Wednesday, 28 September 2011

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

Friday, 9 September 2011


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.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

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.