Grating Nails Again

Two young lovers
Open mouth on sunburned knees.
Later you say you can take it from here
Which is another way of saying Don’t Touch Me.

It’s ok. I’ve had this throbbing notion that perhaps I don’t deserve affection anyway.

Highschool Best Friend: ‘Yeah I Heard You’re Gay Now, What’s Up With That?’
This is why I don’t go out anymore maybe.

Woke up at three only to remain still and lick over the ceiling with resignation glittering dark behind my eyes. For all my transparency my bones are mimicking lethargy to an extent that if I were indeed translucent, the marrow I own would be a luxurious plutonium.
Or lutetium. Something I never actually learned in chemistry but am mildly interested in now that I am old enough to have some jaded points.

Metal. Huh.

It’s Sunday and I have bad news. I would be used to it by now if I didn’t still have the hope of a toddler. Being called a dreamer, again and again. I always took that as something of a compliment, even though it was said with malice mostly. 
It’s Sunday and I have bad news. I can understand the views of the main person involved and I can understand how in the long run it will probably end better than if things just continued the same way. But I have been thinking about sitting outside in the sporadic rain.
It’s almost Monday and the news I have is bad.

Fuck if I don’t get into university next year I honestly don’t see myself being fulfilled in anything. That has nothing to do with the news that is bad. I’m venting. I think that’s what the main purpose was for this blog anyway.

TN 

Rage Pageant

I am so conservative nothing I do needs foresight. I am so Once Was it makes me wilt in disgust. I am so, so fucking poignant and momentous in all my puerile wisdom and life plans with roots I go weak at the knees thinking about books in a library.

I am so monumentally sick of aiming to tame the parts of me I disagree with and also trying to inflame the non-existent traits I wish I had. I am so fucking tired of wanting to be somebody else. On the inside my emaciated soul is assuming its purpose is completely pointless.

So you can wait in the fucking car..

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Green & Red & White

So. Wednesday. Hi.

I have an eye infection and I’m having to conduct all exchanges looking as if I have been caught crying. Or have been getting really high. The things we take for granted. Eye Health.

This is me today, then: Smudged, bloodshot eyes in a pool of uneven, stressed skin and my hair that I left in the hands of professionals to colour to a deep chocolate brown. They were so surprised when it turned out black. I was too nice to accept their offer of my money back. I look sickly instead, which I probably deserve. On a more pleasant note my lips look flushed. That’s probably the onset of a fever or something. My luck is seedy. I am feeling very black-humour today. At least the red makes my eyes look greener, which I think is a positive thing. Going to go strut my mottled skin down the street now, but thought I would just say Hi and remind you to appreciate your features and their well-being. Also I can’t really see properly at the moment, which makes it very hard to concentrate and therefore you won’t be hearing any disgusting little quips or anecdotes about my life. Sweet respite or something like it. At least I have been granted half a day off to hide my strange face and re-organise my room. I enjoy having a space big enough to move things around in. 

BET YOU’RE GLAD YOU STOPPED TO READ THIS. 
TN 

Barefaced. Again.

Keep in mind, you should be here now. Winter spirits under my skin and I am pallid again. Nobody envies the ‘unique-looking’ lurid girl. Even worse now that I’ve had to revert back to low glycemic index bullshit with no dairy or added sugar. Cue the headaches, mam! SUGAR IS IN EVERYTHING.

But you could make me flush. Or something. I don’t even mean that sexually. I could just yell about something humorous. Pull faces to make you laugh.

A brief cohort with my monetary situation. Yes, I am fucked.

And it wasn’t even that good.

I am panicking, now. I have been told I can’t leave. Because my sixteen-year-old self decided to set up an account in which to deposit funds I am not allowed to touch, under any circumstances (so it would seem), until I am twenty-six. My sixteen-year-old-self was a little bitch who had no concept of tragedy or independence. I would like to have a stern word with my sixteen-year-old-self. I would say, one day, you will want to get the fuck out of the city you love so much as of right now. You will leave your job, maybe. You will lose all independence and a great scrape of pride will come away with it. You fucking idiot.

Could have done it better myself, kind of fucked.

My little panglossian self. I would happily fumble through those four dramatic years again, just so I could grab you by the shoulders and say LOOK AT YOU NOW. The world is not roseate. Everything may or may not work out. She was all kilojoule-counting, romance-reliant, a-typical. Now she is a brutish rubbish truck of swear words and embarrassments.

On that note. I am not embarrassed by that evening because I did not want to go home with you, even if it may have seemed like that’s what I was pushing for. I did not want to go to his house or my house or your house. I just wanted to talk to someone for a while. Big fucking deal.

Someone with money must read this. I need help. I will be kicked out. I get sick at my mother’s house. I get abhorrently angry at my father’s. I have never felt such keen desperation, like I am physically grappling at the edges of a hole with no hand or foot holds. I have been to something like eighteen job interviews. I am the ultimate unwanted and the ultimate unemployable.

Sometimes I see myself as a tacky little spray-painted box. A box full of crap. And my face is changing again and it isn’t nice. I can’t even rely on my own features. ARGH I DID THIS ALL MYSELF.

If The Destructress Can Find You, What Makes You Assume I Won’t

Parents separate concern over their youngest daughter, and I’m afraid [I didn’t make the grade].

Please spare your mis-truths and left-out footnotes for someone else with a weaker mind than mine. As tenuous as you waist was, last I saw, so is my nerve.  I’m filtered and clean cut. I can maneuver my way through any shit-littered path I might turn on to. 

Oh I’m a big girl. Literally, new stretch mark on one hip [haven’t named it or anything].

And if you cover your tracks, how do you expect me not to identify them. Bore them out. Scare the sense from your sources. By the way, a temptress bears the same qualities as many females of different species; it’s primarily the female that eats the male after copulation. And then eats their young as well.

In other words. The siren is a godless serpentine. I have to remind myself this, whilst it would mar me to hear of you mishandled; ff you refuse the tender touches of one savoury steady, Karma should grip you by the neck and hold you till you gasp for fresh air. 

And then the fresh air you yearn for will be someone safe. But I’ll think of you with distaste by then. 

Phone calls are poor consolation.

Maternal scent in my apartment. She steps into my room and I’m lighting a cigarette in my underwear, ex-ex boyfriend in my bed. Empty bottles of wine and this; the snakes of dusk under eyes that are kindred spirits to her own. And she just says, over similar breakfasts and only just down the road; I Always Liked Him.

It would be a waste, but you’re the only one who gathers sorrow over the shortage of my company. You’re the only one who wants me around.

Nothing happened, this lover of mine who I’ve kept close enough to reach out to, four years now. But in the mid-morning in-between our drunken dreams, his hand splayed across my hip and sometime after I noticed I had curled his fingers around mine. It was the weirdest of reflexes.. And you think that that shit dies down after so long. Truth is, every person you get to know, you will have an instantaneous reaction to, far into your future. It was so easy to push him around and even without the lust or young love that once was there, the impulse to reach out and press my clothes to his was almost overwhelming. 

But you don’t do anything with exes. It’s an awful idea and one I don’t even have unless they remind me of it. 

Then, though, it’s insatiable. 

The Last 24 Hours

Because of the procedure I had done, I’ve had to stop taking some meds, which you’d think would be fairly simple. You just stop taking them. I just stopped taking them. Unfortunately this led to some pretty stomach-hurtling withdrawal symptoms. 

So, this is me projectile vomiting whilst my flu-ridden friend attempts to hold my hair back and simultaneously hide his sensitive gag reflex. Yeah, then he’s gagging over the kitchen bin while his beautiful girlfriend mops the floor by hand with a rag and hauls me into the shower. I really couldn’t not see the funny side in this, which made this whole experience even more disgusting to watch, apparently. Because as vomit was running down my arm and from my nose, I was laughing.

Ahhhhhhhh I really just don’t have words for this year as yet. But I’m laughing at it, finally. With my palms over my face, little fingers pressing into my corneas, cross legged on the floor with a glass of water and peppermint oil. 

Writing a list of five things I desperately want out of life.

Tabarly

OH, WHAT A TERRIBLE PAIN,
ALL US UNWANTED HAVE TO GAIN,
IS THE KNOWLEDGE OF HAVING LOVE,
AND LETTING IT AWAY

Pulling out my eyelashes again. Stop it, crazy girl, you look alarmed all the time. When I worked at a record store, I worked there so long people started to imitate the little ‘tics’, I guess, I do without realising. One of these would be widening my eyes, rather eerily, I suppose, whenever someone would call my name out. I always appeared so shocked when someone required my services. I still do this, but I suppose I am a better person now, and no one really feels the need to imitate me anymore.

Getting a job: Fuck this. For fucks sake I am more than qualified for the positions I am applying for and still; nothing. My rent didn’t go through last week. I will have to email my father and ask for three weeks rent. There goes my independence. As if I had fooled anyone I was.

I bought a lot of cleaning products and dark green vegetables. I cried while watching ‘Adam’ [again]. I made a sugar-free lemon, lime and bitters. I knocked over a bottle of green tea capsules. I lit a grapefruit candle. I pulled on navy blue stockings. I refused my mothers request to buy me more boots. I washed my face and tied my hair back, caught the eye of the lady who works next door. She always looks at me like I am interesting. I touched the scale-like scar on my knee. I drew eyes above it to make it a bemused face. I discussed earthquake safety. I threw away biscuits.

I do a lot of things, which all amount to nothing, really. 

Afraid Of Everyone

With that, I hope it will be the last sorrowful posts of that sort I will post. Sorry if I brought down anyones day.. It wasn’t spectacular writing, either [none of this is]. 

I am changing myself, my surroundings. I plan to, at least. I refuse to be a slave to emotion, or actions others take, or situations I find myself faced with. I can remain the same, but I will change. Think caterpillar - butterfly transformation. 

Think of me with a huge smile and my mother and I not talking but still alive.

I read somewhere that whatever you do on New Years day, is a precursor to what the rest of your year will be like. In that case, someone will forever be fucking me and leaving me. And I won’t be working much of this year at all. Which is fine by me. The second part.

Speaking of sexual liberation: What a joke that is. As most of you will know, I developed sexually very young. What most of you don’t: I was having cyber sex with strangers on the internet at the age of nine. And what none of you do: I wrote from a very young age, but from the age of eight, I wrote illicit sex stories. I read my fathers Penthouse magazines and found that most were written by men. I wrote my own, and they were better. My favourite was one set on a train involving a threesome with a strong silent type and a woman with soft, cool hands. 

Yeah, so there was that.

I like people. Meaning; I like women and men. I am attracted to differing qualities in different people, not different genders. I am also indifferent to age difference. Lust and attraction, love, even, can transcend most plains. I am not embarassed by this. My Father would accuse me of liking females because I am ‘wanting to be different’. Why, why the fuck, would I chose to be with someone I can’t even hold hands with on the street? I am vegetarian. The first time I chose this path, I was seven. He accused me of wanting to be different then, too. 

Even if I was [which I wasn’t], what the fuck would be so bad about that? I respect my Father. Even as much of my youth was spent absolutely abhorring him and regarding him simple and unable to comprehend the simplest of emotion. In recent times, I have seen him in a completely different light. Which is pleasant. He still treats me like I know nothing, my sister noted this, even though I am actually the most capable of all of his children, so far. But I respect him. In saying that, his view of the world differs hugely to mine. He shares his view with his wife. Simple minds. They would rather I binge drink in little dresses on the weekends, I’m sure, than pierce my face and contemplate tattoos and spend hours in cafes just writing. He would prefer I didn’t make friends with people his age, or kiss girls in public places. He would prefer I got a license and went for a road-trip with friends, maybe. Not stay in my city and embarrass myself. Not that I do. My actions are my own, and therefore I am proud of them.

A friend once said I had a ‘sexual energy’, which I completely disagreed with. I believe you wouldn’t know how much of a deviant I am and have been, if you met me through friends. He was adamant, though. I am not so sure.

The idea of sex, though, is something that has always interested me. It is something I am always furtively honest about. It’s not a big deal.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. It’s late. My change starts today, and I have to be awake and kicking down dirty doors in four hours. 

But now maybe you know something about me you may not have. 

You probably don’t feel better for it, but then, neither do I.
TN