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Saturday, 07 November 2009

One of the toughest parts of life is deciding when to give up or when to try harder.

I closed my book and jumped off the bed when the fireworks went off. I pushed the window open into yesterday's sky. Black space airbrushed with marmalade bands. The houses begin to stare at me. One morning you were on your chest and your chin on your hands and your eyes marveled about and your thoughts looked through this window.

The cold English air hit me. The story of my window.

It is a window of a door of a window. A slap of glass just above the floor. An effortless suicide, a cigarette break, a conversation with a lover. The window that one morning you were on your chest and your chin on-

A boy in the second house before me shut off the light in his room. He has no curtains. Probably off to catch the crackers with his friends. I don't know. Another house has a double bed with photographs hanging above it. The bedsheets is red.

I sealed the clasps tight and reached for the phone. My father answered. He made my call sound like the strangest thing. My mother behaved like all the good mothers of the world. They both asked me if I was okay.

I breathed heavily under the weight of the duvet. It was easier to swallow whatever I had to swallow when I was lying down. I fumbled an I am okay. Of course I am okay. I have to be okay.

Then we all hung up and I did what I always do each night before going to sleep.

Thursday, 05 November 2009

Quick fix.

You Should Be Here is no longer just a masterpiece on the right.

Tenacity? One of your friends said the same thing, ahm, a synonym to it actually, I replied, playing with the zipper of my (your) sweater.

Strong arms buckled constant. I chuckled softly. It is a terrible feeling. (What changed? What did not? What good can come from a day like this?)

The sinner it sinneth. I am glad I bought the game. Nobody plays Cliffs of Dover with me on Hard like you do.

Monday, 02 November 2009

I can't.

Nottingham Games is the day you dangle your biggest designer bag over the arm. (no seriously)

I was about bored until I saw Mya and Kikie. We plopped down by the entrance and ate doughnuts. I think I enjoy batting the racism subject around over (and over and over again) (with different people).

Today, I met up with my feelings. I was tearing inside for a lot of reasons.

Saturday, 31 October 2009

In between.

I was reading my book at the launderette when I saw myself in the big tumbler dryer door. I thought about writing this all down. About October. The impending November. Autumnal changes. Like the way I now part my hair on the left side of my face.

Gassy Jacks was a dark smoke of red as I passed by. Nobody was about. I wonder if I should drop by someday. Get fish and chips.

I suppose I find solace these days when nipples poking through T-shirts are not such a big mystery. The one worry is, if, we will all stay this way. Wise. Good to each other. Sometimes I imagine anger churning up the nose pipes. Like repressed dragons. But I suppose I could keep up with normalcy. There is always a park, a long walk, a bookshop, a milkshake, a surreal band, a bathtub, a couple of waffles, a running machine, a bed or a cry to hide from the cruel flock.

We are making up a little band downstairs. I think it is pure dead brilliant that we've got our own GH now. Will make the boys miss us a bit you think? I'm picking up on what is left. Where I left. I feel merry and sad.

School is awkward still but I'm afraid that the soaring notebooks and sketch pads I have been getting should be considered a cosmic worry to my future "career". The writer gone wrong? is still somewhere in heart. Odd days I watch movies with abrupt or no endings at all, which I amusingly find as downers, or listen to bands that nobody in the near parameter appreciates. Maybe I need a best friend. Not best friend. But best friend. If you understand what I mean.

Senghenyydd Hall seems like a distant memory right now. It feels, so, long ago.

I'm heading up to Nottingham today at four (which is in 3 hours). Plenty of familiar faces, ones, or few, that have kept my years burning. It's a sore my camera isn't here yet. I thought Saturday would be special. Like a chance. Like a note. But of course it's fucking not meant to be.

Nobody cares about my shenanigans, and I suppose, that's the only thing lacking in my life now. I will see the most of you tomorrow. Wave hello.

Monday, 26 October 2009

Two (possible) nouns for maladjusted behavior:

1. Combat
I have taken your pictures off my roof wall and put them in a book. I am trying to scrawl your name in cursive script but all I end up with is apoplexied worms. I might conjure up a Christmas living being though.

2. School
I was in Radiology class last week when I had an epiphany- I could have been in a Writing class.

which baffles the shit out of me because after being theatrically in denial for a year bit, I finally am keen about my course and who I shall live to be. But the small thoughts prowling about suddenly seems scarier than plain cold feet.

I have missed three Mondays. I was in yesterday's clothes on the first, I was in somebody else's clothes on the second, I hurt my bottom muscles on the third.

I shall make my way to school tomorrow (today).