Il fumo ucide dammit, IL FUMO UCIDE!!
Oh but its good.
Trash lovely, oh so lovely
Fly from where you are and take me
up abovely.
See me through a rain trickled window and think thank god there's glass between us,
A damp barrier, solidly and chemically seperated by a cunning muddle of strategically placed molecules.
Hand against the glass, thinking like you, to see myself from a distant place.
Let me walk past the glass sheet,
obviosly discreet.
Bothered.
Urrrrgh... *note to self* the next time it seems like a good idea to ingest what has been in your friends pocket since the weekend, remember that it categorically isnt.
Oh well I can only hope that I was fairly civilised!
Time for a nice shiney positive diary entry:
Thankee to the many many people who have put up with much sillyness, irrationality, triviality, annoyingness and girly crisisness! You are all wonderful and deserve many happy days, one of which will be this Sunday! A yummy day full of sun, grass (grass?) good company, questionable music and many many cigarettes. Teehee Rock In The Park is a funny name.
Friends are like scaffolding, they are lovely jubbly and if I can be half as good a friend as certain people (the fact that I have, or hope I have more than one is fantabulous) then I am a happy starparsnip.
*hugs* to a lot of people, some because they deserve big thanyous, and some because a lot of people just need one.
Hugs dont happen often enough for my liking, they make things sparkly.
I have black fingers... They turn good things into mulch and mean that they aren't shiny anymore.
I think I need to be asleep for a very long time.
Well I seem to have cultivated quite a death rattle, several people have mentioned consumption as a possible explantion. I choose to ignore them and blow smoke in their faces. Mwa ha.
I wish heartbreak was like chicken pox, then you would only have to do it once. It gets tiresome after a while... And then you think, 'But I'm so young, this hasn't even got serious yet, not only do I have another couple of decades at the very least of this, but it's going to be so much worse.' Then you feel both idiotic and filled with doom.
Then you have a drink. Yum. I like my alchohol problem, it serves me well.
I can't work out what my greatest fear is, it's either heartbreak or umberellas.
Esther: This umberella has an incredibly short handle.
Beccy: Fool.
"Badges badges goth goth trivium so fiiiiiiiiit straight hair straight straight hair sticker." This line made my day.
It is the lightness of your kisses that starve my mouth,
And the lightness of your embrace that sends me adrift.
Dear god I wish I had written the poem that this line comes from.
Summer has bitten me. Its jaws spill flowers and light perfume over me. I'm not sure if I like it.
I was not aware that my cat could curl up that small.
My lower self has taken over.
I wish to know that you
(in your shadowfold entirety)
Think of me.
Tell me
(sing it to me, in your own song)
That my kisses press you
To dream
(on pillows rich with your rest)
Of when there will be others.
Dream a little dream of me
And I'll dream a little dream of thee
And have and hold
Its truth
And fold
Its meaning close
Its echo tight
When all is dark and all is night.
A little message to the star crossed, the confused and the heartbroken. Take from it what you will. Teehee I love finding random little written things from time ago. To think it was tacked onto my bio for so long and I forgot about it. Well it isnt all that good, but meh.
Hmm, its wonderful the way I speak with such assurance that this ramblings are to some kind of audience... Pathetic or sweet? Deluded or charming?
I prefer both latters personally, but then who wouldnt?
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.