04 07

• sometimes i feel fluid, free, trapped, dizzy: all at the same time
• du bist der ozean, deine augen sind sterne und dein herz ist der mond
• nobody really needed full stops in the first place

08 07

• the air is stale and the same air from 5 years ago circulates around and around again into my mouth invades my nose
• was i ever really here or did i sleep the entire time?
• unable to make eye contact
  • you remind me of a cat
  • the surrealist experience of a bedroom like an ancient map
• bunk beds are nice
• they are frivolous here

09 07

• i write again. for a little while
• sludgy sickness of womanhood and my throat is scratching non-stop coughs out all at the same time

13 07

• i don't think i will ever learn to speak french
• everybody was watching him all along
  • it is funny, isn't it?
  • i felt weird for it but there was nothing wrong at all
• something ends yet nothing else begins

three days ago and the sea was choppy and made my body numb and i realised in two nights how bored i am of structure but how comfortable if sometimes horrible houses really are. now i am weighed down with responsibility again and i am continuing to think about petty things. what is enough to stir a change?

• this is crushing my skull ever so slowly thinking about other things which are not you, that is what i'll have to do like working until my arms break and eating nothing except the rubbish from the bins for the week or imagining my own dystopia (i am currently unfolding the joy of dystopian novels because i can finally hold something in my hands which i agree with) i am running out of space on my bookshelf
• one day there may be a flood in my bedroom which distorts all the books i have not read to a state beyond legibility and i need to read faster before this flood occurs
• sometimes i think maybe, are we too dependent? but i kind of like it all the same

(21 july)) mosquito bites on my face, the ones on your arms

• i will trace a pattern out of and find out unpleasant things

today is yesterday's tomorrow and tomorrow is yesterday's faraway lingering dream only recently hv i thought about how strange time is tomorrow is hothothot the hottest day the ground will burn through the soles of my feet and heat my bones so i can cook over them or if they were not so dirty

• the heat presses onto my lungs today
• bags under my eyes growing
• i wish i was a child but i hated childhood and i hate adolescence and i will hate adulthood
  • constant state of discontent--
    • {{--- _ { grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side syndrome???
• visible ageing because time is passing so slowly
• waking up too early//going to bed too early
• i do not understand anybody or anything
• i would like to paint with watercolours
• one of those days today
  • _: : _ { i wish i was somebody else in another, softer skin which does not burn and peel or brandish ugly scars
• i am not brave
• feminism tells me:
  • size does not matter
  • nor does having hair on my armpits
    • (but i find myself wishing i could fold myself smoothly up into tighter places where nobody can really see me)
• i would like to make a list about dreams but i do not have any dreams and when i do they are all the same recurring spinning plate of horrible things i would rather leave behind in bed

tonight i am aware of how fluid things are and also how very heartbreakingly temporary the world fluctuates like moods oh god fucking structure

monday 30th july 2012

• i am happy that you are back
  • i forgot how nice it feels to kiss you
  • how docile you are (painting your toenails glittery green)

it is august now and i am tired my eyelids have weights made out of pebbles on them and everything feels as though it is spinning in this pseudo-summer i cannot relax or sleep or stop thinking

• i feel sick thinking about everything as it swills about in my mind
• the maps in my heart and the maps in my brain are the same
• i know nothing of my heart and my brain either way, it does not matter
• wales is a place which has reminded me of my dull surroundings

maybe you would love me more if my skin felt like buttermilk to touch

• it only looks like it
• i do not drink milk

i understand now that my mind was not built for the visual but the things moving around on the page words dancing with one another in motion in harmony the sweet smell of perspiration rising and the condensation which makes my eyes moist when i blink i understand those things now!

• please do not make me beg please please please save me from myself!!
• this process is fluid and i am making myself sick wondering about it
• it can slip through my fingers or i can spit on it or split it myself

19 08 } pain from a weeping wound wishing i never existed in the first place damaged feet

i just want it to be over (it will be over soon)

• it feels like it will never be over

30 08 some things are just too painful to write down