tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33055652243676031392023-07-18T23:51:14.131-07:00SAMANTHA MORLEYSamantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-19687870703164924182011-12-12T02:39:00.000-08:002011-12-12T02:39:32.956-08:00A synthetic kite adorns the branches, hidden from our eyes, but nonetheless still tucked in the trees under which we doze. I had left it there, and there it remains from when I was a girl. Tentative trust bestowed upon me by my father ended in ultimate disappointment when my grip was lost on plastic strings and the garish bird settled far away from us on a tree beyond both our reaches.<br />
But now it watches us from afar and the afternoon heat melts my brain. I slowly drag two fingers down your clammy back (which I do because I can) and I enjoy the nervous pleasure you exhibit, and you shiver. We are sat on an old picnic blanket I believe belonged to my Grandmother. It smells of her old house, slightly fetid. I thought it would quiver and rumble with the stories it must keep of lovers, of children and beige foodstuffs. I let you finish what I have started, for though I may be precocious, I am afraid. Sinister grins protect the true repulsion, and it is true that I am younger than you. I mask paralysis-inducing panic with airs of the garish, and it is true that you love it.<br />
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I opened the airing cupboard, fingers groping for fresh towels, instead touching the familiar scratch of that old blanket. I remember these things and I lament that you cannot repeat the past.Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-44611173796798288392011-11-24T17:47:00.000-08:002011-11-24T17:48:53.947-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZYZ5-SRwZ_XlG65-FNzTSACUvlWO9dQrfgIAbMyrnPg_AFVHxdoB21b5CZGY9gR35Xe9GPbTXsHecIrpfcE8EwxFLgEadqkqtm1wnBYy8ZLk9tfGRMqrejynSzmM-E8MB8Hd8UEiMWuZ/s1600/seaford.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZYZ5-SRwZ_XlG65-FNzTSACUvlWO9dQrfgIAbMyrnPg_AFVHxdoB21b5CZGY9gR35Xe9GPbTXsHecIrpfcE8EwxFLgEadqkqtm1wnBYy8ZLk9tfGRMqrejynSzmM-E8MB8Hd8UEiMWuZ/s640/seaford.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><b style="font-size: x-large;"> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Pillars hold things up, and salt keeps things clean, but it's a poor exchange for losing yourself. People do go back, but they don't survive, because two realities are claiming them at the same time.</span></span></span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Jeanette Winterson</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Literally obsessed with this quote, it's lurked in my head all day.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I have dyed my hair auburn, played in the sea (Iamnotinsane), seen The Babies in London, and had a sweet Thanksgiving this week. The above photo was taken on a beach in Seaford one early afternoon with Adam, where there was no wind or soul to speak of, but there were lots of starfish and crabs for me to hassle.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I had some bad news about my Grandfather's health last week too, and haven't really ever had to deal with ailing relatives or anything like that, so it feels weird and sad to see someone scared and panicked about their own mortality. </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Criss-crossed ankles and upright carriages though</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">NO MORE MORBIDITY my Christmas tree is up, and my Christmas list is as follows (I hope somebody loves me big time this year)</span></span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kEqtb7g5JwnEbXBMzuDbFIxKgXGN-G-fBOUm5IlT1enCp3rA767uFbqeXK8KQJ26DW3tr7GAdWxBMr7xhhjolT_hFFaW4v3fw1hPoE2mhqzkmkuLBxzrctD-lNV0RBNaSf5YSjbqF9yQ/s1600/10310221_b1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kEqtb7g5JwnEbXBMzuDbFIxKgXGN-G-fBOUm5IlT1enCp3rA767uFbqeXK8KQJ26DW3tr7GAdWxBMr7xhhjolT_hFFaW4v3fw1hPoE2mhqzkmkuLBxzrctD-lNV0RBNaSf5YSjbqF9yQ/s1600/10310221_b1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TMBTOlDJsVBFijWDrOCbMvnlkLQIEpVNJeNvujUA9eyEZ7bl67YKJ0n3QOeZexJ4tqo2Zg0LuxkOfpLbeP8xmVLI2yutyGNeBhpH8zt0oSaaaSqXCzVrqVeh5o4vaEY0h8zw9SZ6r5_I/s1600/42E04AOXB_3_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TMBTOlDJsVBFijWDrOCbMvnlkLQIEpVNJeNvujUA9eyEZ7bl67YKJ0n3QOeZexJ4tqo2Zg0LuxkOfpLbeP8xmVLI2yutyGNeBhpH8zt0oSaaaSqXCzVrqVeh5o4vaEY0h8zw9SZ6r5_I/s1600/42E04AOXB_3_small.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thank you Jesus!</div><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></span></div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-51778483846128777732011-11-08T17:36:00.000-08:002011-11-08T17:36:37.308-08:00(Anita O’Day tenderly, sweetly, sings in waves in varying frequencies that come in pretty wisps of sound from your kitchen)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS08YtjjrojYufiMNWUSbxm9Y2kdDjNR4ePb9Qv2ISVe8YNyOx_xofEFJgtALRaccy2wrAZrZqp1SIAeLOpnbXEOtXTMbYXrl0inqoa65ItBK0oeaKGfEzypoF2TkKeFqnJ_zzelKzG4Ip/s1600/CNV00029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS08YtjjrojYufiMNWUSbxm9Y2kdDjNR4ePb9Qv2ISVe8YNyOx_xofEFJgtALRaccy2wrAZrZqp1SIAeLOpnbXEOtXTMbYXrl0inqoa65ItBK0oeaKGfEzypoF2TkKeFqnJ_zzelKzG4Ip/s640/CNV00029.JPG" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7o4rKc4DtDFd7T7tr2Vs-iYfZC60F3-l1qa9kv0LCe2LJEMGup-A-wj5TObmksGry1CKc0RX2hGLBnWf_AsbsG408zl-NSt1WGJMUIKbNQMrCebqq1WtFNHTLIG46Sru0qBWpjiiIe9bC/s1600/CNV00031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7o4rKc4DtDFd7T7tr2Vs-iYfZC60F3-l1qa9kv0LCe2LJEMGup-A-wj5TObmksGry1CKc0RX2hGLBnWf_AsbsG408zl-NSt1WGJMUIKbNQMrCebqq1WtFNHTLIG46Sru0qBWpjiiIe9bC/s640/CNV00031.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Bonfire Night at Lewes was scary/out of control, but cool and beautiful. </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">My favourite oriental friend Wing-Yee has a blog, people should check it out, she's very good at drawing. She can literally draw anything. Although her page doesn't have very many posts yet i'm sure she's got loads to put up there in the near future, I think there's a link on my blog lists. (hypehypehype).<br />
I am hopefully going to be doing some scriptwriting soon with my friend Craig, COMEDY, but who knows when I'll have time for that with all the other work I've been avoiding.<br />
I also have been roped into doing a poetry Open Mic Night at The Blind Tiger, Grand Parade on December 6th which I will do once only, with sufficient gin in my gullet and wobbly knees. </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div>All the songs on this album still make me feel weird after three years of it on repeat. Perhaps a lot to do with old flames and hospital visits! WHY MUST ALL MUSIC BE RUINED BY ATTACHING IT TO EVENTS/PEOPLE/PLACES?<br />
I will write something and update this soon.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WiGI_UsWcWs?fs=1" width="459"></iframe>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-44212076648453111622011-11-01T09:25:00.000-07:002011-11-02T04:47:27.579-07:00This must be the place<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGz4E8hnawBt21ysMNS8yeQrZWQrmGhQ30qlSb4nTrBzBDdy0pzaiUk8lkGd4VuuUazO3z6PrNZVVgrkXwZEuKaduHYFiKt313w5Jz5r5O3cg8XUZ0Mz79tS0pMIKokWLQe2Q6yf8gn-h8/s1600/this+must+be+the+place.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGz4E8hnawBt21ysMNS8yeQrZWQrmGhQ30qlSb4nTrBzBDdy0pzaiUk8lkGd4VuuUazO3z6PrNZVVgrkXwZEuKaduHYFiKt313w5Jz5r5O3cg8XUZ0Mz79tS0pMIKokWLQe2Q6yf8gn-h8/s640/this+must+be+the+place.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
My weekend has directly resulted in an aggressive cold and I think it is sensible for me to go outside more, on walks. My bedroom (favourite place) has become a disgusting germ-pit. This week I am going to London for music and to make a friend feel better, and myself.<br />
I've been thinking a lot about specific days from when I was younger and last weekend has made me think about one winter; February in particular. This also stems from being scared that it is November already. I am very scared.<br />
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No, I wouldn’t have it any other way, it’s the sound of it I hear and not the words I read. For once they are unimportant. All I can hear is <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Do do do do do do dodo do <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Ba ba ba ba ba ba baba ba<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">When I remember nothing it is dangerous, you’d think it was a blessing but it is a horror. I am alone in this room and all about me there are shadows at 3 o’clock which my eyes know not what to make of. There is a crackling inside my skin and a fire between my eyes. Is it possible this crackling is both a sound and a texture and a feeling and a state of being? Tearing it out made little headway but it all subsides anyway, isn’t that right? Give me thirty to forty minutes of immobilisation.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">No I wouldn’t have it any other way, I am positively sure. I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry I think I am likely to be forgiven.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">It’s always worth it because I need your sunny disposition, your filthy talk, I need your kindly ear, your mothering, your lack of, your pretty face, I need your tantrums, and I need your depression. Most of all I need you near me to the nearest centimetre with facts I don’t care much for and a dextrous hand that fits every contour with (unknowing) magnetic precision. You have four or five faces but there’s one in particular I fear to lose. You fear it too! You must, need is mutual, of this is I am sure. Baby I’ve got silver and I’ve got gold let me show you let me show you. <span class="apple-style-span">But when push comes to shove, this is getting old. I have struck this sentence the moment it hits paper because it nauseates me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span">And when you call I’ll be there as always, because soon it will be winter and I’m hanging on the telephone just in case you can replace old friends. We might replace her and go sledging, take stock together forgetting of all the songs neither of us can listen to any more because of each other and retire at four o’clock to tea and crackers. I can recall silent twenty-four hours in constant light behind snow clouds, wandering up hills of woodland as though looking for her somewhere. The snow never stopped and it never stopped being silent either. I had the odd sensation that I was thawing head to toe. Was it just us that day? We only held hands for photographs, and your hair was longer back then. You were more genuine but on the precipice of disintegration which you fully implement now. There was no part of you she would recognise and I still lived in slight fear I would pay at her hands for not doing more to help. You see you never recognised my trueness and constancy for the inherent selfishness it truly was. I loved you because I loved myself. You loved me because you needed me. It is hard to say who really deserved the ostracism.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span">Sunny sunny love<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="apple-style-span"> You strike me upon a star and the sound is purer than that of musicians that drive me to the floor I am a tuning fork and I press my mouth to fur for comfort. Boastful photo collages make the beautiful symbols I want them to and cymbals make the perfect sound I ask them to. Warm warm I miss July and August but not for the sun.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span">There are 59 minutes of optimism until I must make my evening my own independent sphere of time</span><o:p></o:p></div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-52080709712885100912011-10-25T06:34:00.000-07:002011-11-14T09:56:36.200-08:00Webcam photos are good<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXcS4yebhxr_IiqWnxometh3-J9OGmuDVw9VqbHzeiDxg02Q0VwyLvsIAFTe044kGK1k6OkxQEGUOhr6wMIDHPsZ4d1KZ6hevx9Ma1_IsdJ7mA9DF2_VZV06CdFzZf9UAKprf2EqdRdwjj/s1600/Snapshot_20111028_21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXcS4yebhxr_IiqWnxometh3-J9OGmuDVw9VqbHzeiDxg02Q0VwyLvsIAFTe044kGK1k6OkxQEGUOhr6wMIDHPsZ4d1KZ6hevx9Ma1_IsdJ7mA9DF2_VZV06CdFzZf9UAKprf2EqdRdwjj/s320/Snapshot_20111028_21.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wrote a short story yesterday. It's just a first draft so probably mistake-ridden/not good and a bit weird I guess. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I was early for work one morning. I am always early. Due to characteristic earliness I had almost planned in advance a trip to a café for some beans on toast. My God! I love beans on toast. I sat at a small, round table for one in the corner, by the window. I like to watch the people go by, you see. I’m a real people watcher. I barely even noticed anyone else at other tables; I was so absorbed in beautiful girls with legs like large-scale matchsticks, and myself. The waitress brought over my tea, and distraction carried my gaze over to an elderly lady sat in the corner. She was nursing a teacake with slow, shaky, but measured precision. She had cream and butter, but no jam. It was all beige, and I imagined the mundane taste she would have in her mouth, all crumb and grease and fat in one undeterminable lump turned over and over, stealing all the moisture from her tongue. She wasn’t wearing any jewellery, and her clothes were made from textures of velvet, velour, and thick cotton. Watching her made my eyes droop and I wanted to let my head rest on the table, near to my steaming drink so that I would be warm when I slumbered. I kept watching her. When she felt preyed upon her eyes slowly rose to meet mine, and I half expected flies to creep out of her eyelids. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">She and I became friends out of a necessity to lose ourselves in our own contexts. She was lonely and bored, I was a little frightened and alienated. These juxtaposing feelings worked against us, and a bond formed neither of us were prepared to break but that dragged us down daily. I was eager to be a part of the eras she had been kissed in, had danced in, I wanted to wear the dresses she laid on duvets lovingly to show me. The records she would give me to play (for her hands were too knotted, twisted, and she couldn’t position the needle correctly herself). In the early days I longed for the time she might be close enough to me to unravel the plaited, regimented bun of hair positioned on the top of her head. I knew her hair would be long, untouched and silken in its silvery cascades, falling onto, and past, her shoulders. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I wanted to cry, hit, and kiss her. At the same time she repulsed me. That’s the worst thing about complicated emotions, they make no sense whatsoever and there’s nothing to stop the oddest urges strolling into your head like they always existed at the forefront of your thought processes. She had become so much more to me than I had imagined. Her recycled stories were beginning to bore me, and so I became more child-like in her presence, petulant. Any rebuffs aimed my way would dissolve me into tears and angry fist-balling. This was because I knew I needed her to feel things vital to my ego. Youth, memory, and energy were things I knew she resented me for. Sometimes I would put on a record by someone like Ella Fitzgerald, or Wanda Jackson and dance slowly for her to watch how I could pull my arms, the shapes I could make. I would pretend I had somewhere to go after our meetings, and bring makeup and dresses to her house. She couldn’t take her eyes off me when I twisted my hair into chignons fixed at the nape of my neck. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">‘YOU ROT MY PATIENCE’, she yelled at me, quite some time later. I think she meant it, but it’s so hard to be sure. I said nothing, and instead rooted through her larder for some Crackerbread I could dip into butter. I loved her food. It was simple and full of the things they never thought to remove for fear it would compromise the taste. I didn’t believe in such compromises either. I probably did rot her patience. I rotted lots of parts of her in those last years. I never allowed her to be who she was in the 21<sup>st</sup> century. She was always twenty-one, and we were always in competition. I had a lover, but then so did she. He was just dead, and she hadn’t seen him since 1958. He wrote her sonnets. I hated that.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Relief flooded my veins as I felt the pressure of a finger in the small of my back. We were like a psychedelic mating of play dough pushed and moulded together until our colours merged and bled together in the dim light of morning, I was not convinced that I was not still sleeping. Amongst other things, I felt something warm run down the back of my throat. I touched my nose, and it was bleeding. I said nothing, it was dark and the blood made me feel something I know not how to conjugate. I let it run over my hands, and dragged my finger over my stomach, chest and thighs, I could smell it in the air, and perhaps he could too? Where the red fern grows, time flowed horizontally and we could have been there two minutes or five hours, I couldn’t tell you. It went on, and when it ended I wanted everything else to too. I knew she was in the next room spreading marmite on crumpets. I didn’t let him turn the lights on, I asked him to leave. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">‘Don’t just stand there, DO something!’ she said to me as I stood in front of her, brows furrowed. First, a forceful sigh, then, she thrust one, two, three, five, fifteen, thirty books at me. There were lamps and old dusty bird cages neatly left in the hallway. I couldn’t understand why she thought I’d want half of this crap. I wasn’t grateful. It was anxiety-inducing. Where would I put any of it? I steeled my jaw and kept silent. Why was she so angry that she had only me to leave every one of her possessions to? She could have done worse. I knew it was more than the task at hand which was making her so goddamn angry. She wouldn’t cry, but instead her bottom lip shook with fury and her nostrils flared intermittently. I had not the energy or care to detract myself from this scene. I wouldn’t be gracious enough to accept blame yet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">‘Don’t just stand there, DO something!’ I said. I can’t be sure that it was on purpose or by accident that I didn’t mean it. They did a few token things. Of course it was no good. They let me look her square in the face before they took her, and I could have sworn she was beautiful. Her eyes were flat and milky; they had lost the sharp narrowing I was accustomed to seeing. I thought about the process of p</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">utrefaction. <span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-origin: initial; color: black;">The abdomen would swell with bacterial waste. Organs would begin to pop. Eventually, her body would collapse, deflate, and decompose. This was life and death as we would not yet recognise. I went home to watch my hamster climb horizontally across her three-tiered cage. I guess it does not matter how intricately our cages are wrought; we can stress our own freedoms but they are mini-triumphs, caught up in the mundane nature of the conventions we craft ourselves. I loved her until the end and all it did was ensure my three year-long stagnation of denial could go on forever as long as I could find someone else to share it with.</span></span></span></div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-5947656413102135902011-10-21T13:35:00.000-07:002011-10-21T16:12:55.675-07:00I've been so down in the mouth lately that sometimes when I bend over to lace my shoes there are three tongues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZiGJxi3rR-8QPItEo5gAZj_XfPtpdqxsEGb_y838w-QpzlrtX1OmkuNdyurc4prcL37CVk9Gxm5HUTvjsDpm2Ff09OcL8fUlmemrxdCGuy2_VHkxSZByCo5mdU7_9rAZSmbHGB81118S/s1600/3A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZiGJxi3rR-8QPItEo5gAZj_XfPtpdqxsEGb_y838w-QpzlrtX1OmkuNdyurc4prcL37CVk9Gxm5HUTvjsDpm2Ff09OcL8fUlmemrxdCGuy2_VHkxSZByCo5mdU7_9rAZSmbHGB81118S/s400/3A.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaNsPILdd0rgOcMgp1VR0ZFn-tnNMx7h8V5mmne_Sa03vK3KRGbwNt9KB8TUKCD7eCjxOAuZ0xAO0G7NKNAVDOTANSZ8Eo4urBvXJMci9SWT-zyb5uCHPVHaYEOSkl5wd0S6XOEcW4vJ1/s1600/5A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaNsPILdd0rgOcMgp1VR0ZFn-tnNMx7h8V5mmne_Sa03vK3KRGbwNt9KB8TUKCD7eCjxOAuZ0xAO0G7NKNAVDOTANSZ8Eo4urBvXJMci9SWT-zyb5uCHPVHaYEOSkl5wd0S6XOEcW4vJ1/s400/5A.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
'...a century back<br />
a man could be driven mad<br />
by a well-turned<br />
ankle, and,<br />
why not?<br />
...<br />
there is hardly anything as beautiful<br />
as a woman in a long dress<br />
not even the sunrise<br />
not even the geese flying south<br />
in the long V formation<br />
in the bright freshness<br />
of early morning.'<br />
<br />
Today is a Charles Bukowski day for me. I have read the entirety of his book of poetry; <i>You Get so Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense</i> rather than doing anything remotely useful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvuriEot_7zVfs9olb7VprVezTiuERiTcTasmpuj3PBWu5Ylt7tXqjDzz7wVLOlbrxUpmqYiY-JxC3WHxjKcS-iF3zJXgyyr2j4vTvFyV6Ze24i2loNf2mMFFos6Pe-Ms2VFR3lyor84Rm/s1600/cameron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvuriEot_7zVfs9olb7VprVezTiuERiTcTasmpuj3PBWu5Ylt7tXqjDzz7wVLOlbrxUpmqYiY-JxC3WHxjKcS-iF3zJXgyyr2j4vTvFyV6Ze24i2loNf2mMFFos6Pe-Ms2VFR3lyor84Rm/s320/cameron.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyi3gKbDnk6n5YqH3Gt2YvQailt1pkv8VNucpswraR6-CzRPh3AAZSCje2iHbBktc_T3aEYMMZXmoloyB9yleyi92mlbus3gcKmpGfhJCtZIL3rmp9fCaGXQJueRNZTo9Pd0YjxbkSzP33/s1600/anais_nin-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyi3gKbDnk6n5YqH3Gt2YvQailt1pkv8VNucpswraR6-CzRPh3AAZSCje2iHbBktc_T3aEYMMZXmoloyB9yleyi92mlbus3gcKmpGfhJCtZIL3rmp9fCaGXQJueRNZTo9Pd0YjxbkSzP33/s320/anais_nin-001.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Marjorie Cameron and Anais Nin.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Both women I've been thinking a lot about today. Anais was an erotic writer coming to prominence around the 1940s, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I am eager to get hold of Nin's journals. As well as <i>House of Incest (</i>not as bad as it sounds), and <i>Delta of Venus.</i> Bit of heavy-duty, post-grad, summer reading. Anyone who calls themselves, 'the madam of this snobbish literary h<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">ouse of prostitution' is definitely worth my attention. Apparently, her and Henry Miller (Tropic of Cancer, Tropic of Capricorn) were both commissioned to write naughty literature for an anonymous man who was known as 'The Collector' with as much smut as possible. </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 19px;">Delta of Venus</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"> is supposed to be the most </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">risqué of them all. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Marjorie Cameron </span>was an artist, actress,and occultist. Both her and Anais were involved<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"> in </span><i style="line-height: 19px;">Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome, (1954),</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"> a short film by Kenneth Anger. Cameron </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">was cast as the 'Scarlet Woman'.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"> I don't even know where to begin with this film. It is absolutely insane. The music is heavenly (literally), and everything on-screen is sensuous, psychedelic, absurd, and alienating. I might watch it again soon. It is STRANGE.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Such incredible, beautiful, and powerful women. I am not a RAGING feminist I swear.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><u>I Ruminate Best at Night</u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><u><br />
</u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I am bored so</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I grasp at options at</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Night when I am alone</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Not physically, but consciously</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I reach out for comfort</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Your tiny heart beats</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">In its puny cage </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Matchstick skeleton </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">You are so foreign cupped</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Gently in my hands</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">My brain might explode </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">If I stay in this bed</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Or worse</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I might crush you for </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Something to do</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">You always said nothing was wrong</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Canvas and tea leaves and </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Niceties and endless nights</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Of other people's success stories</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">190 minutes or so</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">In darkness, b</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">ehind my eyelids </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">There are mad fireworks in red </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">When I open them there is still</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Some red blinking light, only, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">It is a mere pinprick, a message</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Good night, it reads</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I will see you in six months</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">So remember to make </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Arrangements before you sleep,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Good night and Good luck.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">There is no one I believe in </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">The people most real to me are those</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Who have been dragged about by their</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Own people covered in their own blood</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Which has been dry for some time </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Just like their hearts have been static</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Make a martyr of those I could love</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">They will never be as vibrant </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">As when they have fallen</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Perhaps then they might </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Stimulate me when sleep</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">fails to find the switch to </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Anaesthetise what it should.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_pXt3yhERJOaIx5BGyCGzKQvdxPRA3q4a_N9Ojwzy4-HOVLqyhaJakdSOvBsZaZGEeC7FvoRnnL2ZjbfVxOKbe6VqBhDNkBjgrdzOIlJmx5lkju9nDmrU431cf8i_KiAp00jThBasEV0/s1600/david-lynch-e-isabella-rossellini1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_pXt3yhERJOaIx5BGyCGzKQvdxPRA3q4a_N9Ojwzy4-HOVLqyhaJakdSOvBsZaZGEeC7FvoRnnL2ZjbfVxOKbe6VqBhDNkBjgrdzOIlJmx5lkju9nDmrU431cf8i_KiAp00jThBasEV0/s320/david-lynch-e-isabella-rossellini1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>This was not a short story, nor is it a good poem, I apologise. Lynch is sexy and I don't care who knows it, I am going to watch the Elephant man now.Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-87848440088891240712011-10-18T03:20:00.000-07:002011-11-14T10:24:28.397-08:00First you are non-existent then you are invisible<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDV0UJtYUKYS5jYKjTQGapnEoSmMM176-LjpS_6Wa3i1xeANmqlWUcQAFA0ozTO9QqPTyr-_F4Ep8oMBOUc46j86OQ1CtLzlpjL2Z1sPiHKzr5Ld9ViYedxV5QO7ZfWWvXT692jU7CKeE4/s1600/Myra-and-Michele-1980-006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDV0UJtYUKYS5jYKjTQGapnEoSmMM176-LjpS_6Wa3i1xeANmqlWUcQAFA0ozTO9QqPTyr-_F4Ep8oMBOUc46j86OQ1CtLzlpjL2Z1sPiHKzr5Ld9ViYedxV5QO7ZfWWvXT692jU7CKeE4/s320/Myra-and-Michele-1980-006.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEr1fVSJD5dJPpcXYb8p_WJBpNh35Y2Ud8X7VYPmMq2OGkzSXSXOmyailQY61ln79bsMoTgi1cANkxy60JxYsb8Uk1lLAPJ1RiUg8PNjmgorm8HHTcMI691fFbTXtWoK09XUlRH9o70_lV/s1600/Bride+of+Re-Animator+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEr1fVSJD5dJPpcXYb8p_WJBpNh35Y2Ud8X7VYPmMq2OGkzSXSXOmyailQY61ln79bsMoTgi1cANkxy60JxYsb8Uk1lLAPJ1RiUg8PNjmgorm8HHTcMI691fFbTXtWoK09XUlRH9o70_lV/s320/Bride+of+Re-Animator+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Halloween is SOON.<br />
I want an amalgamation of all the above in a costume. I am having a party, I want to dress my house!<br />
<br />
I want to talk about maxi and midi skirts. I just think they were not appropriate for summer. I wear them NOW in AUTUMN, with long socks (possibly belonging to my brother but that's neither here nor there) and boots. Boom. My usual winter wardrobe, rife with clunky jeans, black tights, shapeless jumpers is just not becoming at all. At least now I look MODERATELY ladylike, plus, tell me if you wear maxi skirts you don't pretend to be a can-can girl on your own in front of the mirror? So sexy. Despite the dragging, demure hemline. I AM SO RIGHT ABOUT THIS.<br />
<br />
So this happened today...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACl9T-28PrsJgj24VQnL0NSmE-DZngw7if69vmilMQ6w2ZDCjTJWJlBKvr_c2LvQ9E_uKPP-V849vctZy34AFnX4b7d2Bt9jEl3oa28XMKdapFRVLBB49Cq3lGOcImmejNK1xtPbZrHR1/s1600/319690_10150322561521640_609106639_8536988_355834300_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACl9T-28PrsJgj24VQnL0NSmE-DZngw7if69vmilMQ6w2ZDCjTJWJlBKvr_c2LvQ9E_uKPP-V849vctZy34AFnX4b7d2Bt9jEl3oa28XMKdapFRVLBB49Cq3lGOcImmejNK1xtPbZrHR1/s320/319690_10150322561521640_609106639_8536988_355834300_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Awkward. I think I'm such a badman, going into Primark despite my ethical misgivings, (also that it is cheap and everyone buys the same stuff), then my favourite Urban Outfitters employee Natalie Horobin does the same and we look like dickheads sat next to each other in our Post-Colonial Literature lecture with tweed- panelled boots.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcFqWkULyipRkP0a32K9vowD_TC4TIPNIYTQia3m_KObJnV5EwmeYFI5a_SaNumkZqLqOWzq6CPkH7AnmpKHgIbRUPbQNRPm10TypMX6Y0CWik6fsfL7k2EWqAVvg3Wb3ZqzhrY7C9e5B/s1600/vintage-blouse-vintage-maxi-skirt_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcFqWkULyipRkP0a32K9vowD_TC4TIPNIYTQia3m_KObJnV5EwmeYFI5a_SaNumkZqLqOWzq6CPkH7AnmpKHgIbRUPbQNRPm10TypMX6Y0CWik6fsfL7k2EWqAVvg3Wb3ZqzhrY7C9e5B/s320/vintage-blouse-vintage-maxi-skirt_400.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQ0nU9uEAAvUYfwrfZXqIfdmF7NfJIL_hdAeVLh_1dDXmQQoNQVm4CZZxMYSXurMTpEtGdAi150PL_8s-FSjKyAwdpRPYiEfPe2I6-UjSPmMRX9V7vubySMHoGcvncD7zJmz-VaQ1KFsa/s1600/white-vintage-top-coral-dotti-skirt-brown-vintage-belt_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGQ0nU9uEAAvUYfwrfZXqIfdmF7NfJIL_hdAeVLh_1dDXmQQoNQVm4CZZxMYSXurMTpEtGdAi150PL_8s-FSjKyAwdpRPYiEfPe2I6-UjSPmMRX9V7vubySMHoGcvncD7zJmz-VaQ1KFsa/s320/white-vintage-top-coral-dotti-skirt-brown-vintage-belt_400.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>So sexy. My student loan has been completely dicked away on Barry M nail varnish and clothes I buy on e bay that never quite fit right like a fool.<br />
<br />
My writing is irritating me, I apologise for this.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I’m so very tired,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I need to rest,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But I sleep all day and all night,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">My head leant on a hand on a windowsill.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I imagine that in that room straight ahead,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">There is a bathroom filled with steam,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Over there, a pink and dripping body,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Soft feet pad on the tiles,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Plump and gorged on piping hot liquid,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I can see twelve windowsills peering back at me.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I am a zoo attraction, am I not?</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Maybe someone could jab me, swift in the side,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Wake me up for kicks,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Watch me weep and rub my head.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">But as long as you can’t hear me,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Your conscience is so clear,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I could dance but I fear you would remain,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Unaffected, which would be so hurtful to endure,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">(Though I do endure it daily).</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">So I will eat my morning grains,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Ignore any growing pains,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Watch for a while the Time of others,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Spent as though hamsters in cages.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Why is it you are always alone by your windows?</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">You are like me,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> Perhaps you all watch us when we are sleeping,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The people who watch through windows,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Who dream in their slumbers?</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Of realities they foresee with desire,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">On the hour of every hour,</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Though we are forever weary, so, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">We daren’t open our eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">However this could just be me, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">And no one is watching.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Perhaps these figures I see crossing from window <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">To window, are mere spectres? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I check in a mirror to see if I am there, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I am, just as always, until<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 12.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">A figure passes in front of my reflection. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I think I should put some short stories on here instead.<br />
<br />
Also, I don't recall typing out the last entry. Humiliating turn of events when your drunk misgivings are merely writing a blog entry rather than having one night stands or breaking everything you own.</div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-76091736944948665842011-10-14T17:14:00.000-07:002011-10-18T03:42:28.613-07:00I AM SO DRUNK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEBfYzWAmCviRL4Q-fdzaGdV2kAX7e5dc89F6qK_pPYzkK1X0FOqKJ74XKeSeRJkbDFiwv8pY_QcY3u-NYejO5SosNlzI7sDab2S17G1AMTNi8INGLckctGcNEmfaT-G9fgJhwscqaWHz/s1600/20090430102156_dsfsddf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEBfYzWAmCviRL4Q-fdzaGdV2kAX7e5dc89F6qK_pPYzkK1X0FOqKJ74XKeSeRJkbDFiwv8pY_QcY3u-NYejO5SosNlzI7sDab2S17G1AMTNi8INGLckctGcNEmfaT-G9fgJhwscqaWHz/s400/20090430102156_dsfsddf.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>MY CONCENTRATION LEVELS ARE WORKING AT 2384345 MPH<br />
<br />
Gig at The Hope tonight; Mazes, Milk Maid, Fear of Men.<br />
Never heard Fear of Men live before, but their music is reminiscent of Beach House to me. I feel this is inoffensive but hurm, Lets not compare them to PENS though how contrived and untrue? They sound pleasant and melodies are evocative of the times you remember swaying alone/in a lively way/and drunk to things like BYOP at age 15 but more modern/mellow/soothing. Rambles are irrelevant but yah I had a good time, they are quite good.<br />
Already developed a thing for Milk Maid's bassist, (normal right?) and mazes made me swing my hips like Shakira (no?)<br />
But seriously, I did have arabic men yell 'SHAKIRA' at me in Egypt as if it was some sort of lucid and sensical come on to which I should AT ONCE respond. (NB is sensical a word? Non-sensical certainly is.)<br />
<br />
REGARDLESS, I blame Tom Cleall (eternally) for this torrid state of BULMERS(y) I am in. I am going to start a band once my dissertation is through. Despite my best efforts at masking any possible 'talents' I may be coveting, I may or may not have partial ones. (Non-sensical entry?)<br />
<br />
Maybe I will become a lyricist in my band. My shoddy attempts at poetry are halfway there right?Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-54222635907353788812011-10-13T05:20:00.000-07:002011-10-18T03:45:01.073-07:00Tearfulness is a repugnant female trait<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCDY6JY0jQfMjgQfJamVeGfiGEdogLGKJlPfyAZfAE4QhNA3f6xKqcIuCr6eYjhxB1WtR2ZWQ-6EgitwjB87lzU66AsXxAXS30SM923pEa2GQ6S_sQxQT8rA8G247TEDLoaIXm27lngtG/s1600/paris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCDY6JY0jQfMjgQfJamVeGfiGEdogLGKJlPfyAZfAE4QhNA3f6xKqcIuCr6eYjhxB1WtR2ZWQ-6EgitwjB87lzU66AsXxAXS30SM923pEa2GQ6S_sQxQT8rA8G247TEDLoaIXm27lngtG/s320/paris.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHeV1n9GJIGBnV7Us_CrbENiUP7nvH3AGoEYZ0YowclkagB5ZVqkIGI86QspB_ZdopUe4GJmpsjhRwDuo0npvclFXkvlW_zwy2PcTRYVLmV03bhof2UI6CNjXGvHDdTfiG9SDaWEJUhXgR/s1600/Charles-Bridge_On-Charles-Bridge_3288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHeV1n9GJIGBnV7Us_CrbENiUP7nvH3AGoEYZ0YowclkagB5ZVqkIGI86QspB_ZdopUe4GJmpsjhRwDuo0npvclFXkvlW_zwy2PcTRYVLmV03bhof2UI6CNjXGvHDdTfiG9SDaWEJUhXgR/s320/Charles-Bridge_On-Charles-Bridge_3288.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Champs Elysees, Charles Bridge</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I don't go away soon I will implode, and I fear I will be taking no one with me! I must go to Prague, I must not go alone, I must go soon...See how my constant need for instant gratification has holes shot in it already? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have very little coming up in the near future bar reading, writing and...there's a gig tomorrow...yep that's it. YEP. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just started reading Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih for my Post-Colonial Literature module. It is good but it is early days.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I want to go for a swim with my hamster bobbing next to me in her awful plastic ball. I NEED FRESH AIR I fear i'm becoming a bedroom gremlin. I wrote this last night when I was drunk with my dad and typed it into my Sony Ericsson *saved as draft*. We were in his hotel room, he was in the bath and I was looking at the dead pier, it was raining.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
I could wade into the ocean and become lost,<br />
Whilst maintaining the pretence<br />
that what occurred was sheer coincidence.<br />
If I would, I could<br />
Blend into the horizon in a straight line so that<br />
The sun rises and sets with me in time<br />
(I could undo the times my curiosity got the better of me)<br />
Hello you! I love you and that and us and them,<br />
But give me ten seconds and you will hear<br />
How dreamy, sleepy smiles pave way for fear.<br />
Every song I want to drape over my ear</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">Is a song that beats with the dead passion of past</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">(You CAN'T repeat the past)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">(But of course you can!)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">I have no right to peer into </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">for which I am sorry</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"> I tire of myself and melancholy.<br />
I offer my sincerest apologies if I often weep<br />
And prefer my life as it is when I sleep.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">But here is something true, and lovely</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><u>Elegy: Image of her whom I love- John Donne</u></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">So If I dream I have you, I have you,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">For all our joys are but fantastical.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">And so I 'scape the pain, for pain is true;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">And sleep, which locks out sense, doth lock out all.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span></div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-83598562953525443242011-10-11T14:13:00.000-07:002011-10-11T14:13:51.460-07:00Dog Altogether<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UinEI8k3utB3LSNwp9zxXVWXlL79WW5XY02BsnZD3zqBAyBuawn3m8noTtfxtAfGcXvd_B4JyI1ONQm7r--pm_19SPh9NCU_RfeF2ncWh_-8Qi50H40S5AqrIlXqaxFBKUUKr-xODmXV/s1600/Tyrannosaur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UinEI8k3utB3LSNwp9zxXVWXlL79WW5XY02BsnZD3zqBAyBuawn3m8noTtfxtAfGcXvd_B4JyI1ONQm7r--pm_19SPh9NCU_RfeF2ncWh_-8Qi50H40S5AqrIlXqaxFBKUUKr-xODmXV/s400/Tyrannosaur.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTA4nteF7XX6XGelllhxOnox6iaPt0lk1jb9_FF273_kOdCTMM64Bl7iSi-jTsppoanmWjkzX7Mv0LLlA6Zu61OFjIhEVUp6mANB1b-EQu3vnHzf6d4RlYc-nAS-MoZ3H_QwaMbm1wFnIZ/s1600/e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTA4nteF7XX6XGelllhxOnox6iaPt0lk1jb9_FF273_kOdCTMM64Bl7iSi-jTsppoanmWjkzX7Mv0LLlA6Zu61OFjIhEVUp6mANB1b-EQu3vnHzf6d4RlYc-nAS-MoZ3H_QwaMbm1wFnIZ/s320/e.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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I cannot bear to read or write anything about Kafka today which I feel terribly about. But 'guilt is a wasted energy' (?) I was told yesterday, so this is at least mildly constructive in the scheme of things.<br />
Post- it notes are far too garish but they are dotted about my room and in pages in various acrid colours, I should like to burn them, because I have never been consistent enough to write on every single sheet in a pad, which is either a terrible reflection on my note-taking/list making, or the Post-its seem to be setting me too much homework. I have nine books I have not completed lying on my bed around me being totally ignored.<br />
I find it unsettling how I can feel so warm and kind but within one nanosecond of a linger upon a thought I am venomous and spitting acid. The remedy for this is more sleep, continuous hibernation, (and why not follow the routines of Kafka if he is to be the most important of my foci until May?) I wish I could eat, drink and move in the circles necessary to make this degree my entire life but instead I spoil myself, I love self-inflicted pure decadence and then despising myself for it, until out of sheer spite and anxiety I do it again.<br />
After today I will stop trying to work in bed. It is far too tempting.<br />
Yesterday I watched 'Tyrannosaur'. It was a very hard film to watch, as I am particularly sensitive to animal cruelty and, frankly, I do not like imagining any woman being rendered barren because their husband raped them with broken glass. Paddy Considine scares me quite a lot, because his films are so startling and brutal which is strange because his face is so sweet and young.<br />
This is what I am listening to, on repeat. The album that is. If I could work out how I'd put it all in this post.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/P7NUz5ivqYg?fs=1" width="459"></iframe>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-28931654424154333632011-10-10T12:27:00.000-07:002011-10-10T15:39:33.597-07:00I make nice birthday cards too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aNIKaKe2OLtG18Tf63swWZ-U6tG3fa_v14iN44o3lLha4fDCL246MNxjDcAzfM6szyQCYDifJxCJ8qIKcUyVk6QBSiJ8YxD8BhR8s_XxQQ3pfi3LBulGJRwg2Puaugt53MAlzvoCLG8L/s1600/316199_10150306534391640_609106639_8444759_1175702685_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aNIKaKe2OLtG18Tf63swWZ-U6tG3fa_v14iN44o3lLha4fDCL246MNxjDcAzfM6szyQCYDifJxCJ8qIKcUyVk6QBSiJ8YxD8BhR8s_XxQQ3pfi3LBulGJRwg2Puaugt53MAlzvoCLG8L/s320/316199_10150306534391640_609106639_8444759_1175702685_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>WHEN I WANTED TO GET OUT OF BED THIS MORNING I SIMPLY FOLDED UP. THIS HAS A VERY SIMPLE CAUSE, I AM COMPLETELY OVERWORKED. NOT BY THE OFFICE BUT BY MY OTHER WORK. I shall certainly be myself again by tomorrow. p38 K's diaries, 1910<br />
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I have a silly hamster called Tilda, I eat corn and the cob, tire of it, and give her the dregs. She acts like a meercat and watches like an owl.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQ0fn_kZ98lc944uKrEKgxBwk69xqjaWlI-62hfxJePNZ1K9Q_h3pqcMnUHjgjqh2xmcRGkwVJ8RGSalY69vsotCfsAkiIBRa7KCo53wjplhUObeCUFyRMYlA5W8ejfMMRjHm5gmiupoD/s1600/247148_10150187883911524_563356523_6800271_8050650_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQ0fn_kZ98lc944uKrEKgxBwk69xqjaWlI-62hfxJePNZ1K9Q_h3pqcMnUHjgjqh2xmcRGkwVJ8RGSalY69vsotCfsAkiIBRa7KCo53wjplhUObeCUFyRMYlA5W8ejfMMRjHm5gmiupoD/s400/247148_10150187883911524_563356523_6800271_8050650_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">HE she is not </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I now sleep so much and so soundly during the day, I have greater weight while I sleep -p35</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am so boring, I claim that my dissertation is my life but all I do for it is read things that K says that I find strange and write them down. I hope that I can shape the BEST WORK BRIGHTON UNIVERSITY has seen by repetition and post-it love notes attached to each page. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I realise that I have an abundance of things. Purples, mints, browns and reds litter my floor and make for cushioned stepping stones. A muddled bedroom is not enough, still I insist on creating a jumble sale complete with livestock! But I am now crying because she bit me, and I cannot bring myself to wipe away the blood because it is so red and dark and forms a perfect circle. Now I hate her in an instant! She is horrid, evil. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(I put my finger in her bed to pet her head)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am daydreaming of a place that smells like damp wood in the winter and of faint leather and faint flowers in the summer. These shoes and pollen are nowhere to be seen, which should be unsettling or maybe confusing, but it's only the beauty of the place. I toy with cats and follow chickens with tall plumes and blue beaks, until I tire and settle on an unsteady tree-swing until I get so high I can see the tops of chimneys, the stars and the back of my own head. There is always enough food and water and although I am always a little cold there are blankets to hand, which I much prefer than being comfortable enough to go without. Laughing is always subtle and seems to be background noise, as though somewhere children are running, zipping between the bushes in a park over the fence in a neighbouring street clutching ice pops until they melt in their hot hands and flop over, spilling their contents onto the grass and leaving sticky fingers leaving sticky marks on clean upholstery. Your hair is soft, that much I can tell without being close enough to touch it. It is blonder because we lie only in the light during the day. We can whistle and weave wires around plant pots so that music follows us wherever we potter. I sing faintly and hope you don't mind but you do. Do you remember this? I remember this, with a fondness much like my desire to repeat the past (But of course you can?) We were so cared for and cherished, maybe somebody made idols of us once, cold and unmoving, marble to the touch. This was your home more than it ever was mine but I pretend and I smile and I grill tuna when everyone else grills pork.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I really do make nice birthday cards. I like craft and playing with glue.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-42718066230019422962011-09-28T16:43:00.000-07:002011-10-04T08:59:14.207-07:00It is not cold any more<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrUOXBcv7NG5xnJFkRvXOXw4JCHj0dRUN4b_KUlkm2AWZhtOr64Rz1Q_L-7V-dJ2NVWxHLt1fISqB5a4wwKhb7dqf3faRkARb_OaDCNvh1Ld_6h4q62KGZr9OtAOZBR9lJJdaRusf5b3d/s1600/34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrUOXBcv7NG5xnJFkRvXOXw4JCHj0dRUN4b_KUlkm2AWZhtOr64Rz1Q_L-7V-dJ2NVWxHLt1fISqB5a4wwKhb7dqf3faRkARb_OaDCNvh1Ld_6h4q62KGZr9OtAOZBR9lJJdaRusf5b3d/s640/34.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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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;<br />
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<i>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? </i><br />
<i><br />
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So do not bother. I can't stop singing this<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EdlxjKy1uLoa7z8xoZwBrHDKZIvCTqJPZwkixqO39wZtVT2JgHhFGjYmAtTShAlTsqjSk0TItC8NxRz1WOLMEo_vyUgqLlsUvg0opPAXQQQBE_glTfaBd9rocWzczqY49owgrG1DIq_a/s1600/31A+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EdlxjKy1uLoa7z8xoZwBrHDKZIvCTqJPZwkixqO39wZtVT2JgHhFGjYmAtTShAlTsqjSk0TItC8NxRz1WOLMEo_vyUgqLlsUvg0opPAXQQQBE_glTfaBd9rocWzczqY49owgrG1DIq_a/s640/31A+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
</div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-141429428754599212011-09-09T16:34:00.001-07:002011-10-10T12:40:59.103-07:00P.s<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsP2zY48qWIuBVLzRgGzHH9aFJio8cbgXzfLoYLneVIlpkBuESaJIahghWuyE4bCyxXIELGRrCPHmnN5SfXRpnLQLlG8JyPiH8A9KMcttmQhSvNjGKOnhFw1asffZUjEZAiR3W46zdAPCX/s1600/kafka-drawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsP2zY48qWIuBVLzRgGzHH9aFJio8cbgXzfLoYLneVIlpkBuESaJIahghWuyE4bCyxXIELGRrCPHmnN5SfXRpnLQLlG8JyPiH8A9KMcttmQhSvNjGKOnhFw1asffZUjEZAiR3W46zdAPCX/s320/kafka-drawing.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Judge me not for this! I am always vengeful and jealous. I feel like Kafka, EXHAUSTED AND MENTAL.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">This is catharsis <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">This is a cage<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I wrought the mesh myself <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I bought a pocketful of snares <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">To face plant straight into</div><div class="MsoNormal">To tenderly share with you<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Intruder, are you the pied piper <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Of my semester of neglect?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">My term of indifference?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I lurk and plot <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">To introduce you both <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Don’t ask<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I won’t tell<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Have you met a friend of mine?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">She’s the last you’ll see of me <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s somewhat twisted<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">A little more constricted<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Time to say goodbye, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">She’ll be waiting<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">To scoop you atop her knee <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Now there’s a face to benefit <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">From the sharp points of barbs </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-10163865771519303732011-09-09T16:26:00.000-07:002011-10-10T12:44:03.318-07:00Despite having a kidney infection,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsVXttBFiiyUdzBTvNlmNwWVNcBHz-lCRSgphQG5OxreG96ELU4kXMRCTaoCvLVSDuv8bLVibHqiNfMOefZPifaSt_V9SDGnDHqMnoY0BkBYIGmRqUxzIdxZotqgVBtTuZOQarsV3wcaK/s1600/teehee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsVXttBFiiyUdzBTvNlmNwWVNcBHz-lCRSgphQG5OxreG96ELU4kXMRCTaoCvLVSDuv8bLVibHqiNfMOefZPifaSt_V9SDGnDHqMnoY0BkBYIGmRqUxzIdxZotqgVBtTuZOQarsV3wcaK/s320/teehee.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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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.<br />
I want to go back to sunnier days, sunnier photos to come though. Rancid, sweltering photos masking family feud! I cannot wait.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I love these two beyond reason</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">It is pitiful;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">When love</div><div class="MsoNormal">Stares still the same but still desirable;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The, the shirts, the skin, the prick to fertilize my own talent and verse <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The locomotive of success and the revulsion of feminin* <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Of which I laboriously type into engines to locate a source of the same thing<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Some intelligence * categorised with other intelligent*’ because they’re all the same<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Pit of innocence, the warm stench lingers about my personage <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Wishing I could grant access-all-areas to those words I hate<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">And whisper, amongst sobs, sweet things, Constancy, Committed, Creativity <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I can’t do anything, but I can dance with my eyes closed<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Dreaming of skin on breast on nose on palm<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">You are used, sir, manifesting my own inadequacy <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The male gaze is a skill, but there’s a gap in the market left wide open <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">For you, If you didn’t exist neither would she<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Really, I love, but I am repulsed<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Leaden eyes, the colour red, the only photographs I have on my wall are from times past<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Three years, the halcyon representative of the lack of some instant and momentary<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">(Possibly falsified)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was there though. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m still here too. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">A scientist, a heroine, never the handyman, nor the hero, <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">ever the domestic, possibly a groupie, a rival, a creation. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Ex. Delivery boy? An expert.<o:p></o:p></div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3305565224367603139.post-91555041042678873312011-09-06T17:05:00.000-07:002011-09-06T17:11:09.734-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">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-</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">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.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;">4th September</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">It is that singular day<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">When the silent heat<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Is replaced with the slap<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Of wet feet on pavement.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">This singular day<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Makes everything uncanny<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I see faces like marble.</div><div class="MsoNormal">A change of season<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to change my soul<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">To be just as fluid<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">As the functional drains.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">To be as crisp and concise<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Like the snap of the cold leaves<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I am Autumn’s phoenix<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">And I remain optimistic.</div>Samantha Morleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12212906704342245097noreply@blogger.com0