It is not cold any more

I just came back from Egypt, where it was very hot. Whilst there I overdosed on Kafka and UV rays. Everything K says is just true. For example;

And if I threw myself to the ground in front of you, and wept, and explained, what more would you know of me than you do of hell, when someone tells you it's hot and frightful? 


So do not bother. I can't stop singing this

P.s

Judge me not for this! I am always vengeful and jealous. I feel like Kafka, EXHAUSTED AND MENTAL.

This is catharsis

This is a cage

I wrought the mesh myself

I bought a pocketful of snares

To face plant straight into

To tenderly share with you

Intruder, are you the pied piper

Of my semester of neglect?

My term of indifference?

I lurk and plot

To introduce you both

Don’t ask

I won’t tell

Have you met a friend of mine?

She’s the last you’ll see of me

It’s somewhat twisted

A little more constricted

Time to say goodbye,

She’ll be waiting

To scoop you atop her knee

Now there’s a face to benefit

From the sharp points of barbs 

Despite having a kidney infection,

I'm okay. I am going to Egypt tomorrow where I will do lots of work and write something interesting. I am becoming increasingly obsessed with Kafka and Max Brod. Read In The Penal Colony please.
I want to go back to sunnier days, sunnier photos to come though. Rancid, sweltering photos masking family feud! I cannot wait.

I love these two beyond reason

It is pitiful;

When love

Stares still the same but still desirable;

The, the shirts, the skin, the prick to fertilize my own talent and verse

The locomotive of success and the revulsion of feminin*

Of which I laboriously type into engines to locate a source of the same thing

Some intelligence * categorised with other intelligent*’ because they’re all the same

Pit of innocence, the warm stench lingers about my personage

Wishing I could grant access-all-areas to those words I hate

And whisper, amongst sobs, sweet things, Constancy, Committed, Creativity

I can’t do anything, but I can dance with my eyes closed

Dreaming of skin on breast on nose on palm

You are used, sir, manifesting my own inadequacy

The male gaze is a skill, but there’s a gap in the market left wide open

For you,  If you didn’t exist neither would she

Really, I love, but I am repulsed

Leaden eyes, the colour red, the only photographs I have on my wall are from times past

Three years, the halcyon representative of the lack of some instant and momentary

(Possibly falsified)

It was there though.

I’m still here too.

A scientist, a heroine, never the handyman, nor the hero,

ever the domestic, possibly a groupie, a rival, a creation.

Ex. Delivery boy? An expert.

My friend Hannah told me I should make a blog after I had a semi-(complete) mental breakdown when thinking about what the hell I would do after university. I quite like to read, write, and have opinions on the things others write so I think what I will do is note them down and hope people get bored enough to read them. I cannot stop listening to this today-





Here is a poem I wrote today, because it was summer the other day and now it suddenly is not. I shouldn't explain poems. Nor should I use the word 'suddenly' in writing. NTS.


4th September

It is that singular day

When the silent heat

Is replaced with the slap

Of wet feet on pavement.

This singular day

Makes everything uncanny

I see faces like marble.

A change of season

I want to change my soul

To be just as fluid

As the functional drains.

To be as crisp and concise

Like the snap of the cold leaves

I am Autumn’s phoenix

And I remain optimistic.