February 2012
“gone.”
– one of the saddest words in our language.
for what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. i hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, i hope you have the strength to start all over again.
- f. scott fitzgerald.
An occasion when you were disappointed with...
- anonymous.
her name was betty. she was old and firm, a keen watcher of cricket and the head of a travelling house in rome. she was ferociously independent, multi-lingual, and looked a bit like jane russel. she knew poets and artists and her huge kitchen table played host to no end of creative, soulful conversations. i made her laugh and felt proud to hold her interest when we were talking. then...
Is it still that raw?
- anonymous.
no. it’s not raw anymore. there are occasions, like today, where i’ll get a bit upset. but it’s not raw.
i’m shocked every time i’m reminded that people read this blog.
“when people don’t express themselves, they die one piece at a time.”
– laurie halse anderson
somewhere, my mind has kept your voice as true as the last time i heard it, fooling me with the muffled, accent-less echo it plays in my ears as habit. it doesn’t take much to remember you. a few words on a page, the way i incline my head, an empty breath of a certain indefinable smell. when i”m there, i’m standing somewhere on the margins of the past me - slightly behind her,...
that song played without warning and i was back there, when you first kissed me. so i smoked and shed a few tears and knew that one day, it won’t hurt, not even a little bit. i’ll feel like that about someone else, scared or not. but next time, they’ll be worth it.
shame comes for me at night.
“perhaps a better world is drawing near
but just as easy it could all disappear”
today it’s sunny and i’m listening to jackson browne with my windows open, dreaming of dusty roads and warm californian guitars. i’m fighting a residue of hurt and trying to be Okay on a day i know has every potential to be good.
isn’t it funny how day by day, nothing changes
but when you look back
everything is different?
- c. s. lewis
you’d think you would see love coming/ but of course you don’t
the places you go thinking that love may find...
i dreamt last night (beware: strange and random)...
- anonymous.
i wonder what that means? i wish i could see what it looked like.
it’s so easy
when you know the rules
the horror of realising you’re facing a long night with nothing to read.
i need to keep my mind open for what could happen and not decide that the world is hopeless if what i want to happen doesn’t happen. because something else great might happen in between.
- dash and lily’s book of dares.
“if it is important to you, you’ll find a way.
if not, you’ll find...”
What are you reading? (I know I ask you this every...
- anonymous.
this week i read tender as hellfire by joe meno. it was a wonderful book. the eleven year old narrator is a cross between holden caulfield and ponyboy curtis, and it’s set in a dusty trailer park. now i’m reading the lover’s dictionary by david levithan.
my grandfather could be a cold man, as if he was afraid to feel. he loved from a distance with his obscene wealth and playboy lifestyle. today i found out he was one of the allied officers who liberated the concentration camp bergen belsen. he killed men; he shot lots of people, often in the back, cowardly nazi’s who were fleeing the hell they had created. at one point, he reached beneath a...
“remember:
this is what progress feels like.”
barely surviving has become my purpose
i’m so used to living underneath the surface
today i strove to meet a beautifully normal coffee date, the kind of thing other people do on a regular basis, but she couldn’t make it. by the time i found out i had already braved the train and alighted in the city, so i thought i may as well make the most of it and pushed myself to look around the shops. i found pretty earings for my mum and perused waterstones an hour or so, listing to a...
in honour of valentine’s day, i’ve posted the works of famous artists and their muses on my art blog.
the last few days i’ve been watching things like PanAm and reading fashion magazines i found under my bed when i was cleaning. i wish i could dress beautifully and look elegant and poised. i wish i could look nice when i go out. i only look nice when i go to work. and i wish i wasn’t addicted to my jeans and grunge tops and my leather jacket, to the slouch i get the minute i walk out...
yesterday, my occupational therapist didn’t seem very pleased with my achievments. she told me to be cautious. i told her it was all or nothing, and i’m sick of nothing.
dear laura
so you don’t act like you used to. so you’re quieter, more contemplative. in the last year you have been to hell and somehow you’re on your way back. you’ve had to change. you’ve grown. you’re growing up. the people who love you will let you.
i think maybe i have an idea of who i am
but she isn’t the person i used to be
she doesn’t laugh because people are waiting for it
and she doesn’t fill the silences they expect her to fill
she isn’t very entertaining
she’s new and she has no room to be new