Spider spider where are you?
Spider spider what to do?
Spider spider made of string
Spider spider gave me a ring.
Spider spider on my wall
Spider spider don't you fall.
And on a completely unrelated tangent, please send [*daisyfreak*] love and goodness.
It is all to easy to be an eggshell nowadays. The illusion of being smooth and impermeable, of having a facinating and concealed content. But an illusion it is, the bubble is fragile and when it breaks you find that all interesting goodness drained out a long time ago. Really it is just full of air, a mixture of atoms whizzing around in no particular cohesive order, nothing to grab and hold on to.
Air is so interesting... We see the space it fills as negative space, but actually it is full of complex atomic structures sustaining every living organism. Therefore it really is quite a positive sort of space.
So by that logic being an empty eggshell is a good thing... You would want to exterior to crack, to reach the purity inside, you would accept that what is inside is good, even if something more usual, like a yolk, was expected.
My metaphor just ate itself.
Isn't it awful how the littlest things can make or break an evening? If a plan doesnt actually happen, or no one calls you about it or THAT person doesnt text you then nothing seems shiney. It just seems hot and dull and you feel hot and dull. Food is heavy and leaden, the moth that lives on your ceiling ceases to entertain you and tomorrow is all a bit silly.
There are people who are string and there are people who are elastic. String people are constant and grounded and outside influence only effects them a little bit, they remain relatively the same length and although they can be pulled and made tense they dont snap. Elastic people are volatile and suceptable to being pulled this way and that easily; outside forces affect them substantially and they are often stretched too far even by small amounts of exertion.
I am an elastic person who holds the shoddy guise of being a string person.
Its odd, the smallest event can be turned by intense paranoia into something earthshatterin
And its not as if I can tell a certain important person this; it would break the illusion of functionality that I work so hard to sustain and then things would really be quite dire.
I have a horrid feeling that this person will not want a whole lot to do with me any longer anyway. It is highly improbable. I refer back to my list of good things to do, one of them being not to form self destructive and inappropriate attatchments to people I shouldnt.
Oops a daisy.
A nasty nasty feeling of sick inevitability about the whole thing. Be optimistic the magazines tell you. Well I am a firm believer of expecting the worst and hoping for the best. That way when something goes wrong you have the sad, angry but slighty smug feeling that you predicted it, and if things go right, which they do very rarely, you can just feel happy. And feel happier because its like an unexpected present.
I may possibly be dysfunctional.
And so the year long venture into the realms of failure, disgust at lack of personal ability and the soul destroying rollercoasters of simultaneously feeling intense apathy and yet intense panic, is over. To those who are not initiated into this exciting club of creative torture, this means that art is over. Done. Dusted. Finished.
Well maybe not but the deadline is long gone.
Oh well.
Im sure I will find something else that makes me feel whole that I wont magnificently balls up.
Meh, well at least the weekend was interesting. It feels like the end of something. It was the end of a lot of things this weekend. Assumptions, possibilities, friendships. Well one friendship. Not even the end of one just the end of its continued viability. This aside it was eventful. Remind me to STAY on the sofa I have passed out on and not mission off to meet people who call me at two thirty in the morning. And if this is not viable, remind me to ask them if they have their keys with them, so a bed is available to me before half past five.
What larks.
The atmosphere is close today. Are vacuums hot or cold?
It would be so much easier just to do the work when it is given to me!!!
Dammit.
Six cups of coffee.
Bring on the palpitations.
Art has thrown up all over my dining room.
There is acrylic in my hair.
I feel like I'm dying.
Time for another cup of coffee *manic pixie laugh*.
Toodles *Swims away on a nautical spoon*
Dreams are a constant duality, both cruel and soft.
What is it about being a certain age, or maybe being this person, that can turn the littlest things into a source of absolute misery. Your perspective is so warped; nevermind about that moment you had the other day, and that smile, and the way they were lost in this beautiful place with you. Its all about some tiny thing that reaches out and snatches that moment, that smile, that delicious lostness, and makes it a fabrication. Something you created because you're a bit silly and naive like that.
And you fall.
Oh dear its one of those days. The kind when even though you have a phone book full of numbers there's no one to call.
Floaty stressy and deficit in orange blossom.
Where is my pretty bubble when I need it. The outside world is cold on my skin.
But its ok, because a very nice policeman has one an award for his work with homeless people. I think that is pretty damn wonderful.
Things like that make days better. I dont even know why they need making better. Especially following download crazy fun. I may have smelt, I may have been hungry, I may have been surrounded by perverts metalheads and people from 'The North', but I still managed to get nicely pickled and have a fantabulous time with the lovely Cazz (IT FLIIIIIIIIIES!). Thankyou to her for stopping the pilled up weird boy from crawling into my tent for sex. Now thats friendship.
Meh, must be thant beginning of week feeling. Sort of like despair mixed with apathy. Ah well, I have a new packet of menthol filters and my hair isnt a dreadlock. Woowoo.
Anyway, keep smiling all of you, you might pass it on and then the world would be a smilier place.
A free bubble hug to you all xxx
Oh dear, I have just seen one of those "I have never" quizzes... I dont want to do one. It would be a big tangle of horribly revealing horizontal lines.
Those kind of games have gotten me into trouble before, so for the sake of my dignity, and so my clothes stay firmly on (Cazz you know what I'm talking about, mmhmm), I will avoid any game/ quizz/ conversation involving those words.
Hold me to that duckies.
It's orange blossom season and so I have decided that flowers are the only thing my room should smell of; the sloany bitches from Saint Mary's wont mind if I go and sneakily steal some from them so haha!
Its such a lovely smell, like tea and fresh orange peel, but not as astringent. When not too much around you seems pretty just pick a few sprigs and put them by your bed, and the world will seem a lot more delicate, a lot less harsh.
Such fantabulous smellness could not possibly exist in a world of evil, thus proving angsty teenage musings about the world being cruel and pointless wrong.
Its a little bit like Vicks vapour rub, and polytar shampoo, and damp leaves, the way it all seems a little bit better, a little more tolerable when you smell them.
I think my warped mind is prevented from falling apart by an enveloping mesh of good smells.
The sense are the most basic, and some might say only, tools we have, so we should thus use them to bring our thoughts back down to an earthly and basic level. They stop us floatig away in a hot air balloon basket of muddled consternation.
*daisyfreak* is right, smells are very powerful.
I hold my cheek up to your face
And tilt it coyly,
confidently,
Because I think you are infatuated
And have been waiting for me
To do that for some time.
I am a soft fruit
A peach
The bitter stone I have cut out
And swallowed to my stomach,
Hiding it from you
Making myself softer for you.
Any discomfort to be soft for you
any any any at all.
The sagging skin of my persona I have plumped out for you, with sweetpeach flesh.
Filled with anecdotes,
Some true some not so,
to amuse you
Filled with the appearance of careless joy
to titilate you
Filled with a little cryptic sadness,
projected just at you,
to make you fell as if there is a window in me
that only you can look through.
But you are talking to someone else,
your hand is nonchalantly draped around my shoulders,
absently,
but you are talking to someone else.
And the open wound of sweetness that I have fabricated for you,
Calculated to suit you,
Lies raw and un-noticed.
My cheek grows a little harder,
And the fruitstone rests unneasily in my belly.
The arguements in this house revolve around turkey remarkably often...
Darlings! Do you not agree that this town is funny as hell? Where else could one find such a pit of promiscuity and sexual incontinence?
Now dont think I'm preaching, I'm just as bad, but I think we should all take a moment to reflect, meditate if you will, about whether its all very funny, or just a little bit tragic. It is fun duckies, its a bit exciting and it provides the most marvellous gossip on a monday morning, but hot damn does it get confusing!
And theres the whole emotional bubble wrap that enswathes it.
Now does anybody know why exactly so many of us choose to screw eachother over, and disregard The Rules that seem so pointless, so old fashion, so Nineties when in a moment of passion, and yet so appropriate, so fair and so compassionate when the person you are still in love with gets over you by fucking your best friend?
Are we just young and foolish, are we bored, are we just far too bloody horny or are we that bit colder, that bit less compassionate than we previously thought.
Oh dear, that got a bit deep didnt it poppets? Im very sorry, the next enstallment will be entirely about shoes.
Take care and keep your knickers up occasionally xx
To a very special person:
You make my days better, and you make me a better person. You are always there for me and you make me want to always be there for you.
I dot feel like I have to be anyone around you aparts from who I am in that moment, I dont have to entertain you and I know that you dont judge me for my many sins.
I am never bored when you are there and you make the time I have with you feel worthy and important. I feel lucky to know you. You have a talent for being yourself and helping me be myself.
Never change.
Love always.
Do I want to see you again?
Do I indeed?
But what if you are not quite the same next time
And the fabric of us has changed
What if there are loose stitches
That form holes
Because of poor observation?
What then?
Do We take that risk Sweetling butterflyby?
And perhaps tear ourselves?
Taste bitter experience instead of sour regret?
Or sleep a little less
As What Might Have Been heavies the heart and lightens the eyelids?
What indeed?
Oh you silly silly girl, dont you dare fall for people, its bad and wrong. Be cool and emotionless instead, you know its the right thing to do.
Just accustom yourself to the fact that it is sooo not going to hapen and book yourself that place in the damn nunnery!
Oh dear, that was a loong diary entry, unwise methinks.
I want people to start being more thoughtful and less angry. More compassionate and less idiotic.
Drama is not always good. It is possible to have an interesting and simultaneously pleasant and non disruptive life that doesnt hurt lots of people. Interesting does not have to mean dangerous and irresponsible.
To please yourself and others where possible, to create and to care and to love and to give. This is what life should be. Should.
And so another late night diary entry...
Well it all seems to be a bit muddled at the moment... I seem to have gotten my creativity bubble back and it hasnt popped yet... Often overwhelmed with a sickening sense that the creativity is all just a bit of an illusion, its so fragile and tempremental. It sounds odd but just keeping the ideas in my head is such a tempting idea, to protect these delicate fledgling thoughts and notions from the destructive light of day. Maybe if I try and realise them they will fizzle away? But then maybe not.
I suppose the play I'm writing at the moment is a realisation of an idea and its going rather well. Its good when you find someone who you can work creatively with, who doesnt constrict your expressive ideas, rather helps to fine tune and develop them. And you can appreciate their ideas and help develop them in turn. Even if they do steal your baccy.
I love the idea and am in anticipation of how its going to turn out, how people will react... Its a big project, but not daunting as of yet. The presence of Biffy the cat does add some light relief from concentration by trying to sit on the handwritten single version of te play... Which will be fine once its typed up. I have grown quite fond of Biffy.
This project is a saving grace at the moment, not only is it incredibly interesting trying to represent and celebrate the dynamic of Sixth Form, but its good to have a focus on something that is entirely my choice to do. Most gratifying. And its a safe, neutral topic to think about when I need to escape from bad destructive mitherings.
Thinking about it doesnt make me feel guilty for wasting thought, as thinking about clothes or the pub would, as it is an intelligent endeavor that requires a lot of thought anyway; but equally it is an escape.
Its odd to think that my principal escape at the moment is directly and inextricably intertwined with many of the aspects of my life that I am trying to escape from.
I suppose taking a step away from it, interpreting it and playing god with it, as opposed to actually being within it is theraputic. The duality of the exercise is interesting to consider....
What is also interesting is trying to predict whether or not we will have any friends left in sixth form after it is performed... Its not meant to be spiteful or an intentional parody, far from being a parody its an analysis and a careful consideration, an ode to if you will. Yes an ode to sixth form. And if anyone is offended, which I cant imagine they will be, then that is their problem and their good humour deficit.
Its all rather fun. And distracts me from self consuming paranoia. Doing constructive things makes me concentrate less on how I imagine everyone to hate me and only tolerate me for the lubrication of the social group's politics.
Analysing it all in creative form stops me from drowning so much in it.
Anyhoo, lala, Oxfordness on Thursday, my liver cant take the punishment Sunny puts it through...
Random Tangent:
I need to find someone nice, who doesnt annoy me, who I dont constantly pick fault with, who maybe thinks Im a good person, who likes shellfish and hugs me as if doing it is coming home. Not being in love is boring. Its as if there's a huge inert part of you that really should be doing something, but cant, until you find the rare thing that activates it. Its like existing on the two top floors and the rest of the house is covered in dust sheets.
And I mean really love someone, not just want them, someone who late at night, when its just the two of you, when youve done your social duty and had a good time, when youre a bit post-coital and all curled up, holds you, and everything else disappears and its just that moment that smells like skin and linen and smoke and the faint trace of perfume thats left at the nape of your neck.
Its not necessary really, you can live a perfectly happy life without all of that... I suppose...
I dont mind being with someone and having a lovely time enjoying their company, you care for them and they turn you on, but to look at someone and only see violets.
Do we ever truely get to have that? Or is it just something that the Romantics dreamed up while fucked on laudanem?
Who knows, anyway, teehee I will look back and read this at some point laughing my arse off. Why is it that as a teenager that if you try and write about how you feel, these profound thoughts that you have, you automatically sound like a pretentious angsty wanker?
Their is an obvious answer there but its only for the cynical.
And on a final note, goodnight.