

So, when we were going out
you said that I Am The Resurrection was
our song.

A song about
breaking up and
hating each other?

Nahh. I listened to
Iron and Wine's Such Great Heights and The Beatles' Got To Get You Into My Life and Radiohead's Fake Plastic Trees and Tracy Chapman's Fast Car and Sigur Ros' Sigur 3.

See? They're not so bad.

Now I listen to
Joan Armatrading's No Love and Mumford and Son's After the Storm and José González's Heartbeats

and sometimes Summer of '69

'cause I'm not as emo as some make out.

Uhm,
insert some
memories I guess?

Not seeing you for a week 'cause
of Theatre Studies, then
running towards each other for a
massive hug at Purbeck.

Making a plaster cast
model of your head.

Kissing good bye at
the top of Station Road,
always by the same railings.

Bill Bailey,
the countless hobos
and circus theme tunes.

A piggy back to your
summer house when my
feet were sore.

You reading The Globe aloud as
I dozed beside you. Story
read to half sleep.

Crosswords on trains
and post-revision pints
and hangover fry ups.

"Why are you so amazing?"

Playing,
giggling,
pulling (faces)

like we were kidz,
like we were playtime friendz.

Kissing hello though
golden morph suit?

(Sorry, I remember a
lot. I'm not sure
what to put).

I wish I didn't remember
you looking at me
as if you didn't know
who I was

or letting me wait crying at
the top of your road whilst you
lay hungover in bed

or you staying up all night putting
shit up your nose, so I
couldn't hang with you
alone before you went abroad. And then
came home. And then,

yehh.

I remember blushing as
you drew me. In other words,
realising I fancied you a little.

If you're reading this you'll
probably want to
hit me by now, but
this is my turf. Don't

give me grief for how I feel.

I feel stupid saying the four letter
or five letter past participle
words slash whatever
'cause you never felt the same.

I'm sorry I
scared you. I've re-learnt my
lesson in that one
must have a guarded heart.

(Can you tell I'm
trying for the balance
between sappy and angry?)

Uhm. I don't want to tell you
you were special
when I know there's silence in return. But

you made me happy,
you made my cry
and you made me seal off my heart

(with laser beams and a moat and sharks with guns)

and that's what special boys do.

in the green grass behind the stadium

2010-09-24T12:25:00.001+01:00

Last night, B got her good bye.

Beer,
cigarettes
and banter

were first which is standard

and then B was too drunk for her
train and so she went back
with the lads to the summer house

where they listened to The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and drank more beer.

And B's friendship bracelet
and playlist
and side of the bed

are all still there.

The heart feels
lighter now. Much
better and

I hope we can see each
other at Christmas 'cause

I think you're my friend now.

no, you WILL stop.

2010-09-23T12:22:00.000+01:00

Dear Gooch-y,

My blog affiliate, my carer, my best friend (one of).

I didn't really know what
to say on our last night. I
felt like a bloke, shuffling
my feet and hugging tightly.

I'm gonna miss Starbucks after
work and cigarettes at Henry's
and pints at the Bun Shop and
our pulling pact for Fez. Ooh,

and the stories we tell about
the cunts we know and the
people we like and the
ones where we don't give two flying fucks.

I might even miss you taking
the piss a little bit. Lolz.

I think one of my fondest
memories is sat
swigging Blossom Hill at
Grantchester Meadows and

just talking books. Shit-y,
female flick books. It
was nice.

Just look at us. Haven't
we grown? I can't believe

how much you terrified me at
the start of Hills Road.

(By the way, I
got so mope-y when you left. You
would have wanted to
slap me. Ha).

Muchos lahv-os and kiss-os and snuggles
(but no tears, 'cause
I know you hate them).

date night

2010-09-22T10:38:00.003+01:00

Dear Belle,

I like that out of
all my school friends, you're
the only one I've kept.

And that this is despite
a fight
(of sorts) 'cause it turns
out that we need each other.

I love that we bonded over
Paramore and The Academy Is..., our
lives soon revolving around
Kerrang (haha).

We've been friends around four
years now? That's a little
scary. Maybe that means we'll

make it across the ocean. We
made it from different sixth
forms, didn't we?

I'm gonna cherish all the cawfees
and chemistry lessons and
nights spent watching MTV.

And I wish you luck and hope
you chase all your
dreams, ('cause you have
so many now).

it was like a train on a track

2010-09-21T21:15:00.002+01:00

I haven't felt that
hungover in a long fucking time.

Woke up on Cute-y's bedroom floor
(my limbs still sore) and stumbled
slowly to the bathroom.

I recollect meeting Friend at four
and marching into town, picking
up Lambrini (his choice, iza
not actually thirteen) and

proceeding to get fucked.

This is B's last night
"out out" in Cambers (insert
tears and mass invite texts)

so she's slipped into her red
rose dress and shiny gold
vintage jacket

and we're back at Henry's. And
Dean-y's there
and Pasc-y's there
and Keen-y (fellow Brum)

and Campbell and Jam and Party Boy and his girlfriend and Snack Boy and Nomalish and Cute-y and Wink-y and Crayon Girl

and kinda everyone still left.

It's kinda awesome. It kinda helps B
realise how many good friends she's made. And

she feels like she's actually
gonna be missed this time. Iz
nice.

Beers
and beers
and beers

plus smokes
plus punts
plus one final whisky.

Dawr, Fez! B loves Fez and
zomg, they played such good
tunes. Welcome to Jamrock,
54-56 was my Number,
Out of Space, In
for the Kill, The
Dog Days Are Over...

to name but a few.

Where's My Money? now
reminds B of Peho. Who knows
why?

B so very much loves to jive

but 'tis exhausting. Nom,
burger.

'Twas an average night to be
honest (or as Friend puts it,
"standard") but 'twas lovely.

Good byes are hard though.

I'm never sure what to say.

There remains one, still
the hardest one. You said we
could meet over the phone, so
please don't change your mind

'cause I need peace in mine.

I watched the Skins episode 2.10 and
I got it. I'm also making memory
playlists, and shall read
Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I am a connoiseur
in nostagia.

PS. B misses Gooch-y. A lot.

purbeck (with love)

2010-09-21T11:53:00.003+01:00

Dear Purbeck

(and all of you in it),

You all know who you are. I count
you guys as my bestest buds this year,
I guess. 'Cause we were
together twenty four seven,

blowing smoke outside Club Cafe
or on Purbeck Road
or on the grit salt
(or mine and Cheryl's spot on King's Parade)

and we drank cawfee
and sang songs
and chatted absolute shit to pass the time.

Occasionally we went to lessons
which was okay.

Mostly we hid in the art room
which was more than okay.

And at weekends (and
this summer) we drank beer at Henry's
and jived in Fez. Ooh,

and we watched Buddy play many gigs.

Now it's hard to say good bye because
with you guys is where I fit in and
it's hard having to make new friends
when I already love my old ones.

Two last words (just for Gilb-y)?
"Biddly bong."

the art of companionship

2010-09-20T09:29:00.017+01:00

Dear Hortensio,

Your friend summed us up pretty well.

"You don't speak for months, but when you do you trust each other with everything."

I think that means we're
the best kind of friend.

And it's true that we confused
romance
with epic banter (lolz).

I hated not being your
friend and so
getting you back

kinda took a load off my shoulders.

And now having you to
talk to and make me
laugh (like I very rarely laugh)
makes all the shit that

scares me a little easier.

I'm sorry I was shit. Like,
really really sorry.

And I hope you feel good these days (and
that you write a new blogpost soon. Ohh
yes kiddies,

Hortensio has a blog now. Haha).

PS. Cheers for the cawfee machine. 'Tis the greatest gift for B lolz.

luminous underpants.

2010-09-19T09:33:00.007+01:00

Dear Friend,

I adore you
(in a friendly way).

I heart our banter
and your comfort cuddles
and your fun time frenzy thang.

I'm not sure what the
fuck happened with us but
I'm not sorry

for the beginning. I am
sorry for the end, when
lines were blurred

and I might have temporarily
hurt you? And I messed up
with him. But you seem okay
now, which is good. I'm
okay too.

Thanks for wrapping your
arms around me at Reading when
I told you where I was camping (I
do joke when I'm down it seems)

and listening whenever I was sad
and making me laugh.

Oh, and for kissing me way back when
when I needed someone to
kiss me.

You've been lovely, basically.

beautiful

2010-09-18T23:45:00.006+01:00

Dear Baby,

It's kinda cute watching
you getting into sixth form,
doing your art work and planning your
hip Lower Sixth wardrobe.

I hope you don't get your heart broken
too much this year
and that you find your niche
(and that I approve of that niche lolz).

I hope Mama and Pap-y are better with you
than they were when I started to
strain at the leash.

Come see me at Brummie and
we'll have a wicked sisterly time.

Even though we barely see each other, you're
still my best friend. I hope I've been
an alright role model to you, 'cause
I have tried.

You're a funny one 'cause
you've had some pretty shit times,
feeling vulnerable and hurting in so many ways
'cause you don't know how to deal. But

at the same time you get through things better than I do.

So, I feel I have to watch you all the time
but mostly I let you get on with your own shit.

Good luck with Cambers. I know
it's big and
it's scary now. But see,
you rock hard.

You're gonna rock so hard.

take a walk outside your mind

2010-09-17T21:10:00.001+01:00

The second half of the
heartbreak guide?

At the beginning, things
get pretty dark. You'll
get used to that perpetual hurt and

not wanting to smile any more.

You'll begrudgingly function through the
day before wrapping in
duvet, safe and warm and
asleep. You won't
feel when comatose.

Losing your appetite isn't
brilliant but that's
just how it goes. Just don't
shrink too much.

If getting high is
what makes that hurt disappear,
then fucking get high. And

get high with cous, who's more
like a brother.

"It's funny. I feel more like my little sister's off to uni."
"Totally."

After Reading festival, where
you focused on

people and music and dancing and sun spots and costumes and face paint

and not your heart, you
were right to not speak to said heartbreaker.

Spend time with your ladies. Earn
some dollah. Finally go
pub with Hortensio. Remember

it can be easy. It
can be fun. You
can smile and laugh for
real. (And yehh, that was

a wicked good bye. We
did good).

Get fucked with Kabs. Like,
absolutely wankered. Go
out with new people with free
drinks and

an ego boost when he'd like to
use you in a photo shoot.

These things are nice to hear.

Things are starting to
look better, right?

Now go to that party
and get with that boy
and it is bemusing when

said heartbreaker freaks out.

Fuck off? You stamped on my
insides 'til my vital
organ crumpled. Not
the other way round.

Here comes the epiphany. Hortensio
remarked that it was a
messy break up. And it was 'cause

whilst he was getting angry then
apologising profusely and
pushing you away then
looking after you,

all you did was feel sad.

So and so says that it's a
control thing and an
attention thing and an
ownership thing.

And suddenly, B's
not down with that.

(Aside. I came into bed with you the
next morning 'cause,
mainly I was high but
also, I'm tired of the

shit and bollocks and awkwardness.

Being quiet in a bed is my best
peace making mechanism).

So despite the sporadic
fainting and aching
joints and consistent cold,

you know these are leftover
symptoms of the beginning.

Sleep in a sleeping bag, make
yourself a sandwich and
smoke some bud. You're

on your way.

first cut embedded

2010-09-16T00:05:00.001+01:00

Dear Moshjokii,

Of late,
I've been thinking that
so far
I have loved two people.

And you were the first.

Your part on here has not exactly been
prominent but
I can see where your
influence lies.

Your hair was longer back then (like
a fiery-headed lion) and
mine was still black. I
still had braces

and we used MSN.

Years later, "You kinda picked
the wrong person to be with after your
ex. I mean well but
I screw up," she said

'cause she got screwed
over back
when she was young,
impressionable.

Weirdly though, I've
forgiven you. I don't feel

dirty,
worthless
or heartless

these days. I don't

hate,
miss
or judge you

any more.

Unfortunately, I still cannot trust people and
I still have the eyes of an adulterer.

Like I said, I was
impressionable at fifteen. 'Tis why I still
adore Frank Turner.

'Tis funny that you do too.

I remember "St Christopher Is Coming Home
reminds me of
you." Why?

"And I miss you,
You're busy too.
We call each other up
When we're messed up
And say we'll meet in the New Year.
But it's perfectly clear
We'll do no such thing
Come the spring." Oh.

And now we're kinda friends? You

of all people

gave me advice about Art Boy when
I was feeling sad on the
train home.

"Keep smiling. It'll

hurt
like
hell

but you've got to keep smiling."

And y'know what? I
did.

How have you helped me grow? You
weakened me for
you, then taught me to
grieve. You are my
proof that I can

walk away when I
can't take any more. You

sealed off my heart from
those who only wanted to love
me and

I mistrusted those who I
wanted to love.

Love and pain hand in
hand, I guess. But also

you are the first that
I truly let go. When I
think of you I breathe
clean air.

ring ring

2010-09-15T02:39:00.001+01:00

Dear Jay,

Please go to a therapist. I

want to help you but
I can't when I
need to live my own life. And

you're right, I do worry and
care about your well being.

I think someone needed to, 'cause
your friends seem a little
"vulnerable" and "baggage-ridden" too
(mhm).

You're a lovely and funny and caring and good looking boy,
and if you can't see that then you're an idiot.

And if you use depression as a reason not to get on with your life
then you're an idiot.

And if you don't keep in touch
and come see me at Brummie
then you're an idiot.

you can bump and grind if it's good for your mind

2010-09-14T14:16:00.001+01:00

Introducing a half
happiness list.

'Cause Mama says that I'm neither
glass half full slash empty 'cause I'm
a little too turbulent for that. Yeyyz?

Lolz-ing as you turn in
the office kitchen

(practically licking cawfee dregs from dirty mugs as the kettle boils, you crave it so much)

and come face to face with a
Doctor Who poster. Heh?

Dirty looks from flash-y yuppies as
a pair of indie kidz trawl the
financial district, looking up at
grey blocks and glass towers. You get

that insect crawling
over city analogy.

Singing,
lounging
legs up
on the last train's table.

Two sensations: anger and
resentment with urge to slap plus

swooping stomach and flickering
eyes in fear of what to say
on Doomsday Wednesday

('cause B is still at a loss of what to say. Aside,

I don't know what's
appropriate and
what makes me seem psycho
slash makes you angry. So,
I don't even know

what to write here. See
how I become self-conscious?)

"But you two were so - "
Yehh. We were.

Smoking on a play park in
early hours, crammed
in the chute as we gals
chill. Then

bonding over heartbreak. Why
does it follow a similar
pattern this year?

Cross-legged in the
hair salon chair,
full head foils smother hair

plus first cawfee
plus To The Lighthouse

to hand. It's still
dawn-y outside.

Sat on the Heath (of
course), first fag
dizzy spell. Blaring

prime
sixties
tunes.

D'accord?

gawd lahv ya.

2010-09-13T11:02:00.012+01:00

(In case you didn't realise,
this is the first of
the good byes).

To all my boiz and all my gals,

(You know if you're in that list).

Just a note to say
cheers for all the cawfee and the booze
and for all the lahv and putting up with my

scattiness and disorganisation

and the muchos banter and maudlin filled talks

(and reassuring me I was pretty
or interesting
or funny
or nice
or whatever
when my self-esteem was rock bottom)

and for taking the time to get to know me.

That was really
nice of you.

time speeding like a killer bus

2010-09-10T22:03:00.000+01:00

I need to take a
moment to be
scared. I feel
more and more little.

People who talked about
how great university is

forgot to mention
the tension
beforehand.

I'm the new kid at school again
but this time I can't
run home to mama
if the Big Kids are mean.

My mama told me a story today about
her own university days at Brummie when
she wandered downstairs in

slippers, baggy jumper and denim dress

to buy chocolate the day before
christmas holidays only to end up
at t'bar with her mates. She says

it was one of the best nights she had.

That's what I want. Chilled friends
havin' a larf. I don't wanna get fucked
twenty
four
seven.

Gah. This is scary.

I'm in two minds about my ex. One,

I need to get away from him
and people talking about him
and forget about him ('cause

it hurts to pretend
that I barely know him).

But two, I don't know if I
can stand forever good bye.

I can't be arsed with
line breaks. Insert
spiel.

My problem is we broke up because we were too young and my life got in the way, not because we weren't compatible. It's difficult to let go of a best friend like that. It was easier when I hated him in that respect. I am finding that I did not lose something that I need, but something that made me happy and now I don't want to fall like that for a very long time. I don't want anyone to hold my hand or kiss my cheek or ruffle my hair like he did until I've forgotten it all.

I am not as helpless as
"thursday". But before that
I felt kinda like one half of a whole
(I guess?) and now
the other half isn't there

to hold my hand
whilst I make my big
jump midland-way.

And that's the most scary thing of all.

the other perspective

2010-09-07T04:01:00.002+01:00

I guess I have some things to thank Art Boy for. If
he had not broken my
heart (as such)

I would never have had so many
long drives with Nomalish and Gilb-y,
jiving to golden oldies, closing
my eyes to deep deep bass and
ashing cigarettes down the motorway. Nor

would I have had those bizarre nights
just with Plant Girl,

likee our "quiet drink" Sunday
night, which turned into

the Rugby Club being kept open later just for us
(muchos muchos whiskeh and wine),
apple sour shots in the Greene King pub

before rolling a spliff openly on the sofa
and smoking outside with
Tom and Fabian (Fabio).

Oh, and then we run off and gorge on
cheesy crisps in the her red car ("lobster"
is good flavour).

Insert confession. I probably would not
have shed those last four pounds that
bothered me so much. Sadness
plus the desire to shake off sadness

appears to burn muchos energy.

I would not have had my strange but
good (very) excursion in Burwell or

kissed that beautiful boy in Boomtown or
had my (minimal) fun in Reading.

I probably wouldn't have
disappeared to Norwich or
had Gil-o over in Roy-town. Just

imagine. Cous and I would never have
discussed hemp in Tesco's or
devoured pizza on the Heath.

I would not have done
what I did tonight. It was Peho's
last night. I have suspicions,

and I could be wrong
'cause I often am,

but I have suspicions that
he has wanted to kiss me for a while?

And so I kissed him.

And then I drove home with
Nom and Siney and Cute-y and a crazy boy but
there was no Gilb-y. These few
weeks really are

tainted with good bye.

i am human.

2010-09-02T22:13:00.003+01:00

I love
waking up after a party

(where you bonded over festivals,
swigging your Jack Daniels

and high on a trampoline.

Oh, and
there were so many beautiful
stubbled
brunette boys. Yehh,

B likes brunettes again.

Aussi, you jived to
Toots and the Maytals
and Atmosphere
and obscure dub step beats)

and finding myself
and some of my bestest buds
snuggled in a double bed and
quilt.

Ain't we cute?

Ooh, and then meeting a
pretty boy in the
corridor

(you didn't notice him the night before)

and feeling good 'cause
you noticed said
pretty boy in the
corridor.

Some of us shared our
last hangover on that
sun-spilled patio,

tea and couscous to hand
(not me, cawfee mate)

talking 'bout Mrs Dalloway and
"sauces of the world".

I hate this part.
I hate good byes.

There's a very
important one I need to make
(please let me make it) and

I'm not sure how I can.

There's a hole in my heart and
it may grow wider

and I'm growing so tired of the
perpetual numb/hurt. Mostly
numb
but often hurt.

Insert disclaimer? I'm still having a
wicked time. Do not
underestimate my emotional range.

i wake up and miss the night before 'cause i love the music more and more

2010-08-31T23:13:00.004+01:00

Settle in kiddies, this one's
an extremely long'n. I've already fetched
the glass of wine (standard).

Let's start at
the train station? No one
really cares about the packing stage and
the adventures of B, green and
extortionate amounts of cling film.

There's no other phrase for the weather than
"pissing it down"
so B is sat on her sleeping bag,
first day's fag
and GnR blasting through her head.

Goosebumps
(nothing to do with the cold) 'cause
fuck, imagine this
gee-tar solo live. Mayn.

We've sorted out some delays
ee gee shower for Nomalish and
wellies for Gilb-y (what
a
trek)
and Tesco's for all. Yummeh,

super noodles and cold spaghetti hoops.
Beer run
and more
and more beer

plus tobacco
and we're good to go.

I love sitting in Nom's car
lighting her cigarettes and
jiving to music.

You know you're in Reading when someone with red trousers and yellow wellies ambles past.

Any idea how difficult it is
for a little girl to carry twenty four beers? Thank
fuck for the kind strangers with their
tesco trolley. And Shiz. This
is a pre-empt to B's weekend flavour:

Leave your beer
in stranger's
possession and just hope
you get it back.

And she totally did. Huzzah
for reckless decisions!

The campsite is a strange set-up 'cause
B is camping with Plant Girl again
which means Art Boy
and Art Boy's mates

but it's okay 'cause
we have Gilb-y and Nom and Cute-y too.

Stolen chairs,
stolen gazebo
and one fucked tarpaulin. What a
beautiful campsite
(discounting the mud and
soaking tents).

Gah, ConCon's here too!

Disclaimer: ConCon is B's oldest friend. Their
mothers also happen to be best friends.
Lolz.

If it wasn't for the mud
B would have thrown herself at ConCon. As
it was, she took him to her beer then
sat on his lap as they talked about
la musique with fellow campers.

Appaz Art Boy seems nice,
if boring. In his defense,
he's fucked.

This is the point that ConCon and B
fuck off to purple. There's so much
to do, so much
to see. Par exemple, ConCon has already
had an explosion involving
campfire,
paint canister
and a pram.

Oh, and stamping it out with chairs.

B's barely eaten so
the beer goes to her head nicely. As does
the orange glow of
lamps and fires
and excitable strangers

and the promise of B's favourite music and mayn,

B's fucking missed this place. She
still manages a mistake though.

Shelter of trees,
drunken banter
and boy. Luckily,

B has relapsed. Maintenant, she is in no
mood for sex.

Still, feel free
to ring Gilb-y
cold, scared, alone and
lost.

"What happens in Reading
stays in Reading."

Good ol' Gilb-y,
making B
better.

'Tis time for bed
and bedtime spliff.

Everything is wet. B's sleeping bag is
muddy on the
inside. Ugh. And
the floor is wet
and the clothes are wet
and B's socks are wet.

Never again will your feet be dry!

Insert "mega lolz" incident. Seriously,
FML. But B couldn't stop laughing. You all know
that glorious foam-y point of brushing your teeth
pre-spit? Imagine
that pre-spit point,
head ducked outta the tent

only to view Ballet Boy, Blue-Eyed Boy and Blue-Eyed Boy's girlfriend wandering past.

Quick spit then jump back into tent and
collapse into hysterical giggles.
Oh dear, B.

She faced her demons later,
so s'all okay.
Happy Reading Anniversary, mayn! Sorry,
I just find it all hilarious.

B appears to be a face paint connoisseur?

There's a multi-coloured lightening bolt
and a hippie child
and bubbles
and a night + day face.

Tehe, me likes painting faces. Pour
moi? Green glittery whiskers,
bien sur.

That day was brilliant,
fucked on beer and gin (I
heart drinking first thing) and
Lostprophets and Biffy Clyro

followed by crowdsurfing outta Mumford and Sons. How
quaint, how
rock n' roll.

And now the moment we've all been waiting for. Will
Axl Rose prove himself? Or
will he fluke?

Pre-mosh burger and aqua and
B is good to go. Alone in the crowd,
hood up and jiving with jive-y strangers.
Cool.

One hour and a half late? Fair,
ever hear about when GnR were two hours late
and fans stormed the stage? This,
this is standard.

Their sound is good. Cleaned up
(no longer raw) but good. And
who cares anyway? B has been listening to
(loving) these songs since she was
fourteen. Put that in
perspective.

Four
years
and she's moshing to Welcome to the Jungle live.

Now she's alone,
figuratively plus
literally,

she can be heavy without shame again.

She loves that
she's so obsessed with GnR
she can see right through their actions. When
others doubted their appearance,
she knew. When the guitarist let rip his

massive, dwindling, soaring solo

she knew Sweet Child o'Mine was coming. He needed
the crowd's acceptance before playing Slash's riff.

And then there was a shower. And those who knew
hoped
and it came.

Axl keyed out November Rain.

B loves perfect moments
and this moment was. Tears
welled, and appaz
Friend cried too.

The perfect ending? Sticking it to the
sound curfew. Keep out
ze guitars,
bring out the megaphone
and let the crowd sing Paradise City back at you.

Others hated that set
but B is a die-hard fan. It was
good enough for her.

And now she's buzzing and
she's seen Green Boy and
thrown herself at him

(a new bad habit of B's is to jump and cling to her sturdy guy friends. Iz
fun).

Chattering all the way back home and
so so ready to party
but peoples is sleepy. Wha'?

B wants to keep goin', mate! Nawr,
even ConCon is mellowed out in his tent.

Fine.
Sleep.
But
so so so
cold!

Plant Girl and B call in Green Boy
complete with sleeping bag and
zomg, blanket.

But he has other intentions.
Ugh.

'Tis better when B hears Nom's voice and
steps out for pre-bedtime cigarette. We haz
deep chats
which are fun in the moonlight.

The next morning is just
wunderbar. The sun
has come!

Time for organisation. Tie your socks
to the top of the tent,
clean your mud-shrouded boots and,
divine,
washing your hair under that cold tap is just
so so divine.

This is more than the right time for a pre-music joint.

B spent the morning on two pairs of shoulders. Bullets
came through for Modest Mouse
so B could see
the crowd for what looked like miles.

It was beautiful.

Less aesthetically pleasing
(and more fucking terrifying)? "Hi, sorry.
I don't know where my friends are
and I'm fucked.

Wanna sit on my shoulders?"

Fuck it, yehh. Except,
B pretty much nearly died that way.
Lolz.

Oh, by the way,
Saturday
is Frank Day.

ConCon already met Frankie T (bastard)
but B is psyched anyway. She smoked
through Long Live the Queen for
Lex, and sang Substitute and
meant it.

I love how Frank smiles when he performs. He loves us.

But now B's low on sugar. Solution?
Kit Kat Club, mate! Free Kit Kat Chunkies plus
Kit Kat wristband. WTF?

Let's pinpoint this point
(it's an important point). Lately,
B has got quite little. She'll
happily admit this and
the crowd for The Libertines made her
feel especially little.

Thank fuck for ConCon who
wraps his arms around B and
basically keeps her alive

in spite of die-hard fans in denim jackets and scary haircuts.

(Side note: B was then at the front for Arcade Fire. They are
too energetic. They are
incredible).

I never realised how much I need
looking after. I was touched
when Gilb-y said how angry he got with Art Boy. I
never realised how
protective my friends were.

The two of us spent that night in the action4aid tent
jiving to kewl DnB. Oh,
and checking out hawt indie kidz (well,
that was B's occupation really).

But we wanted beer!

Once again people are winding down. Peho
is here though,
fucked off his face,
and he's quite lovely to B. Sat around
the campfire and he exchanges
cigarettes for sips of beer

and occasionally, "Are you alright?
Smile."

(Thing is, B's smiling. She's laughing,
but still. Lovely).

Our tent is still massacred so
we sleep in Art Boy's tent. Peho
torments a fucked B with her sleeping bag hood
before transforming into Art Boy.

"When did B get here?"
"When did YOU get here?"

Stupid sleepy brain.

I have never felt more classy than
the next morning,
cigarette between teeth as B

cooks noodles in a kettle. Sudoku
complete as

Bullets plans his gee-tar style-y bong.

(Oh yehh, today is
Cypress Hill day. B felt proud
as she sat in the tent in her
flowery leggings
and newly dried socks
rolling her

first ever kings skin spliff).

B actually spent that day with
Crayon Girl and
Wink-y. Wha'?

We left the others to kneel in the Alternative Stage,
watching Russell Kane (nom) and
B's having a wicked time.

We roll back to the Melbourn Boys campsite
where B sees her fave Melbourn Boys and
really starts to chill. Oh,

and sneaks a couple of Friend's dabs.

So so chilled. Iz
nice.

Especially to the side of Cypress Hill
smoking B's spliffs

(successfully snuck in. "What are these? Pre-rolled?"
"Yehh, cigarettes."
How did I do that? Those were clearly spliffs in my baccy pouch)

and smiling at the sun.

This is all B needs. A little high
and wonderful music.

Weezer sure knows how to rip out the gee-tar solos.

One highlight? You'll love
this. Remember Matt from
Busted? I can tell you
he got sexy. He got
stubble and
a nice denim jacket.

He also got a picture with B.
Ha!

B has also wanted to see Pamamore
a very long time
so that was sick. Hayley
really knows how to absolutely
rock out and

they played Decode. That song
hits hard.

We end the music on
Blink 182. B is stood,
hood up (as is her norm now),
bobbing her head silently to nice music

when

arms wrap around her waist. Heh?
"I know this sounds really weird

but when my ex broke up with me
all I wanted was for someone to hold me. I think
that's how you feel, and you
need looking after, 'cause
you're so precious."

I nearly cried as I turned to kiss
Crayon Girl on the forehead. She
stayed wrapped around me for the whole set. And
Friend wrapped around the two of us and
I felt safe
and loved

and that's when I found that I was so small
in the too large world
and just how much I needed someone to catch me.

Shit.

But enough of that. Now,
is the time to party. We
recuperate in Art Boy's tent before
fetching booze and setting off for
Melbourn Base! B
linking with Peho for warmth. Brr.

I heart my local lads. They always seem to
accept B into banter
and embrace her bizarre nature.

Fast forward and Art Boy and Beni Girl and B
have set off for the Silent Disco.

Silent Disco is sick. Muchos
fucked peoples
singing outta tune and
grooving outta sync. Lolz.

Unfortunately, the
guys are looking to get laid. B
seems to be a favourite (that sounds cocky,
but I only say it 'cause it got to me).

B does not want sex.

When one places his hands on B's hips and
sways to The Smiths, B
rolls her eyes to no one.

"I am doll eyes. Doll mouth. Doll legs.
I am doll arms. Big veins. Dog bait."

And so,
B kisses the boy. For no other reason but
she remembers the lyrics to that song.

And walk
and dance
alone,
thanks.

There was another moment that should have been perfect
but it was not
'cause the sun was rising at ten to five

over supposed anarchy
and B's favourite view
(festival chaos)

but the anarchy was policed
and B was cold
and Art Boy was not her Art Boy to huddle to.

We slept in his tent again that night but
B did not want to be there. She wanted to be
in his room
on that night in December

and so she turned over and hid in the hood of her sleeping bag.
The end.

The end includes scavenging for beer
and finding a treasure trove in one
abandoned tent. Sa-weet!

And Maccy D's and
a busy pace (too busy) and
walls. Too many walls.

"Am now some kind of marsh creature. Solid buildings, acceptable drinking hours and general cleanliness now bemuse me."

Take me back to the musical wilderness!

Try this image out for size. Four teenagers,
one smoking a spliff and the other three
contentedly filling in a crossword
whilst speeding down the motorway,
rock n' roll sounds complete.

How quaint.

Until B is dropped at the station. Art Boy steps out
to help her with the boot.

This is when
she has so much to say. Too much
to say,
words cramming her brain,
jamming her mouth.

And so she says nothing
and walks away.

I told Gilb-y that
everything makes me cry now. It's easy
now. Well,
B cried on the train home.

If that was the last time B and Art Boy meet,
then that was the most
heartbreaking it could have been.

I spent today
watching films with Gooch-y.

Post-festival depression is better with company.

Insert deep breath
and finis.

jitter bug

2010-08-25T16:00:00.002+01:00

Happy buffday, Belle. I hope you had a lovely time in town and got absolutely wankered.

Some of this will become B's guide to the
month
pre-
University.

The rest will be the
usual life
account. Eesh.

Basically, you're gonna have to
get yourself a guide
of sorts. Someone who's done it all (or
most of it) but isn't that

condescending epitome of grown-up

that I just find it hard to relate to.

Cousin Gil-o steps in quite nicely. Two years out
(to get high in the jungle. Shweeet!)
and he's just finished Fresher's. B spent

Monday night at his house, gaining
advice
reassurance
and tales of his "pre-lash". All this,

driving around in his little blue car, sipping
Blossom Hill (heck yehh, Gooch-y),
jiving to reggae
and flying high.

Cousin Gil-o also sorted out B's Reading stash. Bring ohn Cypress Hill, beybey.

I'm not sure how much of Harold and Kumar I
made up in my own head,
grinning to myself (sleepily/retardedly) in
cous' garage roof den. Epic

munchies.

Flying on a train the next day is
interesting too. Try it some time, you'll have
all kinds of strange epiphanies. Lolz.

Daydream. A lot. Get yourself
psyched. You're gonna have your
own house and party like it's
your
own
house

and you can eat what you like
and have a beer at strange times of the day
and wear what you like without the "parental comments".

Oh yehh, and you love English Literature. And your
whole entire degree
is English Literature.

Label your fears, else you'll freak out
about everything (narrow miss there).

My two fears are as follows.

Uno? What if
I'm now shit at English Literature?

Et due? What if
everyone else is really normal. I'm not normal. I don't dress normal, I don't act normal, I generally don't look normal. What if
no one else likes back room gigs or vintage clothes or (gasp)
Frank Turner?

Ugh.

There's also the general "Shit, they don't provide linen?
Add it to the list. That makes
pots
pans
and bathroom bins, right?" shindig

but I like listing so
that's not all too traumatic.

Oh yehh, and that fight? Sort it out. Which
he did, luckily. 'Cause B sure as
hell was not gonna crawl back
begging for peace before she left.

I think I'm allowed to talk about him now? He'll
say if not. So,
Art Boy.

Telling me I was "not special" and "just some girl"
kinda hurt a little bit (note the
sarcasm, s'il vous plait). Every girl
wants to be special and
every first girlfriend would like to be remembered so, 'kay?

I know you're real sorry about flipping out so
it's okay. But
your apology made me cry all over again. Not
gonna lie. A month to feel shit is not

"weird" as you previously put it. I'll explain. I spend
about four days of the week
feeling fine. I'm breeze-y,
powering through. Then I'll

remember something (fuck knows what) and
I'll cry. And I'll keep feeling tear-y
until the end of the weekly cycle. Sorry,

I don't seem to be on the normal route of upward turn to Healthy Heart.
I'm crashing
up
and down all the time.

And that's fine. Bouncy ball effect, yes?

I think it's about time I said
my farewells. Not forever but

y'must know that this
is my favourite weekend. Like,
ever.

So, I won't be here
online
for a while.

See yas in Reading, kiddies!

PS. Saturday is the best day. For ConCon and B, SATURDAY IS FRANK DAY!

this country is my canvas

2010-08-21T10:01:00.000+01:00

I cried and then listened to Frank Turner and then clenched all my muscles
one
by
one
until I essentially forced myself to sleep.

Stress dreams,
stress dreams
and more stress dreams.

Ugh, I
hate getting results.

What is essential is
lucky underwear
and my Beatles shirt.

When we get to college (cigarette
already cigarette-ed en route),

B cannot stand the sight of happy and screaming faces. Fuck,
where is Gooch-y?
Gooch-y is here, she

got into Leeds. Yeyyyz! And,
she watches B unfold her
ominous brown envelope.

Wide-
eyed
terror.

A*AA?

B's knees are weak
and relief is washing. I can
get the fuck out of here.

B can run away from this town ('cause
there isn't much left in this town). And
Siney got into Wales and
Hobo will come to the Midlands with B and
Jay gets to stay in college.

When I found out what you got I was really happy 'cause
I remembered how much you wanted
good A-Levels. So,
yehh.

We drove home to pick up clothes
and we smoked out of windows,
singing along to Bittersweet Symphony.

"This is the primest song for this moment!"
"Guys, it's over. We're
going away!"

Now B has some plans to
fulfil. I will not leave bitterness
behind, and I will visit all my
favourite places
(plus favourite people)
with Diego in hand. Gotta record some
memories and
fix some things.

I felt like my heart was gonna burst
just before my smile split my face.
Growing pains have never felt so sweet.

calm like a bomb

2010-08-18T20:36:00.000+01:00

Basically, there was a fight. And now B is in her metal stage.

One thing.
I wanted to be
a memory with a small
smile. Vice
versa too. Thanks
for nothing.

Now you can have the silence you requested.

grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

2010-08-17T22:47:00.020+01:00

Countdown clock? One of
three. One
day and
thirteen hours.

Fuck.

Two glasses of wine has
successfully numbed a hangover, so
B shall recount her tale.

"It's like your best nightmare."

This is definitely how life should
be lived. Y'know,
in real life.

Where to begin? Fuck
the car journey and
Bar Hill Tesco's. Just know
it was lovely to see Art Boy's
Pap-y and that

B was welcome on the trip.
Thank fuck.

Plant Girl is sharing her
pop-up tent with B, so
we're settled in the rain and
sipping (glugging) beer and
ciggies are still plentiful
as are the powders.

We're in Rastafari land
sprinkled with skinhead and beautiful
hippie children. MD is first on our
list.

Note: this never goes down well with B.
Especially not
this time. Panic
which is wide-eyed
increasing

as B wraps in on
herself.

As Gooch-y put it,
B is not exactly stable anyway. Dear-y
me.
The only thing to do is
hide in Art Boy's outstretched arms. Like
before, but note to self.

One must find something else to soothe.

Boomtown is filled with
flashing lights and
laughter and
bass bass bass. Mayn, such dirty,
filthy bass.

Ohh,
and a man dressed as a giraffe.
Lolz.

You wake up to beats with a
hangover
and sunlight.

Why am I always the first to wake?

Uno cigarette
wrapping a sleeping bag around a
hanging Art Boy before
we are summoned to snuggle
shivering Plant Girl.

Weird.
Weird weird weird.

Apologies, but
I have never slept next to you without
kissing you good morning or good night. Just
give me time to adjust to
mates who nuzzle in their sleep.

Next, Special K. It stops
the aching in my body.

As Bintang Boy says,
"Special K is like a friend. Fuck him about,
he'll fuck you up. Treat him with respect,
he'll sort you right out."

Little bumps. Little
bumps.

Gawd, we dance so much.

B has no money and no cigarettes so
she is an expert at surviving on
nothing. Thank ye
kind strangers.

I'm sorry, this is all
so convoluted. It's
basically a haze of
lights,
smoke
and reggae.

Uhm,
B and Art Boy had a chat. Fucked
as we were and
late as it was,
we were jiving in the
Invisible Circus when B
felt faint. Again.

Time to be guided back,
holding hands and
arms around waists.

"Talk to me whilst I smoke."

B is having her bedtime rolleh
and apologising about the boy.

"It's good we can still be
friends. Are you feeling
better?"
"A bit."

Mhm.

Here's a crazy anecdote. We
herded sheep and
came across a folly temple. Painted teenagers
sprinting through fields? Now,
that is a sight and a half to behold.

Lucky security guy, huh?

It's funny. As days go by
B is institutionalised
but,
she feels worse. Her body
canes and
she feels more and more
alone,
I guess.

Mix ze powders. Smoke a
spleef and
beer and whiskeh for later.
That will keep you awake
in the Land of the
Freaks.

Fucking Toots and Maytals,
beybey. I remember
first hearing them in
Fountain Inn,
curled on Art Boy's lap and
just starting out.

Three of us stay awake
and there's heavy music to
groove to and
hey. B has found a
pretty boy.

Hood up, shuffling to
grimy dub step
with cautious eyes
and glances and
hands that wrap around his
neck.

Such a sweet kiss,
but now I must find my friends.
Oops.

B's highlight
(and where it becomes surreal
and painful)?

We've come across a campfire,
bongo complete
with free Malboroughs and B's
whiskeh. Oh,
and more green.

B will sway to the beat before
dropping to the floor
and it is here that she rests
between Art Boy's legs.

Basically she's fucked.

"Can I just say, you guys make an amazing couple? You
have a great thing going."
"We're not a couple."

Jeez.

Oh, now B's really fucked. Please,
walk me back to the tent.

He consents, (thank fuck,
seeing as I wretched alone
later on. I wouldn't have lasted).

A tentative kiss? Because B is
out of control.
Lonesome. And
yehh, she still has some feelings.

That is how B
goes to sleep,
curled and shivering and world fucking spinning
over and over. Ugh.

Such a mistake. Such a huge
mistake. Stupid B. Stupid
stupid B,
which is her mantra in the morning,
forking cold spaghetti hoops in the
vague hope of curing whiskeh induced immobility.

(Malnutrition is the way forward. Wa-
hoo).

I felt free saying good bye
waving from the car roof. Trust,
you could scream so loud.

So yehh, so
long.

I will spend my summer like last night. I saw
the gang and we drank beer and laughed and talked
and planned and it felt nice. No more love.

Once again, fuck love.

Plant Girl and B went driving to the Heath tonight. It's
nice to have this bond thang.

But I miss Boomtown. Such
a beautiful nightmare.

Tick tock.

will i grow wild speaking so mild?

2010-08-13T08:59:00.025+01:00

Morning kiddies! Guess
where B is going today?

Finally, I get to sleep in a tent and jive
to live
music and make beer the acceptable
habit.

I find the act of spitting toothpaste into the ground
oddly aethetically satisfying (does
that sound grammatic? I know
it sounds fucked up).

Also walking around looking odd but
so does everyone else. It should
always be like that: nobody giving a
fuck.

I'm going with Art Boy (on
Plant Girl's invitation) amongst
others. Wish me luck, aye?

And I'm more
hardcore
(cringe at obvious rhyme) now 'cause
B gotst a nose stud hier. I like
that no one seems to notice it but
I know it's there.

Yehh, it's good. I've wanted one since
I was fourteen and I had
traffic light red hair and my
fringe obscured my eyes.

Lolz, everything seemed tinted
red back then.

I'm enjoying the autumnal
vibe these days. It's emanating
step-pa jumpers
mugs of cawfee (steaming)
and curling up with my kitt-y.

(Gawd, what a home body).

Here's a song I like. Enjoyy.

zen

2010-08-10T17:17:00.001+01:00

I'd like to make an
attempt at
honesty.

I'm tired of being afraid of putting
myself out there.

Last night was really weird. We,
a segment of the gang, we met at
Henry's and drank muchos
beer and chilled like
we used to. Snack Boy and
Cute-y and
Nomnomnomalish and
Stoner Kid (of all people) and it felt
good.

I had to explain the Art Boy situation. Cute-y asked,
"You're not like depressed about it though,
are you? You
seem fine."
Well, yehh. But I'm doing a good job of hiding that,

I said.

Cool. Now, let's work on bringing Little B
back. She always knew
what to do.

Little B is jiving by the bar, having
run into a mate of a mate (velvet jacket
complete) and
she knows how to hide a fragile self with
self-assuredness.

Eyes flickering
and a paid-for drink
and then we're leaving for
Fez.

Little B knows how to
smile at girls who intimidated her
none too long ago and
dance with boys she's not
bothered about dancing with
and go crazy with old friends on the floor.

The boy is back and his
arm is round her
waist and they
move well together. He
leads and she
sways.

Oh, he has a girlfriend. B
will dance anyway,
'kay?

I nearly forgot to mention the
foam-y fountain. We
stamped and danced and moulded and shrieked and ran away. I
like playing.

I think what hurts
is that B still thinks of herself as
reserved. She's still (basically) Art Boy's
'cause she misses him like hell. She won't
fall for others now 'cause

feelings hurt, but she can't

rid herself of the ones
there already.

There y'go, Art Boy. There's
my truth.

Y'know, I used to miss Little B. The
girl-y who was loud and never
gave a fuck and (generally) got
the boys that she wanted.

Lately, I realised why
I changed.

I'm sorry my writing is so shit. I've
lost some of my art lately. It
happens, it'll
come back.

Oh yehh, and those of you who will say this is
pretentious? Fuck you. This is how
I genuinely feel. This is how I
genuinely hurt.

I will not shrink into a shell.

something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination

2010-08-08T17:41:00.000+01:00

Dear Little B,

This is basically addressed to readers but
I'm not sure how to go about that without
sounding like the dude off "I Wrote This
For You"?

I thought I'd write to the
protagonist instead.

Yehh, I just wanted to
apologise? I know
a lot of you read this 'cause I'm honest. Like,
brutally. I like writing this 'cause
it was like ripping off a plaster or
something. I felt
better.

Right now, I'm describing
functions and
movements. Not
feelings. And whilst my functions do not
match my feelings, I'm not being
brutally honest.

I have my reasons for this. I told Jay
yesterday and
(see how I skip the
obvious rhyme?) it turns out
we're the same.

I have plans for this blog and
a lot of truths shall unfold in
the end.

For now, I'm sorry
Little B for
sellotaping your mouth shut and putting you
in that box in my head. You,
of all people, will know

why.

This is a gift from ConCon. Enjoy.

irrepressibly happy

2010-08-07T23:39:00.001+01:00

I have listened to this song
possible one hundred times since
Wedneday?

I cried in Toy Story
(lolz) where my 3D glasses steamed
up. And me and Jay
smoked and drank cawfee in
the rain aujourd'hui,

me in purple hoodie and
he with newly red hair.

Lately, I've been
working at becoming
the ghost.

Not mechanic and
emotionless but smoke, which
is good. Things

do not have to matter but
I do not have to be
strong either.

It has transpired that I
hold back here now. Some of you
may have noticed. I think that
people are reading it that
I hate seeing me as

vulnerable. Par exemple, I think
Art Boy may be reading it. If you are,
don't stop. I just,
I just can't be honest right now (right here). Later,

I'll sum up how I
have
felt but
later.

This boy will need a
name. Credit Boy?

Seems B has hung onto her sense of irony. Eh,
it'll do.

(This is a beautiful
sahnd

by the way).

He helps me be the
ghost too.

"i can't wait."

2010-08-05T19:50:00.002+01:00

ROFLMAO

Before I begin I must
clear something up. People seem to have
assumed that I slept with
Siney. Ha-ha. No.

I saw Hobo yesterday and he
asked how I'd been. Where
on earth do ya start?

Well, sweets, first
it turned out B had
a lot of crying to do. She
spent the week going to
work and
talking to her driving instructor and
wishing she was at Folk-y. Thursday,

again the bad day (always
the bad day) she finally
watched The Way We Were and
she got it and tears leaked.

At last, she was asleep.

Her cousin got married. It was
so (500) Days of Summer,
trust. Cous Gil-o and B sat
right up front and
giggled their way through the ceremony
(well, Gil-o welled up.
Lolz).

So I spent that night getting
pissed with my nana and
whirling her around the dance floor,
downing JD and coke with Gil-o and
playing the "dirty smoker" role with
newly married Cous.

(Newly-weds danced to Songbird by Oasis. I
listened to Oasis on the train home
just to be happy for them).

I've decided I thoroughly enjoy
army weddings.

Get home and the 'rents are
gone so I open the wine and
plug in the music and occasionally
step out for cigaretteees. China pot
as ash tray
and patio as new dance floor.

I like living alone. Especially when
I have some green leftover. Step
outside and get a small hit, Spaceship
fills your ears and
the sky looks like a sponge and
wisps of smoke.

I am alive. Fast
forward, I am in town. My lovely ladies are
there and
we're at the bar.

(I forgot to mention the shakes. B
got the shakes on the way home).

I'm yawning 'cause
I'm exhausted and
hungover and
leaning on the bar 'til
suddenly, I realise I'm
blacking out.

Why have I fainted? I'm
fine. Don't worry,
let's go.

To Henry's! I haven't been to
Boogie Night since Art Boy first
kissed me. How quaint.

I need a drink. Why haven't I had a
drink? Stood at the bar,
I feel hot and the lights are loud and
I'm turning and

I'm falling. I remember
black and
rolling down a hill. Gravity was
persistent and I couldn't
stop rolling.

Northern Girl grabs me and
I come to. I look like a
scared rabbit appaz.

"I feel like I just had a fit."
"It looked like it."

And so,
B spends her Saturday night in A&E. She
calls Gil-o and asks for help, 'cause
he's coming over Sunday anyway and she's
scared. He's
reassuring, but he cannae make it.

Talking to Nom,
telling her the story.
"All I wanna do is call Art Boy."
"So do it."
"What?"
"You're scared. Do it."

His phone is off and so
there's a desperate call made to Plant Girl.
Followed by an apologetic text for calling.

It turns out B's blood sugar was
simply too low. Her body likes to
overreact.

Nom and B bonded good in the car before
B receives a phone call. It's
Plant Girl. She's at
home and she's
concerned and
we're chatting about all this random shit.

It's nice.

Me and Gil-o spent our night
eating pizza on the
Heath's golf course and
smoking our first joint together. The
first of many.

We sat in his car and
he introduced me to reggae in
the sweet hazy smoke.

It is possible to chill with your family. And
talk about life and your problems and
how you see the world. Like, honestly.

I saw Samurai Boy for the first time in
loooong time in my lunch break. I have
missed him so and
we're gonna chill in pubs and
at his house and
he reassured me that I would be okay. I
can do better than Art Boy.

You ever watched Babestation? You
ever watched Babestation whilst
fairly drunk and surrounded by
your girlies? Fockin'
weird, mayn.

Yesterday was beautiful. Hobo and
I went back to our roots, me
in my new tights and my Step-Pa's
jumper, early.

I sat at the Rugby Club on the
Heath and drank cawfee and
rolled cigarettes and
listened to Bob Marley. I felt
happy and
I'd missed Hobo so much. He fell into
my routine, which was our old routine
at Club. And this
is what I told him.

And some.
And he had some revelations too. His plot
thickens.

It rained another monsoon and
my ash tray filled up. Muchos
easier to stub out cigarettes. (Mundane,
but I like little details).

Plant Girl picked me up and
drove us to Cambers. She got her
cartilage pierced and

then
drink.

This was a night for
the need to say things and
learn things and
to tell each other we'd be alright.

There were things that I have never
confessed. Not even to Art Boy. Her too. I guess,
maybe there is something in private school
solidarity? You get each other's insecurities and
pressure and past.

We slept at my house, having
drunk a vast majority of my wine.

She's got me into DnB
a little more properly.

Thank fuck. I love this song.

Yehh, it was nice. It was nice to
not feel forgotten and
to feel like I still have a friend. I
knew I read her properly way back when.

I go to Boomtown with her and Art Boy next week. She
invited me, and I can sleep in her tent. Also
at Reading. I've been craving live music and
beer and
substance and
the wild streak. I guess I can get my wish?

B is getting there. But B is still sad. B is confused. B is beginning to blame herself. But B will get there.

Oh yehh, I finished Captain Corelli's Mandolin. I
now read Mrs Dalloway which,
so far,
seems to be about the beauty of life.

Bon.

the after shock

2010-07-29T01:38:00.000+01:00

The evening after my excursion and Siney
picked me up in his yellow car. We
drove to the Heath, where we watched
Roy-town in its
dusk. We ate
fish and chips

as cars went round the roundabout. I talked about
Art Boy and
Siney talked about life. He was playing
songs and I
began to open.

It seems that Friend really is
over me and so
I am over him. I'm done doing
stupid things and
saying stupid words. I'm done
screwing the nice guy over.

Siney drove us around country roads and
we listened to Spaceship on the
motorway. The gee-tar solo filled my
cotton wool head and

I came home.

Post-sex and
soulful songs and
my kind friend

combine to make me cry. It took five days for the
gate to open.

Mama gave me two glasses of wine to
send me to sleep. The
full moon on my face had
other ideas.

Online at one in the morning
or whatever
and Art Boy says "hey." Am I doing
alright?

And I feel again and
I can feel that hole in my heart. But this is progression? This is
more natural. I forgot that mechanics in the bloodstream create
chaos.

My body is exhausted but my mind's still whirring. Go to sleep. No
sleep.

current status: looking to the midlands

2010-07-27T17:23:00.001+01:00

This is B's guide to getting over an Art Boy.

You're not sure what to do with yourself now
'cause you'd planned to stay over his
and people you would normally get drunk with have
snuck into Secret Garden Party. Call your
best friend, who is at work. Accept her
invitation to see her.

It is humiliating to
cry in public and you might
not be able to anyway. Force
the tears out. Grief
will be brief
then.

Go to the pub with
said best friend. Gooch-y
generally knows what to do.

Change your relationship status with your
mama and a
glass of wine. Then
sleep.

The next day is probably the
bad day. "Morning pumpkin" said
Siney. This made the day
better.

Stay in your pyjamas,
make yourself a little fry up and
watch comedy shows. Go out as
A + A + B again.

Don't worry when you drive past his street. It's okay
to be sad.

Get high with Samurai Girl. Laugh
hysterically as she claims to have
heard from God. Feel inspired
and free
and mellow
and enjoy the loss of feeling in both your legs.

Inception is sick when outta your mind. Just
sayin'.

Have a night in with girls. Eat
fish and chips and
geek out over The Two Towers.

Let your driving instructor be your
mentor. Lolz.

When you miss Art Boy and
his bed and
his cat and
his friends and
his parents and
your old way of life

and to be honest, your
best friend

switch yourself off. Love is
bio-chemical. Who needs bio-chemistry anyway?

Put his things away in your
box of souvenirs and tokens. Don't linger on
happy objects.

Talk to Belle about how you really feel. Making yourself
fine does work, but B must talk to Belle.

Get your rebound on. Judge,
if you will. But returning to
Kitten's village to see that boy who had the
hots for you and
waking in his flat this morning,

smoking a rolleh outta the window
and sipping good coffee? That
does the trick.

I am sad
and I am lacking in direction
but it's early days. I did good at
not allowing a wallowing stage.

My cousin will be my roommate this
weekend. He's like an honourary brother and
he'll know what to say.

I remember my conversation with Stoner Kid.
"Fuck love." I'm fine,
I'm making myself mechanic.

thursday

2010-07-24T09:21:00.001+01:00

So here is the story as
promised.

I wish I had a voice over stating "This is
not a love story." I too love my hair and how easily I can
cut it all off.

B is walking to Art Boy's
house. She's excited to see him, but
a little nervous. What if he had more fun without her
and noticed? Or what if
she didn't want to kiss him any more?

Noah and the Whale accompanies her and
a text. I'm meeting him at cineworld. We
need to talk.

I know that phrase well. I'm shaking as I walk down
Rustat and rolling a cigarette with
trembling fingers at the grit salt
and my stomach lurches when I see him.

Formalities then straight to the
point. Are you breaking up with me?
"You know."
Why?
It turns out B was right. He wants to be
free.
Stupid neo-hippie.

But we're still chatting. We're still
friends. This is the perfect break up. Amicable
and it rains a monsoon.
I've always detested the sun when love was
terminated.

We run to a bike shelter and sit on the floor and
he's wrapped around me and
he's holding my hand and
we nudge heads as he kisses my fringe
occasionally. We're like this because
we're comfortable. We could be like this as
friends,
but it's too late. This has to end.

I told him about Friend. About how
we'd liked each other for so long. I
liked him now. I'd been considering leaving
Art Boy for Friend for about a month. And now
there was a girl. Crayon Girl.

It's strange because
Art Boy is assuring me that it won't last long. I
can still have my Friend. This is
backwards.

I told him about seeing Moshjokii and
freaking out. That was the end for
us, y'see.

I told him about being afraid to go through
motions with someone else. Kissing
someone else. Loving
someone else. And we talked about
the beginning. And his predecessors.

I convinced him that being friends and
having chemistry
was a waste. I want a chance with other
boys, but severing ties with him will
hurt
too
much.

We shall see.

This hurts.
"I'm sorry. I'll stop talking about Beni."
No generally. This hurts.

A tight hug good bye and
we draw away and
I can't look at him.

I'm sorry. I really want to
kiss you, and it's too hard.

He considers me a moment, then
draws me towards him. My dying
kiss good bye. Told ya,
this was the perfect break up.

I read my blog archives and
it could be twisted into a
beautiful story.

Here comes the beautiful pain.

end of a character

2010-07-22T23:55:00.001+01:00

Dear Heart,

You'll be fine. Cigarettes and wine may hinder you,
but the heart ache will lessen.

Art Boy broke up with me today. I feel very mixed up. It's
probably for the best. I can't see it now,
but I'm sure I will.

We're still friends. I told him about
Friend. Recognise
the irony.

There's a new boy who wants to get with me too. Thank god for
rebounds.

I went to the pub with Gooch-y. I'm currently
drunk. I don't know what happens next. I am
numb. I am sad. I am relieved. I am afraid. I am
hopeful.

Friend,
please believe you are not a rebound. I
cannot bear to come to you now
'cause that's what you'll believe. And
there's a girl. Though Art Boy tells me she's
temporary.

See why I'm mixed up?

I need you. But I need time.
You need time. We need time.

I miss him. He kissed me good bye
and it might not be the last.

Excuse me while I wallow. The full story shall be told,
I assure you.

B.

mellow/sleep

2010-07-19T03:46:00.000+01:00

Dear Art Boy,

I don't know if it counts any more, but hey. Happy
seven month.

I've been lying awake thinking 'cause
that's all I seem to do nowadays.

I'm with a boy who gets
angry when I get emotional, so I'll do it
here.

I was remembering all the times you told me you loved me. The
time we were wrapped around each other on your bed post-night out cawfee and
the time you blurted it over the phone requesting bacon and
the time you said it "in a non-drunken way" and
all the times you said it when you were powdered up

like the first time I said it to you and your face lit up 'cause I think you'd given up on me ever saying it back.

See, you started it. I wasn't going to
fall until you started saying it. I doubt you
remember any of those times. You started it but
now it's all my fault.

You also said that I never got this emotional on you before. I
did. Do you remember the time I told you about the
night my parents split up? And how I shook? What about
when I told you I'd just finished therapy? No,
probably not.

I want the past few months back. Because
I thought I was opening up to someone and
that someone was falling in love with me. But
that someone doesn't remember any of it. I feel like
my love story is practically fictitious 'cause
for him, it is.

He got offended when I said he didn't remember much when he was
drunk. He asked what he'd forgotten. I didn't have the heart to tell him
he'd forgotten falling in love with me.

What else did I want to say? Ah,
yes.

Friend barely knew me when he
helped set me up with
Hortensio. He didn't judge me when
I broke Hortensio's heart. When
Blue-Eyed Boy did it back, Friend
walked me home. He
listened to me talk about my Pap-y before
kissing me. He made me come to his house when
I was sad about you. Last time we spoke
he told me to call him if I needed
to talk.

That's what I want from you sometimes. Not
"I don't know what to say, B." Sometimes,
I want you to kiss me softly and squeeze my hand
until the fear goes away.

I know I'm not very stable a lot of the time
but I'm trying. You have no idea how hard
I'm trying and
when you get angry when I'm sad

I feel
abandoned?

What else? Uhm,
you've got love wrong. Being "in love" is lust. "Love"
comes after that, when you have a friend
but deeper. You piss me off no end but
I don't wanna leave you. That's what it is. "Marriage"
is a grown-up thing that comes with a stable income,
as far as I'm concerned anyway. "Love" can happen any time

over and over again.

So what I'm feeling is
that I stayed for the good times and
because I love you. But

"love" makes you afraid and angry and
you don't remember our good times. That is why
I asked you to convince me to stay over the phone all
those weeks ago. I wanted to hear that you still

wanted me. Because nothing feels very real any more,
not even what already happened to us. I wanted to feel something
real whilst I wait for my next real life to
begin.

It's a pity I'm better at articulating myself in writing
as opposed to words. If
you ever find this, maybe this will clarify me for you

'cause being confusing is frustrating me too.

shackled to the road

2010-07-18T18:53:00.000+01:00

Of late, I've
been vair vair busy. I
refuse to be the pining girlfriend.

I have done muchos drinking and dancing which
is not worth accounting for

but I met a friend of Gooch-y's. Some of you
know him as "The Runner". He's
lovely
and fun
and normal. I'm getting
wary of our indie types in Cambers.

We showed him our favourite pub
and stayed after he'd gone for a good ol'
DMC. Gooch-y's good at dissecting me.

"Ballet Boy was wrong for you. It's like you can't believe that guys won't leave you."

Mhm.

I told her about watching Peter Pan and
seeing a conversation I'd had with Art Boy on the
screen. I can't believe I watched a fantasy film
in order to understand my boyfriend.

We slept in my conservatory that night
under blankets and blinds
having watched heavy romance films
that did not end in romance.

Oh yehh, I stole a
beer mat.

I've been dreaming a lot. I keep being
reunited with Art Boy, and it's like before 'cause
he missed me
and kisses me hard and holds me close
and smiles and laughs
and

et cetera.

I also see Friend
and feel light and sparkly inside.

But then I could be right
and he could be telling the truth
when he says he's moved on.

I'm not just staying with Art Boy
because of this. And, I would not
leave Art Boy just for Friend. But
if it's true,
it makes me sad. Belle said to me
this summer could be my
last chance with Friend. If me and Art Boy
are not for lasting, then it makes me
sad that Friend might not be one of the
boys that I get to look back and smile for
too.

It's complicated. It's a fatalistic
and pessimistic perspective, I guess.

Me and Pap-y listened to Mumford and Sons in the car today.
I can't believe we've got to this stage.

another addiction

2010-07-17T16:03:00.000+01:00

I gotst a lovely award,
and it is fairly relevant.

Cheers Gooch-y!

Another questionnaire to fill.

Five things I love?
Well.

You all know I'm a total caffeine addict. I need to make lists of
essential Uni stuff eventually and
coffee
is the most essential.

Frank Turner. He's the
voice of my inner anarchist and
gives me hope that I don't have to
grow up.
He carries off his beard exceedingly well.

Saxophones. If you've seen Robert Lowe
pull out that solo in St Elmo's Fire,
you know what I'm talking about.

Ohh books. I love books so much. So much,
you can't understand how much. I guess
it's all about escapism and
authors who know how you feel and
actually know how to word it. I like
symbolism too. A lot.

Autumn. I really want it to be autumn,
just so I can wear jumpers over dresses again
and watch crisp leaves
fall of sleeping trees.

Here comes the less enjoyable list.

I dislike people who tell each other they
miss each other
and must "catch up"
because they used to sit next to each other
three
times
a week in classes
and never bothered to become friends back then.
Why now?
I ran into an old friend in the pub the other week
who "loves" me and "misses" me and "must catch up" with me
though we never bothered with each other for
two years after I left college.

Being told that I'll change when I'm older. I'll
grow up and
mature
and actually want to mellow. Why would I
want to fade into neutral tones?

The idiots on Gooch-y's formspring. Why bother
to snub someone on the internet for want of anything
better to do? Jeez,
surely if you take an interest in someone's life
it's because you like them? Please,
if you want to get close and personal with either of us

you can always find us in Fez. Kthxbai.

Tea. I know I'm meant to be all
English and that, but
ew.

Miley Cyrus. She's shit. Her
dad's alright. I've seen her
brother live. He's better.

Five other blogger addicts? Uhh
I'm going to be forced to repeat awards. Please
check out

Kabs
Violet
Lucy Brown
Beau and
Dahlia LaFleur

Go.

the benefits of retreat

2010-07-12T14:51:00.000+01:00

Art Boy disappeared to Benicassim,
so I'm getting my power back.

I got my hair cut and blondinated
and I bought a new dress
and I have taken to clipping a flower in my hair.

I re-made my favourite playlist (muchos
Donnas and
Aerosmith) and
I started to feel better.

Yesterday, I ran away. I
got on a bus and visited
Dean-y and her boyf (Cat Boy) in
the Ivo. I heart
the Ivo.

We drank beer and
watched the footie
and I smoked outside whilst
chatting about books and
history and
politics and
drugs (little
changes).

We played ring of fire and
drunken monopoly into the early
hours before sleeping on a
hard wooden floor. I
likee hard wooden floors.

For the first time in a long time,
I slept well. And,
there was nothing there that made me think of
Art Boy. I was free,
and had genuine fun.

Grime-y, hungover and blistered
was I as I wandered home this morning
but I was happy. Don't get me
wrong, I miss him. I wished
he was wrapping around me on the
floor.

But now I've found the crowd I can travel
north with come
October, I feel okay.

Growing up just got less scary,

da dum da dum da dum

2010-07-10T08:57:00.012+01:00

It turns out I can be
okay when I'm terribly terribly drunk
but I slept in my clothes last night
and said some words to Art Boy I probably
should not have
(though I can't remember them now).

For the first time in a
long
time
I'm having trouble remembering the
end of my night.

We lay in a street
and he kissed me softly.

Yet another boy states he "cares about me". What
does that mean?

Swinging back and forth;
two choices like a beat. It's
musical?

My blog has become dark
of late. I apologise if it's
dragging.
Belle's Bub took one look at me and

interpreted,
"You're an emotional wreck and
you don't know what's going on."

If there was a symbol for an instant subject change
it would be inserted here. If only,
essays could be so simple.

I shall proceed to chat shit
probably with a lack of structure
but then, I like some form of structure so
maybe I'll fix it.

Go with it.

I have talked about my blog
lots recently. A lot of people are
finding it, and that's fine. People
find it strange that I reveal myself on
t'internet quite so much. It seems
too open, too risky. Stupid,
even.

The thing is, I only started this because of
time restrictions. No time to write,
so logically you type. And people started to
like it, and I was
surprised because I hated it and had
promised myself I'd
stop.

I used to make things rhyme in my head
(and I would only show Moshjokii and Baby
my pages) and now I put them on a screen and
I have nurtured this for so long, it's like my chosen
art form.

One day, I will be a famous writer with an immortal name,
I promise you that. This is like my spider diagram. This is
where I practise writing
and rhyming
and I make a collection of material to
draw from.

Mama says I should mould this into a
fictional blog, but that's not the point. This
is B's emotional journey. B's, because
I have built a seventeenth century wall where
there is me
and there is my character. This makes me no less
genuine. In fact, the protagonist and the writer
are exactly the same
but B can be written down.

This probably sounds like a load of convoluted shit. And
pretentious. But
I'm trying.

I'll keep being honest. I feel
like I have been chewing on my bite of Cambers
for far too long. The taste is gone
though I'm trying to savour as much as possible
so everything feels a little less real. I feel
a little numb, so I feel and I have fun
and I can be happy and sad
and laugh and cry

but it's like in a different body.

So, I am sad about Art Boy because
I can't really feel. And I am worried
about Friend because
I am afraid I will not feel enough.
And I hate this, because when I finally feel sad
I feel like someone is twisting my heart
into a sailing knot, and I cry
and I'm amazed my tear ducts have not let me down yet.

Fringe-Face told me that I needed to remember my
inner independant woman. She is right.
Once again, gotta retrieve the groove. This means
blondination. That's where the power lies.

two households, both alike in dignity

2010-07-08T13:02:00.002+01:00

B drove for the first time today. Uh oh,
adulthood!
Good driving. Not
scary.

We got high in a park on Monday night,
all in teenie clubbing get up gear
and floated to Fez.
What a trance.
Hell, what a dance.

On top of that,
and I talk to you so much more now and
you don't know why and probably hate me for it (but then,
I romanticise. Just know, I'm not trying to
confuse or
hurt).

I just need to feel important and good
again, and you make me feel like that. And
I like you.

Why else would I have acted this way for so long?

But then there's Art Boy
who I saw again last night and looked
genuinely
pleased to see his girl.

Mind
fuck?

Especially when he seemed to make a point of kissing B's
cheek
as she stood talking to Friend,
despite not appearing jealous in times before.

But then
this could all be
fantasy. This is only an
interpretation.

PS. I was nice to Ballet Boy last night. I don't like grudges,
I don't want to hold them any more.

Though that doesn't mean I will be people's friends again.
Sorry.

forearms

2010-07-05T00:14:00.004+01:00

Sitting in Jaffa, sucking down the sheesha (pointless)
and I turn to Jay
and I say
(what an obvious rhyme)
"I don't want to be here any more."

I don't just mean Jaffa. I mean
Cambers. I mean
Hertfordshire. Sometimes,
I mean this country. I'm getting tired of
catastrophe
and drama
and heartache.

Mostly the heartache.

I went to a Leaver's Ball on Friday,
which mainly involved me running around saying
hello
to everyone. And then,
it was time to go and drink real drinks.

Story of my fucking life.

I met Art Boy on Parker's Peace
and we wandered home
together,
me riding on the back of his guided bike
in his hoodie and I felt
safe. Finally.

We christened his new summer house. These will be
my favourite summer memories.

That combined with Bobby Dee last night
with a hypnotised crowd and
cigarettes and weed and lighters alight all round.

I got on Crawler's shoulders and I could see
everything.
It was like at Reading, seeing the bird
and seeing the crowd
and feeling free. Festivals are still without a doubt
my home.

We got high in Art Boy's tent
(albeit in car park camp out)
before holding each other in the night.

I really have been trying to have fun. Well,
not having to try very hard, but
there is still an element of energy. I just,
I just hate feeling happy with the
tainted taste.

You know the tainted taste? The one where the boy you accidentally fell for is making the most of you whilst he can,
supposedly,
which is nice

but it still hurts that someone will get to take my place.
Someone a little prettier
and less emotional
and less complex
and more into his music.
Someone less ditzy, perhaps?

I liked the feeling of feeling special
and I don't feel special. At least,
not as much.
Not like the fire in his eyes.

I played football at a party today
with Siney
and I talked to Belle and her Bub
(please stick together, you two) and
Friend certainly seems to care about me,
so they say.

I have promised not to screw him over
'cause he is too important to me to
simply screw over.

I do not like the feeling that I care more about someone
who cares less about me
than someone who cares a whole lot more

possibly?

Art Boy knows the name of my blog now
(maybe he won't remember?)
so this could only get worse. If you are reading this
then please,
read further back. Don't judge me,
don't change your perception of me
and don't go just yet. I'm staying for the good bye,

but if you read back,
maybe you'll see why it's such a hard good bye.

The rest of you,
wish me luck. And if you're reading this to
laugh
or get a kick out of me being supposedly malicious,
that is not what this was for. The Couch put it as
"processing"
and it's nice that some of you care
and fuck the rest of you that don't.

Insert four letter word
and drunken B rambles.

i did not cry yesterday

2010-07-01T21:08:00.003+01:00

There has been much alcyhol and some powders and muchos cawfee and reading
(I read Captain Corelli's Mandolin now on the Heath)
and films and Gilmore Girls and music and laughing

and crying.

I am like a foetus
or a pendulum.

I'm hiding from the daylight under duvets
until I stumble to the bathroom. I start
swinging back and forth, from seeing my eyes in the mirror
to dancing hard or cycling over a massive hill.

Last night I walked to Art Boy's
except I put on Guns n Roses and Journey and
I danced in the streets
and sang at the tops of my lungs. Sometimes you need to
sing at four in the morning
and play air guitar in the road.

I'm trying. I'm really really trying. But
before I know, I really need to hang with him sober
on our own. If I'm only going to see you in the dark,
then what I loved about us truly is gone. And I'm wondering
if what everyone says is right.

If Friend still cares for me
(does he still care for me?)
would he be better for me? Would I love him
just as much to dispel
pining
and missing my boy?

Could I forget Art Boy when I wanted the chance to say good bye?

I know what would be best for me,
but I don't want it yet. I want things
the way they were.
I said to Mama,
I want to feel adored again. I want to be the
light in someone's eyes again.

I'm trying to be satisfied. Maybe all I need is
time.

I keep thinking
I don't want to try new relationships
because I want to be with Art Boy. He's like my
"part time lover, a full-time friend"
or he was.
But then, if he won't stay with me much longer
why not just get started?

I want to leave. I'm tired of Cambridge
and I'm tired of feeling
and I'm tired of trying not to feel.

I've gotta go.
I need to start over.

alors, bonjour tristesse!

2010-06-29T23:11:00.006+01:00

I must apologise for the frequented unhappiness and mediocrity of my posts. I will talk about the good times and my life outside the cavity of my heart soon.

For now, I've been going through some stuff and
I'm going to need your help. That is,
your eyes and ears.

I have cried at least once a day for the last five days.
I do not know why, but
I have been incredibly unhappy and
this has almost killed my relationship.

I have never fought with Art Boy before. It was
horrible.

I have found out that we were not falling in love. I was falling for him
and he is somewhere else. We have not formed a mutual attachment. He does not remember the times that he told me he loved me. I am not enough for him to want to commit. In short,
I misread everything.
My bad.

Don't get me wrong. He still cares for me,
but we have differing ideas on what love is. For him,
it is too big.
For me, he's the best friend that I get to see naked.

He will not stay with me after September.
It was up to me whether being with him this summer would be worth it.

My heart broke this weekend
and it's still raw.

I have tried to understand why
this was not the romance I thought it was
and Art Boy has tried to understand why I am sad in the first place.

We were once compared to Marc Webb
but it doesn't feel so true right now.

I told Dean-y the whole sorry tale today,
including the Friend saga, and cried on Christ's Peace. I
determined to see Art Boy and walked to the end of his road
where I sat for half an hour and waited for him to
find me.

Go home, B.
Just go home.

And I'm feeling lost and alone
and I ask the kinda stranger who sees my hands on my face
and he gives me good advice.

I went to Art Boy's house and stayed in his room until everything had been said.
I think we understand each other a little more now. Maybe
things can go back to normal.

Meanwhile, I begin the process of letting go.

It's hard getting over someone that you're still with
and it's hard finding out that the love story you thought you were in
was not true at all. You can play the game all you like

but it is only a game.

reminder of a hypocrite

2010-06-26T10:01:00.005+01:00

Dear Moshjokii,

I have a series of insecurities
and I'd like to do the B-thing and blame
someone else for it. I think
I'm pretty legitimate in doing so with you though.

I saw you last night and got pretty spooked.

I never actually told your story,
but I'm kinda starting to believe that heartbreak
is more like a shockwave.
You're kinda important in the rest of the

plot (is this a plot?)

Once upon a time, there was a fourteen year old girl
and she experienced her first
lock-eyes car crash moment
with a boy called Moshjokii.

After a few weeks of talking, they agreed to a date. However,
this girl was extremely shy
(she went to an all-girl's school
and was very conscious of her braces and
hair that never looked right)
so she made an excuse
and never went to Parker's Peace with Moshjokii.

Soon after that, the little girl's friend began to date Moshjokii
(realising he finally liked
someone else)
and Moshjokii became the girl's friend.

In time, her best friend. Albeit,
the best friend she fell in love with (yes,
I will use the cliche).

Christmas Day,
the girl is sixteen and single and sad
hence knocking glasses of wine as if they were diet coke.

Oh yehh, the girl's hair is now also black.

This is the day that Moshjokii betrays B
and comes onto her. It takes a few weeks for B to
respond
but nonetheless, she finally
cracks.

For two months the two exchanged
words
and such
as they rehearsed for an amateur production
that he was directing.

Valentine's Day is now forever tainted for the girl.
Adulterer's Day.

B experienced half a year's anguish
and self-hate
in her hypocrisy and betrayal and sin

and soon turned to one of her closest school friends for help.
This friend had now met Moshjokii
and was becoming his friend.

In time, best friend. Albeit,
the best friend she soon enough
fell for.

And he her
whilst B, heart ravaged
and self-esteem shattered
got left behind.

Moshjokii had embarked on a chain of infidelity.

Insert a summer spent forgetting Moshjokii
no matter how often he called
and texted
and emailed
and stalked her on Myspace (cool kidz).

This was the time to get over him.
This was the time to leave behind the hurt.

Except when he wanted to be friends. He
missed the girl. The girl did not want to miss him.
He called the girl out on the boys she was kissing. She
did not want to kiss him.

Slut.
Bitch.
Wasteland.

So the girl saw him last night. She
remembers losing weight
just to be prettier than the girlfriend. The
feeling of never being good enough.

She remembers feeling dirty
and not wanting to get hurt ever again
and so she kissed boys
and learnt how to drink away your sin.

She remembers lying to everyone
and losing her best friend
and then being betrayed by two.

She remembers the feeling of
always being second best.

She remembers the game of infidelity. She
knows the mechanics
and the signs
and how best to be sly.

These feelings have stayed with B for two years now.
I am sorry, Art Boy, if I get scared and stupid about other girls.
I'm sorry for when I look at you and don't feel pretty enough
or anything enough to be with you.
I'm sorry for the theme of unfaithfulness.
I'm sorry for being afraid that you will suddenly leave me falling

and crippling

with no explanation. You see,
it's happened before
and again and again and again.

I realised why I freaked out when you had your arm around
Little Girl last night. The feeling I got was
akin to the feeling I have in my sleep when you're with
the slut. Y'see, I had to pretend Jay rang.
I hate that feeling.
I'm sorry again.

I'm also sorry Moshjokii
for placing all of this on you. I'm sure
you have your own problems to think about.

Like Gooch-y said last night,
I never got closure. I got tired,
upped and left. It's the most painful thing
blocking something that you still adore
from your eyes and ears.

So there you go. The character exploration
just went much deeper.

feeling the way into adulthood

2010-06-22T21:19:00.002+01:00

I'm finding it difficult to differentiate between reality
and what I'm just coming up with in my sleep.

There are guitar strings and vodka glasses
and windfalls and guns
and zombie attacks (of course) and nazi bombs (who knows?)
and strange faces and strange friends and strange places
and sometimes I kiss Friend though I know it's wrong
and I've nearly forgotten
and sometimes Art Boy kisses her and sometimes he loves me

and bizarrely, there's a baby.

"You lost the baby?"
"I left the room for a minute."
"Then it's your fault. The baby is gone. The baby is dead."

I think Hayao Miyazaki finally got to me.

Me and Gooch-y woke up today after another drunken night out
(I'm sure you know the basic frame by now)
and drank coffee and made toast and watched The Big Bang Theory
all in Gooch-y's pyjamas.

Then I came home and found five pounds in my drawer and a can of beer under my bed.
Gawd bless my pre-adolescent self.

It's dawning on me that I like independance
but not taking responsibility. Cooking my own food is nice
but having to simultaneously build a father-daughter relationship
whilst holding him off with a crow-bar
(ephemeral),
par exemple, is not.

It's also dawned on me that I get afraid of Art Boy
because I am used to being unfaithful
so I expect him to think the same way. Maybe
I should believe him when he says he's a one-girl guy. Maybe
I should forget about the slut.

Or maybe I should stab her in the eyes.

I'm sorry,
now that I have time to think again
I'm afraid you'll be subjected to me thinking too much.

Future posts will be more coherent
and if you want me to shut up
I suggest you buy me a crystal ball on the black market.

haven

2010-06-17T21:40:00.003+01:00

I made myself scrambled egg on toast
before trekking to the
green bowl at the edge of my town.

The grass was sponge-y when I took my shoes off
and picked a place spotted with buttercups.

I like laying in the sun
as I finish Oscar Wilde.

'twas brillig

2010-06-16T18:55:00.004+01:00

I finished my exams today
and now have time to blog again.

Theatre Studies
English Literature
and History
alllllllll gone.

Sigh.

You may call me the Lady of Leisure.

I now have time to do whatever I like
and yes, there has been a long list compiling in my head.

I'm gonna read my beautiful
poor
neglected books
calling to me from my bookshelf. Poor things,
I've missed my fantasy world.

Stupid Iago.

Watch films
listen to music
and drink whiskey.

I can get out my babee (gee-tar) again.

I'm gonna go back to my Heath. In
the summer of year eleven,
I spent most days up there reading Bonjour Tristesse
and Breakfast at Tiffany's
and The Virgin Suicides

in ze sun
and my lahvly dresses

(ZEUGMA).

Me and Kitten have agreed to keep Sexy Orange Wednesday's going
(thank gawd, I was gonna miss her).

Aah, the green. Come back to me, my pretty!

We celebrated today in the pub,
drinking and smoking and having racist banter
(insert disclaimer: I am not racist, I'm just very good at taking the piss out of those who are)
and me and Friend hung out
and we did not kiss
so maybe we can still be friends.

Maybe.

I will spend this summer interpreting my heart
and letting go of those who broke it.

emergency: wet eyes at reception

2010-06-12T12:19:00.004+01:00

It's strange having to get over someone
when you were never with them
never slept with them
and (you think) you're in love with someone else.

Belle is going to help as best she can with the
resolution
so now I sit and wait for a sign.

This is hard.
This is so so hard.

Oh Friend, I'm sorry
if I made you sad.

getting through

2010-06-10T21:09:00.003+01:00

B's guide to surviving exams?

The library will bring you salvation.
Seriously.
More so than a thousand Jesus'
(sorry, I am an atheist. I am going to come off as if I don't give a shit.
Which I kinda don't).

So will Sainsbury's meal deals
and the ten minute sugar rush scheduled at five o'clock
and the hurried cigarette breaks in "Soul Tree Square".

It is incredibly important to
watch children's films. I
watched Bambi t'other day with Baby and
How To Train Your Dragon the night before my exam.
Vacuous non-thought provoking crap? Bring
it
on.

Going so stir-crazy that you
quietly hum the circus theme tune
draw on your friends' arms
and burst into a fit of giggles when someone bangs their head on a bookshelf

is okay.

Thou shalt be recognised in your local coffee bar
and have a "usual" by the end of the week.

Thou shalt also hate GCSE students
who take up the majority of the tables with their
clutter and Haribo and worried frowns about "not having enough time".

I sympathise. I
felt like that too. But
I did it in the comfort of my own home,
where sixth formers remained unfrazzled.

That glass of wine that is offered to you to get you to sleep?
Take it. Your
mother knows best.

Neil Young is a wonderful singer to work to. As
is Sigur Ros.

The amount of film nights that I'm having with Art Boy lately are getting ridiculous. It's nice though. He's familiar.

broken feet and stronger shoulders

2010-06-07T00:12:00.000+01:00

I sat up late with Mama and drank beer
and we talked about life.

She told me about Pap-y
and I told her about Art Boy
and we've started to feel better.

stupid girl

2010-06-06T11:40:00.007+01:00

It's been a strange week.

It was Venezuala's birthday on Monday, so
we all tripped to her house and
ate birthday cake and drank
wine.

B won the pinniata
(wheyy)
and
Venezuala has lost weight from her
vegan lifestyle and she looks
just
so
glamorous.

That was before we went to town.
Time to get stamped at Fez VIP style-y
before Regal times.

And there's Nomalish and Snack Boy and Pencil Boy
and we're hanging out again and it's beautiful
(plus vodka and coke, possibly shot).

B's fucked.

Dancing dancing dancing
and everybody's there
and Friend's there

(you can see where this is going. It
was just a kiss
in the dark

simply because I was scared
and I wanted to).

He still likes me,
I'm not sure how much. He certainly
wants to screw me. Nothing new.

The rest of the night is a blur,
raving to The Beatles in Fez
and various lethal drinks
before a taxi back to Venezuala's and a
blanket on the floor.

I confided in Venezuala and she made me feel
better but
there were still more nightmares.

I told Art Boy the next day
and he was fine.
Just fine.

And that freaked me out more.

I was wondering if I was another body to fuck
(apologies for crude language)
before fleeing to see his real friends.

I was feeling dull
and not funny
and not particularly knowledgeable about anything
and like a spoilt princess. Logically,
my only assett would be that I was
"doll parts".

Friend, as Gooch-y put it,
has always been "devoted" to me
and if I needed him he'd come running
(remember, he has before)
and he's chased me for about a year now.

Yesterday, I sat in the library again
with Buddy and Gooch-y and
I considered a pros and cons list (I was desperate)
but went for a cigarette instead. Me and Gooch-y
talked
and I considered ending it. I didn't want to
but I considered it,
Friend or no Friend.

Fucking hell,
on the way home me and Art Boy
pass by Friend.
We nod at each other and keep walking.

"Why didn't you guys talk?"
"Because it's awkward..."
"Why? You guys are good friends, right?"
"Yehh, we are. But we cheated on you."
"Not really."

W
T
F?

I spilled my guts out to him. Obviously,
not telling him I was considering leaving him for Friend.
Not even considering,
just wondering if I should.

I'm not just a body.
I'm his friend
and his girlfriend
who he can talk to for hours and trust
amongst other things.

I just wish he'd tell me that sometimes.

Me and Art Boy are too similar not to work. We can
play and watch scary films at one in the morning
and revise by the river and
drink cawfee.

He's like my best friend.

I feel better now
but I want Friend and me to be just that.
Friends.
We said we'd go to the pub
aand stuff. Here's hoping.

"We accept the love we think we deserve.”

dee dee dee

2010-06-06T09:34:00.006+01:00

Bonjour,
longue temps
non parler!

M'lady gave me an award
appaz for my music loving
(but I think it's to shut me up about melodrama
lolz).

1. List your 10 favorite songs on your ipod;
Gawd knows, I don't really have favourite songs on my ipod now.
Try these ones?

The Vines - Spaceship
Frank Turner - Long Live The Queen
Radiohead - Fake Plastic Trees
Hole - Northern Lights
Hole - Celebrity Skin
The Beatles - Come Together
The Beatles - Lucy In The Sky
R.E.M. - The Great Beyond
The XX - Night Time
Death Cab For Cutie - A Movie Script Ending

2. State the Color of your Ipod
Purple and brummie.

3. Pass on to Eight music loving bloggers.

Monsieur Nathan Anders likes cool music
like Bobby D and such. Respect.

kevin writes words
and they sound lyrical
and musical.

Beau's a bit of a fan of the Jonas Brothers
(she'll kill me if she finds out I told yas).

Seems a bit self-presuming to give an author an award
but I love Sarra Manning(ever since I was fourteen)
and she loves Broken Social Scene
and is a fellow Hole fan.

(Seriously, if ya haven't, check out Courtney Lurve
and love her).

r likes music too
and she likes my croon-y melodies
and we're gonna see Regina Spektor soon (j'espere).

Cheryl is addicted to
(you guessed it)
Cheryl Cole
but I donnae know where to link to any more. You guys will just have to
imagine.

Flat 23 broadcast an a
drug dealer christmas song. That deserves a
mention, right?

And last but not least
my Gooch-y
and her chavalicious musak.

gander

2010-05-30T01:01:00.001+01:00

I think I snapped.

I went away and I hid under a tree with my brolly up and my feet tucked over my bag
and I waited for it to lift.

I've hidden from my family all day. I didn't want to be in that library
(staring at Cromwell's face in that stuffy room drove me crazy)
and I didn't want to be in town with the swarming masses of faces

and voices
and cars
and beeping noises

and I didn't want to go home
(though the Heath seemed inviting).

And so I hid and smoked moodily and watched geese float idly by.

I don't want to make my parents pay for The Couch again
and it's still early days to think about it yet
but I'm not sure who to turn to
and normally I'd turn to Art Boy
but I'm afraid that he'll see my psycho and
go.

Little B is crouched in the front garden again
(metaphor)
arms wrapped around her skinny knees.

I'm sorry.
I just needed to write it down.

bonjour liberté

2010-05-29T11:58:00.007+01:00

Or not.

In my spare moments normally used for
dreaming
and looking for songs that make you "feel"
(remember Charlie's "infinity"?)
I am regimenting myself.

I've basically planned out my summer complete
with many many many festivals

and my cousin's wedding
(insert manic happy grin)

and now I'm looking into driving lessons
and sorting out University accomodation
and applying my pretty good knowledge of my
parents' divorce contract to argue
an exciting new arrangement
and creating budgets
and working out how to make my clothes actually good

and planning to get the barnet cut
(before a summer of butchering)
and blondinated (yeyyyz)

and desperately creating new money schemes. I'm gonna get a
second job.

You could say I've become neurotic.

I've had the most bizarre dreams lately. Art Boy
cheated on me every night last week,
and I felt fairly terrible when I woke up in his arms. I do not wish
to wake up angry and alone, despite
the welcome wash of relief that follows.

I dreamed of a fifty pound note on my bedside table too
(literal wishful thinking).

Ballet Boy has started turning up too,
and it always feels so accurate.
The other night we were going hiking and we spent most of the night
buying me a fleece (exciting, non?)
and the verses
and the movements
that would inevitably lead to sex on a mountaintop
were on the tips of our tongues and ends of our fingers
but this time

neither of us pursued it.

I don't wish it had never happened
but I wish it was possible to move past love.
I've never managed it. It doesn't make a difference
whether he has or not.

I see Moshjokii around a lot too,
and his mama in the library
and his sister in college (no more). I tend to be
holding Art Boy's hand
but I have to show no sign of recognition like
that.

It's weird to explain stuff like that to your boyfriend.
"Hey look! There's your predecessor. How lovely."

The thing is, I never unwish things
but I wish I didn't bruise so bad. One thing that I inherit from Pap-y,
I can hold a grudge like a mother-fuck
(I wish I didn't)
but that's mainly 'cause wiping things clean is my best way of handling.

It is not about resentment.
It is cleansing.

I also wish the world was not so conservative
or "grown-up", ya know? I watched a film where the grown-ups smoked pot
(in their sixties)
and I wondered, why the fuck not? Why are you deemed immature or "mutton" if you refute
subdued neutral colours
and drink a little too much
and like to shout and dance and kick about

and yehh, smoke a little pot?

Fuck.
Why is it raining?

curiouser and curiouser

2010-05-28T19:22:00.007+01:00

I was going to ramble about how this would be the first school I was going to
miss
in eleven years.

But I want to show you a few pictures that I like instead. I'll probably put up more throughout the summer
but for now, this is an example of Little B
smiling.

Look how she's grown,
little one.

A last supper
and plans for our last summer

and scrawlings on t-shirts
and telling Art Boy how much I'm gonna miss him come October.

It's done.

faren-height

2010-05-23T22:17:00.005+01:00

I have this thing where if I spend more than one day in a bad mood, I get worried.
Thanks Pap-y,
now please. Stop making me cry.

I will rectify this weekend with a happiness list.
Resurrect the study?

Me likee
a bit o' casual racism. Afro Girl is half-Angolian et
half-Porturican
and Buddy is Sri Lankan
and malheureusement, je ne sais pas environ Snack Boy.
There are a lot of hours of the day dedicated to a faux battle of the races. It
does not help that my boyfriend looks German.

No, seriously.
He looks so like Doctor Strangelove in his glasses.

Me also likee
post-apocalyptic speculation. It's
not exactly cheerful, but I find it interesting. A
lotta people seem convinced by the zombie fantasy?
I watched Brian Cox on Channel 4's election broadcast,
and he had a lot to say about meteors. One
that will hit in a matter of decades.

What happens after?

I likee
dipping my toes in the river
as I read about Charles I's head being chopped off.
Light up and
listen to Art Boy explaining the mechanics of Roman society
(it's dayum bloodthirsty and stained).

I likee
this intense heat. Sometimes it's so hawt,
I can barely move and all
I can do is lie blinking under the skylight
and
it's kinda sorta tropical.

And I'm sorry,
but I have to end on my favourite note. I likee
the boy, simply because
it's been a little while and I still really fancy him.

I feel scared
(I dread time)

but I wanna forget that.
I wanna watch Paper Heart.

poor little rich girl

2010-05-22T21:05:00.005+01:00

It's fairly backwards that I've grown up in a priviledged middle-class family
(that has an admittedly wealthy ancestry)
and was educated in an all girl's senior school

and I'm ashamed of every single aspect of it. As
soon as someone mentions that Pap-y paid my way through secondary school,
my eyes go straight to the floor
and I'm stutter-y and defensive.

I
hate
the
idea
of having too much money.

As far as I'm concerned,
money changes people when they become obsessed with it
and it ends relationships and makes parents absentee and creates this class-ist shit.

Meeting people who are having to take out Student Loans
and wondering how they'll fund their first home post-Uni
and having to keep my (trust fund) a secret.
That's right, I'm a dirty trust-fund kid,

which I would rather not have than have to feel like a spoilt brat when people find out.

I would also love to not feel like I'm being blackmailed by my father to spend time with him.
I'd rather spend time with him because I genuinely like him
than because I owe him.
Some kinda metaphysical debt?
Wonderful.

It's very bittersweet when you're grateful for the funds that have been saved to prevent you from
the bailiffs
and to fund your first house
but you're ashamed because you didn't work for it
which basically labels you as "spoiled".

Pap-y is contractually bound to pay my maintenance
ie. food and clothes and college shiz
until I leave higher education
and I work so that I don't have to ask for any more

so I am trying to be financially independant. So why do I always feel shade-y?

Insert picture
for effective subject change.

We sat in the woods last night
in a little clearing round a raging campfire,
sixties toons complete.

Me and Plant Girl
(yehh, we're kewl now)
got vair pissed and
there were frubes. Lolz? Frube-y.

I kissed Art Boy when his head started to ache
as he lay on the rug under the leaves
before smoking in his lap, content.

And there was breakfast with Gooch-y aujourd'hui
(brunch? Lunzies? Je ne sais pas)
in some god-forsaken cafe,
quaint? Mhm, chilleh.

We revise outside now,
'cause the sun is high
and the river is cool.

PS. For those of you who don't get it,
this blog is not really meant to be understood.
If you like to read it, then read it. If you don't,
quit whining.
Move along?

the taste of fear (seasoned with whisky)

2010-05-16T17:09:00.005+01:00

Sunlight dwindles
as pale smoke curls around B as
she waits at the train station.

There's a familiar feeling but not as familiar as it
used to be. Remember
hiding
in empty bathrooms and bedrooms and fields,
foetal in the dark.

Fronds have wrapped around my heart and
are squeezing it to choke
whilst my stomach somersaults and my body clenches and the sky closes in.
Greetings,
back so soon?

This is the feeling of being trapped in your head with nothing but anxiety for company.

I call my boy,
I need to see him at the Rock. I need his parents not to see me staring wild-eyed from my skull.

"What normally solves this?"
"Hiding and vodka. But there's nowhere to hide!"

Lolz, I'm still capable of a joke. And of abstaining from vodka.
He held my hand and made me spill out my worries
like detoxing an oil spill.

I need to stop underestimating him.
"I thought you were gonna dump me!"
Instead, this is an Art Boy who takes his rigid
crazy-eyed girlfriend
and gently kisses her until she snaps out of it.

He comes up with an English Breakfast
analogy for her.

One hour of playtime before

an "I <3 U" on the back of her hand in eye pencil
and a worried text when she disappears for too long.

It's strange looking at a music video and thinking
I've seen your recording studios
and drank your alcyhol
and taken your substances.

The problem is that the more he takes care of me
and the more fun I have here
and the more my friendships solidify

the more I fear that beeping time bomb.

cocoon

2010-05-10T22:51:00.004+01:00

I did it. I
bleached the spot on my brain.

"Guys, I'm hanging up now. I have to send a message without sounding like a twat."

Apparently I have more readers than I thought?
Ah well,
I guess some of the messages I wrote should get read.

At least, now you all know?

love story with a disjointed ending

2010-05-08T20:35:00.003+01:00

Ohhh-kay
there's this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that appeared sometime around the moment I got back my English grade

(don't get me wrong, I did well. Yeyy?)

Thing is, now there are no obstacles
and I'm taking exams in a month
and then there's one summer between me and Birmingham.

The sick feeling just got worse.

I missed my Gooch-y
so last night we drank lots and danced a little and
had a fast heart-to-heart as I walked her to the train station.

I took her and Afro Girl's advice
and as we lay in the dark I hid in it and got brave
(with a lot of false starts, admittedly)
and blurted "What happens?"

because it's been eating away under my skin for a while.

You haven't thought about it
so I just came out with it. I'm not ready to say good bye and I'm not sure that I will be
but you're right. We have a long summer ahead of us
and we might as well carry on being happy.

I said I'd thought about it "a little"
but y'see, I've thought about it a little more than that.
I have ideas

'cause it's a miracle that I've stayed with you this long
(I never normally commit like this to people)
and that's why I can't throw it away
yet.

Promise me we can talk about it at some point
so I know where I stand with you.
And I'll promise not to hold on too tightly 'til the cracks start to show
which is something that I am terrified of every day
'cause it keeps fucking happening with the ones that matter and it can't happen again.

Kudos to wrapping yourself around me and changing the subject. Very skilfully done, my friend.

vote for change, uh huh

2010-05-07T09:54:00.004+01:00

I stayed up all night (well,
until one)
to watch the political "revolution" that was promised the first time I voted.

I'm going yellow,
continuing a sunshine theme.

The kidz at college have been getting pretty intense in political debates lately,
which is always fun to get heated about when you're feeling lethargic.
I'm sorry,
but claims that youths aren't interested just aren't true.

"I just voted, Bingle!"

I woke up to a blue majority,
a Hung Parliament
and many many down-hearted teenagers.
We're fucked,
basically.

"Will the last person out of Britain please switch off the lights?"

"what are you guys gonna do?"

2010-05-03T22:58:00.004+01:00

I don't know when,
but at some point I started to find you irresistable.

I do a lotta thinkin'
and not a lotta sayin'
(words don't roll easily off my tongue, unless they're someone else's)

but I thought you should know that I
spelt a word on your back in the dark
and that it's in the back of my throat every time you kiss me at the top of Station Road.

snippets in notes and anecdotes

2010-04-29T23:14:00.002+01:00

I've been all busy and important doing busy and important stuff,
so a lot of this will be very unchronological.

It was the twenty third of the fourth
and it was hawt hawt hawt
and the air was hazy

which is just asking for the youth to crawl blinking out of their dinge-y classrooms and wreak some havoc into the night.

Well, we threw a little party.

A gang of raggedy teenagers in Art Boy's back garden, fists clutching glowing cigarettes and bottles of beer
hammering posts into the ground and hanging string from trees
(we, the girls, are pinning the sheets together)
before draping our masterpiece over the garden.

We built ourselves a fort
then forty good-timers got pissed in it. How many
eighteenths have you celebrated in that fashion?

Highlights include B having an intellectually stimulative political debate around a campfire
with some dickhead for Tori policies
(no really, he was such a twat about his views)
smoking some green with Gilb-y around the corner of the house
and dancing to Ben E. King in the "Roman Sex Den".

The arian kids curl together on a rug on the kitchen floor
before the girl-y finally puts her boy to bed.
This is what we have become.

"I love you, and not just in the drunken way."

B paid her Godmother a visit in Lahndahn
who is unmarried at fifty and still happy
travelling the world, seeing the world, learning the world
and picking up boyfriends along the way.

Dear Mama,
I rediscovered your shoulder that day I got sick.
Have we finally reconciled?

I think too much when I'm delirious with flu. I wondered whether pigeons are addicted to nicotine due to second hand smoke in cities. Any takers?

Dear Ballet Boy,
I wondered how many people saw you on the screen
and I wonder how many people want to vote for you
and I wonder if you'll win and get that contract and go far with your pals
and I wonder if the fame will go to your head,
which it will. And we all know
your band will go far, 'cause you're not the same as anyone.
You were on This Morning just the other day. How strange, it's like you're already a celebrity.
I know you told your violinist you were a dick to me,
so maybe you're sorry?
I'm sorry too, but not as sorry as you should be.

I thought about you
and about it all today and I wasn't angry. That was a first.
Look, I'm growing.

I made the boy a friendship bracelet for his birthday
(budget poor-girlfriend gift, ya know?)

I'm getting so used to Art Boy
and falling in love with him
that imagining leaving for Birmingham is almost unbearable.

I encourage you to beat up David Cameron here.

Of late,
my life is a library.

quest for definition

2010-04-21T22:22:00.006+01:00

"The first time I met you, you struck me as someone not normal. Not in a bad way, you just seemed cool 'cause you wouldn't follow the sheep. You wouldn't do what everyone else was gonna do,"
he said.

We have the strangest friendship,
you and I.
I always ring you back 'cause I'm afraid of what you'll do to yourself
and I wanna get to the bottom of what's made you so troubled.
I guess "troubled" would be the right word.
We get each other,
but like I said to "Cheryl" earlier, it's one of those typical High School Musical
slash Grease Lightening
slash Mean Girls (minus the plastics) situations.
Ii ee too different.

I thought of the perfect analogy. Art Boy
is like my playmate. We draw on each other
and poke each other in the library
and playfight when we're bored. I like to make my eyes really wide when he's kissed me
all Paranormal Activity style-y to freak
him
out.

Students stressin'
and dainty dressin'
and the smokers no longer look grim in the murky grey.

The calendar's ticking.

when way back when

2010-04-18T15:11:00.003+01:00

I just read something about someone feeling less since they became
average.

I feel like that.

Dear universe,
I gotst fixed, but
now I have writer's block.

I got a boyfriend and a job and worked hard at college

and I stopped drinking so much that I'd feel like I was less flesh and more steel and hide away and hit myself until it stopped,
stopped feeling sad without knowing why.

Pastel colours are infiltrating my vibrant fuschia boudoir.

I'm not unhappy
or bored,
just nostalgic.

Mm, piercing light
and heat pools on warmed skin
days.

people who like to watch

2010-04-17T10:28:00.006+01:00

I think I have a taste for aesthetics. That might be the
right word?

Par exemple, I'm sitting at reception at work
watching the cafe. Grubby men sit at little round tables
bearing earrings and faded jeans
completed with the unshaven look. Cafe Man feeds them scrambled egg and cawfee
and jives to his token jazz on the kitchen radio.

I dunno,
I just like the image.

I left Birmingham University and turned back to give it one last look.
The sun was shining between two buildings, and I could see
the vast stretch of city illuminated.

Gritty and nasty
with eye catching moments interweaving?

"Hey, I know me and Plant Girl are close and everything
but you shouldn't worry. You're my girlfriend.

She, you and Glowstick Girl are probably my three best girls.
For different reasons, obviously.
I wouldn't wanna lose any of you."

Unprompted romance through
beer goggles.
Lolz.

I forgot that a year ago yesterday,
Ballet Boy first kissed me.
Fuck.
I'm remembering these dates so I can forget each incident
one
by
one.

In other news, my hair looks like some coquettish maid's feather duster. I lahv being
blondinated
(especially when the hairdresser gets me to show her how to get the trademark bedhead look).

I have an unhealthy obsession with les coiffures.

ah, c'est très drôle

2010-04-14T19:59:00.004+01:00

Afro Girl's unfinished bottle of vodka's still sat on my desk.
I propose a variety of toasts.

Par exemple,
sitting on my garden patio with some of my best gals,
two in the morning
huddled in duvets
smoking cigarettes
drinking vodka from coloured crockery.

That's the way to chat about life.

The way to wake up is to Wimbledon on repeat. I can now
recite that film.

Running into old friends in town
and drinking cocktails with old
and lonely phone calls from the faded.

Bowls of pasta on Parker's Piece
accompanied by "open" talks
and closely followed by discounted pizza. Gawd bless
restaraunt connections.

The prospect of seeing Art Boy in
two days.
It's been a week, and I called him
sitting on the local park
lit cigarette and R.E.M. complete. I miss his
voice.

Hobos who tell you you are beautiful
and others who wish you an amazing day for the price of fifty pence.

intoxication

2010-04-12T10:40:00.008+01:00

Truth be told,
I nearly gave up writing this week. Blogs that seem wholely devoted to other halfs really annoy me
(I always thought of them as kinda two-dimensional,
or something?)
and that's all I feel I talk about now. Urgh.

Like Gooch-y said in hers a while ago,
blogs about happy people are dull. Or something to that
effect.

But I'm set on flying fast whilst I've still got wings
and I wanna remember everything.

"I might stop writing 'stars' when I go to Birmingham."
"Maybe write something under the same persona?"
"Yehh."

Who knows? We'll see.

It's been an Easter fuelled by alcyhol,
of course. I slept off a Lunedi hangover at Art Boy's before eating breakfast in front of
Mars Attacks. That was when I felt incredibly happy.

Comfort increases
as shyness decreases
and I don't sit at the table and worry about the silence any more. His family moves around me
and he mounts artist research on beige boards
and I just watch.

Insert revision
interjection.
Ugh.

Fast forward and we're cooking pizza in my kitchen,
having spent the day revising together
(I caught the sun rays)
and watching clouds roll over. God put up his washing line and
the Great Pink Sea Snail.
We're getting ready for a party, skipping trains and attempting crosswords. Thank gawd for the
infinite numbers of Barclays pens in my bag
(I like when my bag rattles, I carry my
lifee inside).

The hormones will hit you like a wall when you enter. A
chemical welcome
to say the least, followed closely by the search for Crayon Girl's whiskeh.

I'm not drunk but I'm venting off energy. This
is Friend's party and I'm running on pent-up nerve-y feelings,
jumping on Hortensio's back and being carried outside by Hat Boy.
I'll say it again,
why the fuck is Art Boy actually with me?
Especially as me and Gooch-y end up getting off (whatever she tells you,
her fault. Lolllz).

Remembering a night that involved a full bottle of Blossom Hill on a basically empty stomach,
it ain't so easy.
I know there's a detail that's been completely wiped
and lord-y, how I wish that we'd strapped a camera to Gooch-y. Any suggestions for explanations of her supposed concussion the next morning are welcome.

The best cure for a hangover
cuppa strong coffee (one fork or two?)
mug of steaming noodle soup
and wonder at the damage a rice crispie explosion can cause in one kitchen.

"I don't really get why people blog."
"Well, I write about things that make me happy. I write about you a lot."

Gooch-y took this when we sat outside Gardenier's. I like it
lots.

I sat on the ferry and looked around
me and we looked at a house
and he was like a satellite on my brain. How strange that
smiling on the inside feels better than actually smiling.

Never before have I got this far.

Bass Boy and I played chess in the pub last night
before our merry band ran off to our buddy's gig
and several pints in a booth in the corner. We bonded over drugs
and love
(of course, Reading was constantly on the tip of our tongues)
and the fear of losing one another when we all go our seperate ways. Me and Cute-y are determined to salvage the group
though Gilb-y has to leave the city in the summer. It's gonna be so sad!

As Dean-y put it last night,
"B, what is WITH your random life?!"

sugar coma

2010-04-06T19:29:00.006+01:00

Add to alcyhol hangover and sleep deprivation and stir.

There was a chilli shot last night
and a jagerbomb
and a strong vodka and coke.
I remember that much.

Ooh, and an outfit swap with Gooch-y! We looked
fiiiiiiiineeeeeeeee.

Art Boy was stupid, but he more than made up for it
making sweet eyes at me and what not.

Ya know when ya just feel like you belong with people? Not just lovers but friends too. If talking to someone is exciting or chill-axed or completely crazy in its best
excess
like, every time you talk. I dunno.
I'll shut up.

I do love student nights.

It's strange sitting in a library with the sun weakly shining outside again.
It kinda feels like summer
and the beginning of this blog.
Back then, I drank cawfee and memorised the fuck outta Rossetti with
a gang of English students
and one of them is still one of my best friends now.

Ohh, times. They are a'changing
and words along those lines.

Oh la la, j'aime beaucoup gagner ce cadeau. Merci Gooch-y, ma cherie!

The rules of this blog award are:
1. Post this logo within your blog or post
2. Pass the award onto 5 fellow bloggers
3. Link to the nominees within your post
4. Let the nominees know they have received an award by commenting on their blog
5. Share the love and link the person whom you received this blog award
First off, Beau at From Beau With Love must have this award. Every post she does is happy and appreciative of the little things. You should check out her dad's company, Psonar, too.

I found fanny at mon petit navire kinda recently, so I haven't read much just yet. I love her scrap book style-y though, again putting pictures of little things that she's liked that day. She's a food blogger too, so some of her posts are pretty M&S food-gasm-y like, aye?

Fiona Robyn at a handful of stones brightens up my day every day. She doesn't technically write the stuff that comes onto this website, but she nitpicks the right ones. I've got a favourite that I'll post up here someday.

I keep giving her awards, but she is just so dayum good: naomi megan at rockstar diaries is the most relentlessly optimistic blogger I've ever come across. It's ridiculous. But awesome. And she publishes happy lists. That's where I got the inspiration for mine ya knoww.

I. Well. Heart alexfralex at blog titles are lame. She's so witty and her metaphors are insane. I really wanna see her write something or make a film someday. I think it'd be fucking good.

I walked down the street today
and I felt happy.
Like the world was rose-tinted again.
It's nearly that time of year again.

The sepia light is seeping back.

the gradual ascent

2010-04-02T18:37:00.010+01:00

Three signs that it's about time the term ended:
homeopathic pills
flu
conjunctivitis.

Don't you just hate it when you wake up in your boyfriend's arms and you have gunk in your eye?
Huzzah.

Everything feels solid. Like I keep saying to people,
we seem to have formed the relationship we both want. It's smooth sailing,
aye?
I don't wanna be trite and go on about a perfect life
('cause Friend is in the background messing with my head, let's be honest)
but I'm pretty content with Art Boy.

I showed him a blogpost last night, and some
comments
on my last post
just to explain why I blog in the first place.
But we agree that this is my thing, he doesn't need to read it. I'd prefer he didn't, really.
"You make me smile."
Boy, you make me light.

I've always been pretty honest here, so I suppose I should keep in with that
tradition.
Here lies a paragraph of further character exploration. But only once.
Just to get it down on paper (keyboard?)

B has a strange relationship with food. She has never been anorexic or bulemic in her life,
and isn't planning on heading that way,
but at the age of fourteen she did begin to eat her feelings.

Feelings taste like sugar and carbohydrates.

A year on, she was desperately trying to lose weight. Her Ma had remarked on her
rapid weight gain
and she had dyed her hair black and acquired some braces.
In short, B felt incredibly ugly. Going to a girl's school,
where the ratio of beautiful people is more concentrated (I guess),
was not a great help.

Ten and a half stone to nine stone seven took a year
and it took an activity holiday involving mountain biking
kayaking
and intense hiking
to drop to nine stone three.

That is now my average weight,
combined with newly straight teeth and a blonde crop
making for a new B. People often take a double take when they re-recognise her.
Woot!

Now I watch what I eat like a hawk
or a thousand hawks.

But my mindset fluctuates, you see.
I can go for a while without eating,
like if I'm not hungry or faint, then logically my body isn't empty
and I'm not low on sugar. Eating would simply be glutonous.
But then someone offers me food
and it's like a trigger in my brain making me
wild
for carbohydrates.

Once I start, I can't stop eating.
It's almost like a binge, but I'm not throwing up
neither am I starving myself.
And one thing that I have noticed about myself,
when I'm eating
I solely focus on the food. I eat so quickly 'cause during meals
I can't stand talking. The food is all I see.
Twin-y remarked on it first, 'cause appaz I'm "cute" when I eat
but it did get me thinking.

Not to worry though, I eat a healthy balanced diet
'cause let's face it, I need to make up for my other vices.

Like I said,
B has a strange relationship with food. Now,
let us never speak of this again.

I'ma going to Reading again. Art Boy created a military operation in his kitchen
with five internet tabs
and two phones on the go.
He's getting a tent for the two of us. B likes this.

I'm more than ready to wake up surrounded by flags and chaos again.

the hero shot

2010-03-27T19:47:00.012Z

So,
in spite of the flu and exhaustion and consistently runny nose endured this week
the days were pretty beautiful.

B was admittedly a little angry with Art Boy on Sunday
until he blurted that he loved her in a phone call concerning bacon and reimbursement. I wish I could have seen my face as I hung up.
Gooch-y did.
She looked dead amused.

The following day would find B back in Art Boy's kitchen
but this time in his pyjamas, sniffing pathetically and trying not to fall asleep in her own cuppa coffee. It turns out being force-fed chocolate biscuits does wonders for mysterious-lethal-evil-soul-sucking-brain-crippling viral body invadors/infections.

There was a reunion with Belle this week.
I've missed her so gawd dayum much,
it's been TWO FUCKING MONTHS since we last met. Let's not do that again?
She looked purty. I'm happy she's still happy.

Two teenagers and
one bubble, specifically their bubble,
they stumble about his bedroom
trying on clothes and she
discovering.
This is when childhood secrets
escape.
Running fingers through newly shorn hair,
she does miss his
long locks.

But he still looks good when he winks at her across the kitchen
(yet another party).

Holding hands on a
bridge.
"Is it a bad time to tell you I love you?"
"But I'm a pile of shit!"
Lolz.

It's just moments when finding someone's lost sock becomes a heroic gesture that make B wonder,
did we get dull?

I want to show him the Heath tomorrow. I found a new spot on the golf course,
I'll bet it looks pretty in the Spring sun
(kinda blue,
like new?)

Another Friday night
and B's experiencing something like the Final Encounter.
Y'know when the Hero nears the completion of their quest
and there's that one obstacle standing in their way?

The Boss.
Bonjour, Blue-Eyed Boy. Ça va? Est-ce que tu pense jamais à moi? Ou est-ce que tu oublié?
Ça va bien
mais seulement maintenant.
Salaud, me faut retourner à la pute qui m'a accouchée,

she said
in her head.

B was in fact very well-behaved,
drinking enough champagne to keep her head-y
and staying on the other side of the room from him and his girlfriend
before running away to join her laydees in town.

I look forward to Birmingham
where I need never see any of that group ever again. I can come back and focus on my real friends,
leave Barbasian and that far far behind.

Ohh "Cheryl", I am sorry I wasn't very exciting last night. But that cawfee this morning was
just
so
good
and I'll see y'all on Tuesday, aaaye?

We ate chips on King's Parade,
and talked about life again
(we do frequently). We have a spot
specifically for
this.

One of my favourite things in the world is to listen to music in a car that my friend is driving.
Today, Siney drove us to various potential picnic zones
and we listened to heartbreak music
and Benjamin Gibbard.
Diego came too, and we were artistic together.

Happy
three
down the country roads.

she has secrets too

2010-03-21T09:14:00.005Z

Strange occurences

'cause I woke up on Friend's sofa this morning.

I logged into my email at work to find a long apology from Art Boy for being somewhat shit yesterday. I'll try to see him later.

Friend spoke to me on facebook chat (wheyy, techno emotional spillage)
and he could tell I was feeling un petit peu triste. Something about
hoping Art Boy doesn't look at me and think "She's the best I can do at the moment.
Yehh, she'll do until something better comes along,"
because I do worry.
Something else about not wanting to have to ask other people if he really likes me. I want
him to tell me.

Friend has felt the same before with his ex. He told me to come to his,
drink some cawfee and not be on my own.

I got something stronger on the way.
Gawd bless
Blossom Hill.

So, we babysat his sister
and drank into the early hours
and smoked out of his door

and slowly he curled himself around me as I sat rigid
still,
trying not to be the bad guy in my relationship.

He held my hand as I drifted off to sleep, but
I didn't let him kiss me.
That was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.
It's never the right time for us.

Dear Universe,
Have I sufficiently proven my feelings for Art Boy yet? Are you satisfied with my commitment yet?!

thank fuck for that

2010-03-18T18:41:00.006Z

Today, a group of raggedy red-eyed teenagers gathered in a darkened theatre
(knees jiggled
and stomachs lurched)
and prepared for a practical exam.

Two months
countless cups of coffee
rushed cigarettes
tubs of Tesco pasta
quirky warm-up routines
sleepless nights
and that fucking rug

and it all comes down to this.

It actually went okay,
though I thought last night's pitta bread was gonna make a fast reappearance

and now B has time to recount her life again.

There's been a lot of changes for everyone lately, so starting tomorrow, my ears can be open again. I've felt awful for neglecting my friends for this.

I'm on the lookout for a sign again. I'm not sure why,
maybe I should put you all into context?
It's strange what a strong theme "infidelity" has been in people's lives lately. B received her own test recently.

Comment il s'appelle?. Green Boy.

But strangely, B was good. And was told that she'd done heaps for Art Boy's personality,
and had done well considering how he was picky with girls.
Huzzah.

I guess what I'm apprehensive of is that
absence makes the heart grow fonder
but the grass is always greener elsewhere too. I keep wanting to say

"Here I am. You can have me back, if you still want me?"

Thank you for coming to see my play, Gooch-y! I lahv you for it, and I PROMISE I will be there to smoke with you and listen to you and be the butt of your lesbian jokes now.

all in the timing

2010-03-11T21:49:00.003Z

I don't normally post up pictures of ma face
but this one is just too good to waste.

I wanna be free to kiss Art Boy and smoke at Club and actually listen to my friends in an unhurried manner.

Such is the life of a student.

the seal on a good bye

2010-03-07T21:24:00.003Z

I deleted my last post
'cause I don't really like sounding suicidal nowadays.

I'll try the homage again.

Fifth of the third two thousand and ten
a year to the day since Blue-Eyed Boy sat me down on a bench in the glorious sunshine
(best
red dress, long hair
and too much love)
and cut me loose. It's the feeling that you're suddenly floating and you're not sure where to and you're scared
and you've been left without a life belt.

Then picture a cartoon cliff where the character is falling,
bouncing along the way and crashing into more and more rocks and trees that obstruct the way down.
Painful and smashing and finally she lands,

now for the long climb back up.

Also the day that Art Boy first names B his girlfriend,
to her at least.

I'm still not altogether good with Plant Girl,
but days like today
when he holds my hand as we watch Forrest Gump,

well, they make days a little more okay.

remember our matching pyjamas

2010-03-04T21:04:00.005Z

I won't start this with a cliche like "I'm not usually the type to..."
because I blatantly am.
There's just been a section of my brain that's lain dormant for a little while.

I wonder why I used to be like that?
I guess there's always the insecurity explanation, but
I really don't think that was a major factor. Mostly I liked the rush
and the conquest
and the hormonal chemical passion balance that came as a reward.

It was exciting.

Uhm
Friend broke up with his girlfriend last night. It doesn't matter that much,
it never did.
But then that's a lie
maybe.
You suppress a possible feeling so much that it disappears all together,
like a safe place for your spectacles that you then promptly forget.

I [insert four letter word here] Art Boy

(I don't like saying it, even in my head,
'cause if this ends tomorrow then I'm in for the shit
and if he finds out he may freak out
and it may be too soon anyway)

and he brings out this side of me that I like. I'm girl-y and soft and sweet,
or more so,
in his presence and he's just so cute towards me.

But what if Friend is the one who brings out the real me?
And -
huhm.

Please note, I am not over-thinking and worrying and screwing into a ball of confusion. Contemplation.
I am also aware that this makes me a massive hypocrite. Huzzah.

I never forgot all that rolling around under my sheets
and how he looked so out of his depth. That's my problem.

I'll be back at Art Boy's tomorrow. I've missed him so so much,
and I really need to take my mind off stuff.

Tomorrow signifies the end of a lot of things. Yeyy?

rose garden

2010-03-01T15:54:00.000Z

"Dig now, out of the corner of your eye..."

I'm taking a leaf out of a literary genius'
tale.

J'aime
looking up at the sky and seeing how blue it is
then seeing the objects scattered below it. A scabby Subway with flats housed above it and a red brick roof and
cigarette butts littering the ground. Wishing you had a polaroid camera so you could take a picture and feel like Beat Streulli.

The feeling that you've made it through the SADA and there are smiles on everyone's faces like they feel it too.
Anticipating a reprise of a summer of love.

Music that makes you cry
and films that make you cry
and poems that make you cry.

The smell of buttered toast and toasted hot cross buns in the morning
and extra nice when found in someone else's kitchen
(another morning after thing, I guess).

That moment at a party when someone
(usually a long-haired boy in gawky stance) picks up an acoustic guitar and begins to play,
Wish You Were Here being the typical favourite.

Feeling like you belong. You can talk shit and people will listen. You can come up with weird schemes and actually mean to see them through. You can prod someone's shoulder as you pass
and earn a greeting smile.

Collecting mugs. I have several, mostly gifties from my
friendies.
I heart sentimental value,
and crockery is the way to that heart.

Gals with hanging blondie hair and Topshop blazers and red lipstick.

Listening to Dean-y talking about her weekend. Even though I'm more of a "blow off some steam, let's go crazy!" kinda gal,
I like hearing her stories about sitting around a kitchen table drinking tea with her best friend and boyfriend.

Worrying about Art Boy
and then pacifying myself when I remember the good things.
"This is our song."

Bonjour, le mars. Être sensitif, s'il tu plait!

the art of being adored

2010-02-27T17:37:00.003Z

I am a romantic and a dreamer and an idealist and a pessimist with a low self-esteem. Une bonne combinaison?

Several things happened last night, the Friday night cure mostly bringing them into occurence.
Art Boy tried to tell me he loved me again. I told him to tell me when he was sober, 'cause I did and I didn't know if he was sincere. And I spilled my heart as I clung to him for dear life 'cause the room was flashing lights and I am afraid of my own heart
and then he left the room. And I put my head in my hands 'cause I realised how much I was saying to him and Plant Girl comforted me (yes,
I need comforting when I do the normal thing and tell the boy how much he means to me) and she said he loves me.

The others left and the two of us were sat at the kitchen table with
une bouteille de vin.
And I'd started talking and I couldn't
stop.
And Art Boy asked about my parent's divorce, so I told him.
I told him everything, right up to
last summer.

So now he understands,
if the alcyhol hasn't wiped his memory first.

We talked until five in the morning about everything and nothing,
me admitting more and more about my feelings for him,
he finally delving into his past a little. It's good. It's so so
good.
But the more I open up, the further I feel I have to fall.
And I am afraid.

B has her own toothbrush in his household now. Progression?

Wow.

"It may perhaps be pleasant," replied Charlotte, "to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely - a slight preference is natural enough; but there are few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement."

a stamp on her heart

2010-02-23T19:55:00.005Z

We've started a trend where we talk about our first times
'cause that's always an interesting story, even if based on a grammatical mistake
(or whatever).

"I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies.
When everything seems like the movies
You bleed just to know your alive."

I'd had the opportunity for it to happen twice before. Once with Blue-Eyed Boy, but we'd been together two weeks. Once with Friend,
but by then I'd felt like making myself that vulnerable would be my downfall.

I'd also already kissed the boy it happened with. He'd held me in his tent and listened to my heartbreak as it spilt from my mouth in the vain hope that it would make me feel better. And he held my hand to keep me anchored.
I'm not sure why he kissed me.

We didn't speak properly for a long time, 'cause when you kiss your best friend
things become very strange. And when the girl has liked the boy for a very long time, and finds fireworks in his embrace which she hasn't found in a long time
and when the boy is still left with a friend and not a sweetheart
things are yet more strange.

The boy and the girl went to Reading
(beautiful beautiful Reading)
and came together in the Yellow campsite, their friends' campsite. The boy's campsite.
The boy was being friendly, and the girl was acting naturally. She linked arms with him on the way to the arena and introduced him to Manchester Orchestra and didn't try to flirt with him.
"Just friends" was a mantra

until later
they were wedged together in a crowd listening to Placebo and she was grasping his shoulders for dear life
so the wave wouldn't sweep her away
and he stroked her knuckles and the mantra became louder, whilst she wished that he'd like her back
'cause yehh, she still liked him.

Kings of Leon played a love song whilst the girl gazed at the sky and the boy glanced at her and let her rest her tired head on his shoulder
(that song hurts)
and he grabbed her hand and led her back to the
their
his Yellow campsite.

Ladies and gentlemen, one and all! Ring of Fire?
With an arm wrapped around the shoulder
and a swig of absinthe.

It's exactly the same as last time, except B is ready for the boy when he kisses her
(she recognises the signs)
and she's not subconscious as she follows his semi-clad suit.

It was nice, and they spent the weekend together
(in a platonic state
though the girl walked around in a dreamy daze, that had nothing to do with the pills circulating the sites)
holding hands and listening to music.

The teenagers came home and washed the dirt from their sleepy skin
drank shitloads of orange juice
and remembered the workings of
real life.

As we all know,
B hoped too much until Ballet Boy named his big mistake
and the best friends never spoke again.

the spark to bring my punk rock back

2010-02-19T12:55:00.005Z

I'm starting to rely on happiness lists.

I likee
boys. And not just boys who kiss you softly and eat ice cream in front of the TV with you. Mah lad boys are way up there, with their token beer and rollies and jokes about my mother that have me on the floor. And the majority of them will listen to James Blunt without a hint of irony.

I also likee
the first hint of sunshine before Spring. The kind where you slowly strip as you're walking down the street and finally it feels wrong to sit indoors. We indulged it, driving Art Boy's doggy to Granny Meds and wandering around,
rollies and wellies completing the scene. Pub + dog + "farmer" jackets making four teenagers feel so country on a fictional Sunday afternoon. And it's only four o'clock on a Wednesday.

And I likee morning afters
when you wake up in a strange house in a spare t-shirt and last night's makeup, bed hair
setting into a grunge-y halo around your crown. You take a quick shower and roll yourself a cigarette before
buying that cappuccino at the station, still in your skimpy dress and heels.

"When I wake up in my makeup, it's too early for that dress.
Wilted and faded somewhere in Hollywood,
I'm glad I came here with your pound of flesh.
No second billing cause you're a star now
Oh Cinderella, they aren't sluts like you.
Beautiful garbage.
Beautiful dresses.
Can you stand up or will you just fall down?"

I miss Grantchester Meadows parties when
we drank wine by the river and
talked deep, swinging from the branches of trees and
singing to songs by the light of the moon and the stars. I hope we do it again.

I likee girl-y rock music. The kind that you can shout and scream to, but still reminds you of your favourite dress and Sarra Manning books and a particularly fierce red lipstick.

I don't know what happened, but recently I lost my groove. I'm gonna work at getting it back. Here comes the architect.

tick tock

2010-02-18T17:33:00.004Z

Dear Art Boy,

I just wanted to apologise for my long periods of silence yesterday. I get like that sometimes, where my mind goes blank and I need to mull over things. It was probably a bad idea to go visit you after the rehearsal yesterday, but there was a clashing decision between wanting to check up on your penicillin progress and the sunshine inducing tears behind my brain. Do you ever get like that?

I wish I didn't.

It started when you said on the phone that Plant Girl was coming over, but you didn't tell me to stay away. So I went to your house anyway, and I felt bad for getting in the way of you and your friend. But it was okay, 'cause we get on so well. But then I didn't know how to be with you. And I felt nervous and shit.

Later, I proved that I could still tease boys on the internet
(not a great thing to admit, but everyone has a history)
which I only did 'cause you were acting like Plant Girl was the sexy one to show off on webcam.
I'm the one who shares your bed at night, okay?

We've been together two months now,
so maybe it's time I made you REALLY understand how I feel most of the time. How do I do that?

If I could say what was really on my mind
I'd say that I love you
and that I wish I was brave enough to say it sober
that being cheated on hurt a lot more than I ever let on
that the phrase "but y'know, it's okay" that I use after telling the Amsterdam story isn't completely true
that I wish you'd confirm to me that Plant Girl is completely platonic again, 'cause she's a constant insecurity for me, no matter how much I like her

and then I'd tell you everything that me and The Couch ever talked about
just 'cause then you'd actually understand how my mind works.

Dear Gooch-y,
HELP ME?!

I'm working lots to earn money this week
and I'm trying to find time to catch up on History and write various essays.
I'm rehearsing Drama in a creche
and drinking a fuckload of coffee.

Such is the life of a student, I guess.

I walked down the street the other day and I was surrounded by dead drones walking to work
with flat faces
and plodding paces.
Why willingly enter a cycle like that?

Someone give me a time out?

can you hear that knocking in your soul?

2010-02-16T19:05:00.003Z

There was one time
Daddy took his three gals to Italia, up into the mountains where they all spent a week cycling up and down hills and water rafting and eating obscure food and talking to
fellow
English
tourists.
Oh yes, we soaked up the sun and looked at the countryside and swapped stories about back home with the English hotel manager. We talked to her daughter about her time at school in Italy and learnt all about the European approach to lawsuits.

After dark,
B and Baby and the other two English "teens"
would head into the town, buy ice cream off the locals, watch the football teams practising to play against the rivalling village, meet the local "teens" at the
park.
B smoked an italian boy's cigarette and rode on the back of his motorbike
before kissing him good bye under a tree on the final night.

The way I see it,
either you can go to a hotel and talk to fellow English people trying to soak up a new culture
or you can actually soak up the new culture by DOING something.

Someday,
I'm gonna drive across the United States
and hitch trains around Europe
and live in Paris.
And I'm gonna drive down the little lanes and stay in back route motels and shiz
'cause surely that's the way to experience a new culture?

I found a word for the thing that I dislike about the modern world:
"yuppy".

I think I have a bad case of complacency
and adolescent restlessness
and wanderlust

conductor of acoustical resonance

2010-02-14T23:03:00.003Z

This is not the first Valentine's Day that I've been with someone
but it is the first where I wasn't on my own.

Art Boy has toncillitis
so we couldn't go out, and the day was punctuated by my frequent checks that he'd had enough neurofen and orange juice

but we also cut his hair over the bath tub
and watched Coffee and Cigarettes
and made the five-minute cake in a mug (or two).

Thus,
my theory is proven
that although everything we do feels completely natural
the two of us are just fucking bizarre.

tower twins, in a politically correct way

2010-02-13T20:14:00.004Z

"Cheryl" adores Starbucks
lattes
twosing my cigarettes
cocktails
and her "inner circle".

She is also an avid fan of Cheryl Cole
and Sex in the City
and being a complete fag hag (three and counting?)

We met for coffee today and she demanded that I dedicate an entire post to her
(egotistical shlag)
so here I am, using up my blog quota in her name (pseudonym).

She also has a blog. She started again.

Fuck knows what we talked about,
but it was good
and will continue to be good

in California!

another morning after

2010-02-13T09:31:00.002Z

I'm proud of myself for acting like a typical girlfriend yesterday,
instead of a silent
or malleable
or broken body.

I kept a sick Art Boy company.
We watched movies,
facebooked,
made out
and laughed at his very very stoned brother.

Fringe-Face threw quite a party. "Cheryl" fell to the floor whilst dancing
whilst I simply slipped off my chair.
We are terrible terrible drunkards
and I'm not even hungover!

Dear Art Boy,
The more I talk about it with other people, the better I feel.

And Ballet Boy,
please fuck off.
It's enough having to see you every day at college,
and now you're on FUCKING TV?!

FML.
All you can do is "lol".

documentary the first

2010-02-11T23:00:00.004Z

Diego's interpretation of Leicester. You saw it here first.

happy sad

2010-02-10T20:06:00.003Z

I might be ready now?
I'm going to try and lay it all out.

Dear Art Boy,

When you went away and I was home and I was missing you and wishing you home and hoping that nothing would change when you came back
because sometimes things can change
I imagined a different kinda reunion.

When you came back you gave me a kiss
a Van Gogh Sunflowers mug
a carton of cheap-y cheap Dutch cigarettes

and a story that broke my heart
to be frank.

Twin-y and Bass Boy told me all about it first,
and I had that similar feeling to Blue-Eyed Boy's departure where the sky is crashing around your ears
but you can't hear it
and you know you should be moving out of the way or building a bomb shelter or
something crazy like that
but you can't feel your limbs any more
so you're unconstructive.

Destructive?

There's a permanent sick feeling in my stomach.
I hope it is not related to this.

I came to your house on Gooch-y's orders to clear it up
(Samurai Boy walked me)
and it was nice to see you again. You looked happy to see me. My face felt frozen when you cycled towards me. Sorry.

And we hung out for two hours
and you said NOTHING
and I physically shook when I saw that she was on Facebook chat and you held my hand tighter without knowing why
so I requested a cigarette trip outside AWAY from your family
and asked you what happened in Amsterdam.

To your credit, you came right out and said it
and you listened when I explained why I was upset.
It was just a kiss, but what if it was a kiss that meant you wanted to go away?

And you told me that that wasn't it at all,
that it was an accident
(which I believe, you stupid moron)
and that you never wanted to get with anyone else

'cause you're not like that.
I admitted that I was like that,
except with you.

It's just us now, for good

but I hope that you haven't changed as a result
and I hope that I haven't changed
over one pathetic kiss.

I don't know if it feels like you're my Art Boy any more
which is very overdramatic and blowing things outta the water.

I won't end things with you, simply because I don't want to. I do love you
or I did
(whether I still do is a different story)
and we work together.

I just wish you hadn't done it, 'cause now I'm hurting
so much
and I don't even mean to.

I wish my friends didn't hate your guts and your personality to go with it
and I wish you acted like yourself around them.

Diego and I took a trip today
to Leicester.
Flurries of snow fell whilst the sun blinded my black eyes
and I smoked Dutch cigarettes all day.

Strange to do so on a campus.

I hope I'm not the only weird one who goes to that University
(if I go).
Everyone there was so average,
it freaked me out.

And as I walked down the road, I realised that there was something more that was bothering me than Art Boy.

"I feel
sad."

And the reason that I know is that sometimes I'm really really happy
but it never lasts.

Please God, or whatever cosmic energy there is,
don't let this be a relapse.

Thank you.

mind lacking composure

2010-02-08T22:08:00.007Z

Just,
awwwr.

I wish the snow would stop
and I could drag summer closer
and go away somewhere.

Just for a bit.

I apologise for the truly mundane blogs. I'll open up again, soon. I'll explain why, soon.

some kind of a saviour

2010-02-07T22:23:00.003Z

How strange when a book pulls you back.

Chbosky did it when I was fifteen
and Salinger did it last summer.

Kerouac did it on my bus ride home today, when his message to "dig everything" finally
filtered into my brain.

Her great dark eyes surveyed me with emptiness and a kind of chagrin that reached back generations and generations in her blood from not having done what was crying to be done - whatever it was, and everybody knows what it was. "What do you want out of life?" I wanted to take her and wring it out of her. She didn't have the slightest idea what she wanted. She mumbled of jobs, movies, going to her grandmother's for the summer, wishing she could go to New York and visit the Roxy, what kind of outfit she would wear - something like the one she wore last Easter, white bonnet, roses, rose pumps, and lavender gabardine coat.
"What does your brother do on a summer's night?" He rides around on his bicycle, he hangs out in front of the soda fountain. "What is he aching to do? What are we all aching to do? What do we want?" She didn't know.
Nobody could tell. Nobody would ever tell. It was all over. She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.

There were a million messages in that book
but it moved too fast for me. Is it possible to receive every single one?

I feel a little better now.

a hundred seamen and assorted civilians

2010-02-06T22:35:00.004Z

Everything has slowed down
and I'm moving through water.

Sound travels more slowly in water.

Good vibrations?

my mind's a gun

2010-02-03T21:22:00.005Z

Oh lolz,
Art Boy left for Amsterdam today and instead of whispering sweet good byes in each other's ear and all that jazz
we went online and tested his memory of The Jabberwocky.
Lord-y.

My blog will become more interesting post-Monday
when the coursework from Hell has been put to bed. There are
giant
purple
bags
under my eyes right now,
and the Caffeine Fiend is like a dormant beast
or something.
The Coffee Bump tells me that cawfee does not cause dehydration. Huzzah!

I talked to Little Chuck today, and we both agree that life has become very
complacent.
I found a routine that I liked
and I still like it
but -

*William Egglestone

Everyone's happy
or "okay"
but settling isn't enough.

mayday

2010-02-02T21:06:00.008Z

Eesh.
Stress is not good for the complexion or the mind.

just like ships

2010-01-30T13:38:00.004Z

"Cheryl" has ordered me to post our conversation from last night on here
so here I am.

It was a cold night, and we were shivering once again under the heaters of our favourite outdoor smoker's area.
The group is stopping by Henry's once again (finally!)
and "Cheryl" has joined us! Eee!

That's how the night started. It got to midnight and it was just the two of us left
wandering from Maccy D's back to the Cosmopolitans that called our names
and "Cheryl" talked about how lucky we were to be alive
and how her close encounter with death had made her so aware of her mortality
and that we really were a very priviledged society if we thought about it.

I wish she still blogged so you could see what she's like and what's she's been through. Sounds tacky (and I refuse to let this become a tacky site) but I do feel pretty lucky to know her.
Especially when she rants about how wonderful I am in the Bun Shop... hehe.

I liked the band playing in the Bun Shop. I left the others at the bar to stand next to them and listen to Chasing Cars. It was another of those infinity moments.

And of course, I finished the night with Art Boy. I think we're beyond "intimate friends" now.
He remarked "I didn't see you today" and sounded genuinely surprised. I guess we're pretty attached?

And he demonstrated that he's gotten to know me pretty dayum well. Not necessarily about me, but me. He said that he liked how I was intelligent and had stuff to say but then no one had ever listened to him as much as me.
He makes me feel better about stuff, and I told him so. He isn't phased by The Couch at all, it turns out.

Gooch-y, let's have a Pesto Pasta Sleepover again soon.

my catcher died

2010-01-28T20:23:00.001Z

"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."

The sun came out today for the first time in
4-EVA.
It put a smile on my face

but it's made me itch for summer again.

my fake plastic love

2010-01-25T20:34:00.004Z

I worried that I'd got in too deep where I didn't want to be with no hope of a way out.
I didn't want to end up in the same situation as Perse Boy and Nerd Boy
and even Hortensio
where I was promising things I didn't want to act out.

But it was when I couldn't bring myself to formulate the fail-safe escape plan
that I realised I was just being
stupid.

I've always thought to myself that if I could have that "argh, need to escape!" moment but manage to stick around through it,
that would be the moment that I allowed myself to settle.
I wouldn't mind then.

Turns out I was right?

Argh, go away college. I just wanna read my books and smoke my cigarettes.
And drop into the pub every so often, please.

all the time i see your reflection

2010-01-23T09:37:00.004Z

I took a history exam on Wednesday
and I possibly pwned it?
Huzzah, B can go to uni.

When I didn't reciprocate, it was like he took a message that wasn't there,
hurriedly saying good bye before I could respond
and then I was walking down that road again and passing The Couch's
house
and drowning out
absolutely everything with loud music.

He looked so relieved I was safe when he eventually found me,
and that's why I whispered it in his ear later
'cause I guess it's getting to be true

followed by a look of elation
and his own reciprocation.

"A tremendous thing happened when Dean met Carlo Marx. Two keen minds that they are, they took to each other at the drop of a hat. Two piercing eyes glanced into two piercing eyes."

That conversation between strangers was like lightning talk. I'm not sure why it made such an
impact
but it was cool.
Last night ended cool.

meanderings

2010-01-21T22:14:00.003Z

Oh, B.
Where did you go?

It's still strange to think where I've landed.
"You're not in Kansas any more."
I was talking about beginnings with Gooch-y today,
our fresh starts and that. I've had so many, and I like where I seem to have
finished.

It's strange to think that we were so close. I'm still hoping for a situation to throw us together and make us talk
'cause I only wanna talk. I wanna know you again and have you know me so well that I kinda hate you for it.
But then I think that if we were like that,
I couldn't help but fall for you again and I need to stay where I am 'cause finally something is working.

It's like a perpetual (dull) ache where I miss you, but you're
not
you any more. So, I can never get you back.

I think you still care, though. At New Years you saw me emerge from the crowd and you looked like you'd just been smacked. I bet my face was about the same.

We can't be friends again
and won't
but I can't not be your friend again.

I wish I knew how to tell Art Boy about last year, 'cause there's only so far we can go when I feel like I'm hiding components.
And I wish I could fix us. I wish I could try again. I wish maybe you'd take your turn at trying it.

I miss you, I guess?
Sorry, again.
I'll figure things out soon.

we might as well all be retarded

2010-01-19T19:17:00.008Z

I memorised the whole of a history textbook to get through this exam.
Hell yes, that's dedication

and a migraine waiting to happen.

Who fancies a happy list? Seeing as I haven't listed in an AGE.

I like spontaneous prose, it turns out. Jack Kerouac is a God
and I like sharing Yorkie bars with Nomalish
and holding hands under the table at the pub
and wearing my lucky underwear
and the fact that the barnet looks quite
fly
with my yellow Fall Out Boy vest
and comfort cuddles from Samurai Boy when I'm feeling a little down
and Gilb-y's Postman Pat jumper

and Siney's ability to make me fully belt laugh using Mario Kart
and the sweet smell of fresh, clumpy Golden Virginia as I roll the first morning cigarette after a rough night
and Gooch-y's face when she catches sight of me first thing at Club
and the fact that Mavis at the college cafe heads to the coffee machine without needing to ask what I want when it's my turn
and re-reading my acceptance letter from Birmingham over and over again
and garage rock about not wanting to grow up and fit in
and being quiet with Art Boy. Comfortable silence's are growing on me.

I have a song that always reminded me of that night with Ballet Boy
which I've always kinda kept to myself,
but Art Boy sang it yesterday. It made me smile.

Another favourite song in common? It gets spooky.

Everyone pray for a flood. It's kinda urgent.

two days and counting

2010-01-18T18:50:00.002Z

I think it's PMS week.
I am wayy to angry about Gooch-y's situation, Italian stalkers (arrrgh!) and anti-smoker bollocks to be even necessary.

Ugh, rage rage rage.

Thomas Cromwell, allow me to introduce myself, my brain and that shiny A that you will not, REPEAT WILL NOT KEEP ME FROM!

hey, mister tambourine man

2010-01-17T00:41:00.005Z

Well,
tonight was the night that Art Boy met the Pap-y.

We had a spare ticket to the theatre, and Pap-y invited Art Boy along.
"What's your dad like?"
"Uhm, he's a people person? He's in management..."
"Oh yehh! He's rich!"
"You wanna come then?"
"Yehh, sounds good."
Lolz.

We went to the pub before with Fringe-Face and her Clementine Boy and Peho turned up
(hrm, I wonder if I'll ever tell Art Boy why his friend takes the piss out of us so much)
got drunk
(needed)
then to the ADC.

I was so proud of Art Boy,
and unfortunately found his "serious-talking-to-parent" voice very sexy
which does not help when he's going T-Total for exams
hence no sleepovers for B in January.

I had Jay on the phone last night
which sent me into a whole lotta confused emotions today
but I've had the epiphany that although Jay knows a lotta stuff about me that Art Boy doesn't
me and Art Boy have a connection that doesn't involve Depression
which is important
and feels much better.

I really think I could love this one, if I only let myself.
We shall see.

B is newly blondinated. The barnet now glows in the dark.

regarder et comprendre

2010-01-12T20:20:00.005Z

I was thinking today about
(how to put this?)
missed opportunities.
(I guess?)

What brought it on?
It was probably in the cafe when I was eyeing up that Lower Sixth whilst Gooch-y did FP1
(cue audience hissing in sympathy for her)
and I was thinking, it doesn't matter how much strange chemistry there seems to be between us, which I think there is
despite barely speaking to each other in the first place,
it doesn't make me wanna leave Art Boy or be any less happy with him.

And then I thought about everyone else.
Friend and Jay and that
and how I can have that weird "are we more than friends?" relationship, but think of them as something that will never evolve and will always remain weird and chemical-like,
'cause no matter how fun it would be to get off with them, I've picked a "singular" and I'm sticking to it.

I'm not sure if I'm wording this right.

Exemple?
Uhm,
before getting off with Art Boy for the first time, I thought it would be a one night stand thing. And then I lay in his bed that night, and I was wrapped around him and thinking
that I wanted to do this lots of times. I liked kissing him and I didn't wanna "make out" just once. Which would involve some kinda relationship forming.
And I was willing to give up all the other one night stands to do that.

It's quite fitting that Jay told me he broke up with his girlfriend whilst all this was going round my head.
I thought to myself,
last year this would have confused me
and now I think of it as a "missed opportunity"
'cause two months ago I would have taken this as a chance to jump him
but now I need to put that behind me and help him out as a friend. Maybes he can be another Siney?
(Siney is like a brother or something. It's beautiful).

And what is it that makes people able to be friends after feelings? I get on so well with Friend and Hortensio, but Moshjokii and Blue-Eyed Boy and Ballet Boy,
not so much.
I'll give it a think and get back to you.
Hrm.

I have two new pet hates, I have discovered.
People who say "we must catch up" full stop
and "I miss youuuu" without doing anything about it
sound insincere, cling-y and like social climbers and shiz.
I'm sorry, but too many people tell each other they miss each other at college 'cause they can't be fucked to make time for each other. It's kinda pathetic, ya know?

New note.
The more I talk to like-minded people, the more I wanna get out of this country.
So many of my friends are getting tired of the UK, and considering leaving and not coming back.
If I can improve my french, that's looking like a very tempting dream.
I just know that I've gotta explore the world,
learn about how it all works and fits together
'cause I don't wanna settle into a life where my eyes are closed and my decisions ill-informed.

Yehh.
A lotta thinking.

insert ranting title

2010-01-11T19:07:00.004Z

Ohh, I do love my darling cynic couple.
Are your posts always gonna match, you two? Hehe.

But yes, shush IB. No one likes the girl who butts into her ex's conversation from across the room. Psh.

I don't really have much to say, but I thought I'd advertise Stoner Kid's blog. If you read Gooch-y's blog, you'll know him pretty well already.

Me and Siney are gonna go on a road trip in the summer. We're gonna listen to Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Frank Turner and The Beatles.
He'll drive.
I'll be the Music Man.