May 2013
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Naked In A Sewer Drain
She’s not an osteopath. That’s the name printed on the sign outside. I could wrap my whole body around that sign in clumsy gratitude. Nobody has to know I’m crazy as I make the sharpest of turns into the driveway.
I know I am crazy when she makes me draw how I felt about certain things in my life.
I almost didn’t recognise my Dad without his distaste for me and...
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Oh, You.
The bus was late but I didn’t say anything to the driver, through the windows I kept on seeing older versions of people I love, all of them anxious and flustered with their four-pm-finishes. My mother in six years purses her lips into the wind, creasing her pale pink lipstick. One of my exes is hopping from one foot to the other, making a phone call to the woman he will marry later on, while...
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Anonymous asked: By any chance was that the guy you slept with from your waitress job? I could totally be wrong.
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Sick
I look nearer to death, not even the palest shades match my watery complexion. In the mirror he might as well be standing behind me, a cold but comforting hand on my shoulder. Tomorrow at ten past four I’ll go in and shake hands with someone new and he will tell me what I have done to my body or what my body has done to itself. There will be nobody else to blame, that’s important to...
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Things I Didn't Finish
My sister went into the bathroom to cool her face against the linoleum. Being fifteen must be really hard though I can’t imagine why. I can’t remember why. Being her must be hard then. I didn’t react the way I should have. The charcoal they give you is sweetened now but back then when she came home and told me how hard it was to drink I just laughed. Later my step-father and I...
Anonymous asked: Your words speak to me more than my therapist's ever could.
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All Of My Little Black Books X
Friday 10th October 2008 4:10pm
Ordinary. I take my seat on the bus and the word bounces around my head like a ball enclosed in a circle, or a spider in a glass, searching at every edgeless place for an escape. Ordinary.
Depression can’t describe the dear & general paranoia & isolation I feel, every step on every street. Every click my hells make mocks my heart, which is...
Yes sometimes I reblog things by accident, my computer has a huge crack in the screen and has done for the past four years. I can’t see much.
That was embarrassing.
I came up with the name for my little books, there you go, that’s exciting and relevant. But I’m not going to tell you because I might change it later.
Have a saucy day. I don’t even know. TNx
I don’t think I will ever be reminiscent for this time in my life.
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Scraps
My room is a mess again. I don’t know how surviving inside of something renders it filthy. But I do, simultaneously. Keeping you alive behind my ribs, with me, has left my lungs smudged, as if bludgeoned by a sun it never sees.
This boy, this one at the restaurant, called it a ‘death stare’, mine. But that does not touch the surface of what I felt when he hit on another...
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Anonymous asked: I love your mind and the words that flow out of it.
Anonymous asked: Write something in a style you hate.
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My cat is so much like me I hope she doesn’t get fat and sad.
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My Heart In My Throat
My health has been very poor since October last year and almost everybody I told did not act accordingly. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly was not this exile, this inability on their part to deal with my sickness. I stood gaping at the starting line, carrying hospital beds on my back. Hauling the weight of cab rides where I had to ask drivers to pull over so I could empty my...
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CHCH SIX
Trying to write about nothing this past week has been difficult.
All of my friends are beautiful and creative and hostile. I feel intimidated sitting at a table with them. Naturally they sneered when I mentioned where I was going. But this city is not nothing. I would not pay seventy dollars to escape my own brand of nothing only to lower myself into somebody else’s idea of it.
I...
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CHCH FIVE
I can be the effervescent waitress again, for people who forget my face and never do ask for my name. Lean my elbows on the keyboard, splay my fingers across my face, search through the bars my fingertips make. I am sick of scrolling through advertisements that all require the same docile but very much alive attendance. This must be how it feels to be middle-aged and partner-less, on dating...
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CHCH FOUR
Every ad I see for The National’s new album twists my arm to level me with May 2010. Forcing the face of an animal into what it did wrong, what it continues to do wrong. I said YOU and you were someone that was with ME and I dragged my fingers through your hair the same way you dragged out your vowel sounds. I would like to live through the bus rides home from the airport everyday listening...
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CHCH THREE
I read in a cosmopolitan magazine today that men would like you to help them clean up afterwards. My sister’s flatmate tells me I can sleep in his bed and I glance down at this open magazine between us. I don’t want to clean you up.
I pulled faces at my sister from my end of the table, these sixteen people between us. These sixteen people who sent their RSVPS and made travel plans and...
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CHCH TWO
I had dreams of turning down men, in this foreign bed, I am not little or lost between the sheets. Single, as this bed is, as I am, as I will always be regardless of any partner.
In the shower I practice my cat-calling, I am all too aware of my thighs touching and every imaginary pass I make crumbles bitterly and fails. This scenario I am the disciplined, my lusts turn back to make guilty, angry...
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CHCH ONE
Christchurch is not as bleak as I imagined it might be, as others led me to believe it was. The earthquake happened two years ago but there’s still this mild feeling of alarmed gratitude. My sister’s boyfriend points out a building that should have been shaking for its spindly, scarred limbs. Like bare knees, like a newborn, like something that will eventually fall. ‘That’s...
Oh hey.
The lull is set to continue (sorry), heading to Christchurch for a week to hang out with my sister.
Drink lots of water and maybe do something good for you like go out and buy some spirulina. Even if you don’t use it, the intention is there.
Also- little books are almost done, when I get back I just need to sort out how I am going to print them/how I want them to look.
See you....
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Watch
April 2013
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You Don't Get To Keep This
I think it’s the new Tumblr format that’s got me stuck for words. But that’s just an excuse. I think it was me that said I’d write on my own face if I had to, which is ironic as I don’t brandish my words and half of you have no idea what I look like. No, I quit smoking, that’s it. I changed the layout of my room. I stopped sleeping with people, mostly. I stopped sleeping with awful people, mostly....
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I left my job because I couldn’t handle anyone else’s perception of me.
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Dear Everyone Who Has Sent Me Emails Asking Where I Am, Where My Torrent Of Personal And Hard-To-Understand Posts Have Gone And When I Might Return With More.
Hello, how are you? It’s been a while. Maybe you were around when I used to post things like this and they were O.K and at least you could...
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Emily Browning & Yoav - Where Is My Mind?
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All Of My Little Black Books IX
Saturday 27th April 2013 10:54am
My little brother, the older one, tells me I might be sad because of a Greek myth to do with pomegranate seeds. The way he tells it is slightly off but he is only eight. Persephone is stolen by Hades and kept in the underworld. She eats six seeds from a pomegranate he gives her and is then bound to the underworld for six months, which are autumn and winter....
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“Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love...”
– To Kill A Mockingbird - Harper Lee 