Goodness me

2008 was spent alone


















I wonder how 2009 will be

goodbyehellotheworldisinsaneanditmakesmesadandiwanttocryandthatmakesmemadbutiambecause soareyouandeveryoneelsehellogoodbye

burn the fake little dolls

Reflections

This year I:

1. Learned that the only way forward is to push
2. And that sometimes you have to stop thinking
3. Ran a 26km race and got fifth
4. Gained an abundance of pimples on my forehead
5. Discovered that there is an underlying, cynical truth to Freud's theories
6. Turned 18 but not into a woman
7. Lost nine of my toenails
8. Realised that I am inherently selfish
9. Realised that I am inherently spiteful
10. Lost self-confidence
11. Gained some weight
12. Found a competitor
13. Started writing prose again
14. Planned the development of my book (I promise it will be published soon)
15. Started a blog
16. Learned French
17. Went to Paris and London
18. Ran in Hyde Park and les Jardins de Tuilleries
19. Joined the gym
20. Gained an obsession over Rafael(s)
21. Started scrapbooking
22. Lost a connection with ( )
23. Stopped caring about ( )
24. Realised how much I miss the people in Saint George's and the familiarity with which I carried myself there.
25. Discovered that the human mind is the most damn fascinating thing in the universe.
26. Become periodically filled with unexplained anger
27. and am confused as to the lack of aetiology of my actions and thoughts
28. Gave up the chance of ( )
29. Started spending incessant amounts of money on unnecessary things
30. and an incessant amount of energy on futile thoughts
31. Learned that I never do what I need
32. and always do what I want
33. and the fact that I am perfectly aware of what I need to do
34. but I never do it.
35. And I bloody well learned that in actual fact,
36. I have learned nothing at all.

Fairground

The world is spinning around me on this ghastly carousel. A flashing light circulates nearby, trailing the circumference of my limited vision. The night is blurred, imperceptibly, and even if you wait, daylight never comes. It is the place where time ceases to make sense, where there is pointless, rote repetition of the restricted repertoire you possess as part of your meaningless endeavours. Death. Think about it all the time. Sweet and black, thick and potent: like coffee. Trickle down your throat. A drop of nervous sweat down your temple. Gulp and see the way your Adam's apple bobs, up and down like a float stranded in the middle of the sea. The sea, the sea is the sky and the sky is the sea because both are grey with no clouds. Endless horizon; and no dawn.

Sit here on this carousel with me and watch the world go by. You can take the unicorn, if you like. Mine has a broken horn; and shredded wings. Torn from the back, like the way Satan's fingers dug into the recesses of my spine, between the shoulder blades. Scratching; clawing; gauging. Flesh from my back. Blood and death; like coffee. Switch the button on, let the carousel dance too, so now even we are moving against the world as it zooms past in the opposite direction.

You are only a figure, not a companion, as you sit there on your gleaming white unicorn. Feeling the wind beneath its fur and feathers, it is starting to become alive, a hoof poised, ready to take flight. And me, slumped back downwards, forwards, every which way like a pathetic rubber glove. Stretched and insipid. Fill me with water so I bloat and then burst me so I cry.

Look, look, I see you are going to fly. This carousel is spinning with me on it and goodbye, you're gone, you've left, but oh who will sit with me now -

Angry

Confusion burns in my throat like a searing gulp of boiling fire. Charred skin. Flesh becomes red, and angry, and the soul within threatens to explode. With each second the tick beats in the brain, blood pounds like a clock's hands. My hand is shaking; shaking with fear and anger and the effort of retaining my composure. My mind is screaming; screaming a high-frequency shriek, and my eardrums are about to break, and I am caught right in the middle, clipped with a clothespeg onto a hanging line, a death line, and soon it will all be over.
So hanging here I become a scarecrow. Come peck my eyes. I will be your carrion, my meat your sustenance, my pulsing vein your gut. I am throbbing with the heat of anxiety, blistering and burnt in the scorching sun. Charred black. Everything is black. Heart, soul, and viscera.
I am a testament of a living failure that will soon be dead. Tomorrow you will awake and find that the scarecrow in your garden set fire to the flowers, and what is left is a barren field. Pick up a twig and smell the guilt. Feel the weight of the earth like heavy, cloying soil pressing down on you, the pressure of the entire ground suffocating your slowing chest: but soon it will all be over, when life ceases to make sense. Because now, everything is too clear, too painful, and so I must disappear to evade the pain; because I am a coward, not a fighter.
This scarecrow here is shedding a tear. A lone droplet that slides down splintered wood and rotting mildew, to the leg, no not blood trickling down no, never that, but a pure, clear bauble of sadness: crystallised; irrevocable.


2257
281208

sitting on a ledge and going to be pushed off by a hand soon -