Fragments of Thought

Flotsam and jetsam.

2010-08-05T11:08:00.004+01:00

I need to bleed these pictures out from my fingertips.

I need to replace my blood with something more satisfying, less itchy.

If I don't bleed them out here onto these keys, then the suppressed ghosts will fight for my attention, they'll consume me in their transparent, acidic stomachs.

The ghost of a jellyfish.

Haunts, taunts, flaunts the freedom all over me, inside me, mocking me with it's delicious, salty, tempting sight.

I close my eyes and open my mouth to the bipeds, searching for something, someone, anything else to distract me from the hungry ghosts.

And who the fuck are YOU, to call this psychosis? And who am I to fight it, to fight anything. Why fight when you can sink, why float?

The flotsam of her bones sleeping on the shore. The seaweed tentacles staining the border between our world and their's. Mine?

Welcoming, foreboding, threatening, loving? What logic is this?

Eviscerating the cage of my chest, I reach in and remove the bloody mess of a heart, to throw overboard, lighten the load of our cargo.

It's the only way to survive the storm.

But why survive?

And why not?

"It was in a foreign hotel's bathtub
I baptized myself in change
And one by one I drowned all of the people I had been
I emerged to find the parallels were fewer
I was cleansed
I looked in the mirror
And someone new was there
But, I was as helpless as a chess piece
when I was lifted up by someone's hand
And delivered from the corner
my enemies had got me in
But in all of my salvation
I still felt imprisoned inside that holding cell
that is myself."

Today.

2010-08-04T16:23:00.003+01:00

Whizz whizz, bang bang.

Don't forget to clean your gums, your guns.

You tried to feed yourself a cheap imitation of happiness, and what did you go and do?

You overdosed. You alienated yourself even further.

Your eyes started to melt as your body shook, shook, shook, and it was dancing without you.

Your lips crusted over and fell off. You tried to piece them back together and speak, speak, speak, but what do words say? They say what we want them to say, what we choose to understand. Do words have their own passions, emotions, fears, loves, insecurities? Does "rabbit" love "formaldehyde"? Does it worry that it's inadequate? Does it have a gender, an agenda?

Do you, really?

What does it mean?

All your suppressed curiosities come leaking throuh, gushing forth, as the poor beavers stand by, watching the wasted destruction of all their efforts. I made my own dam once, out of toothpicks and old newspapers, and it was so ugly it repelled the flow of the river, and it headed to the sea in a different direction... I begged the river to carry me with it, to the mouth of the hungry sea, but I didn't have the money to go... So I just lie here on the river bank, waiting to sneak up on the current. You can't fool the water. Just like how you can't deceive the fire. The elements are above us. Do elements have emotions? Are they emotions, or merely symbols?

The Queen of Cups hands me a goblet of river water, and employs me as her servant girl.

I pin a number to my identity - piercing it, draining it, replacing it - and get to work.

Because they have the riches; their gold elevates them so far above the rest of us pathetic creatures. They deserve to order us around. We're not the same, are we?

But we are.

And. You do it too. The monkeys. You. The monkeys.

You're so hopeless.

I give up on you.

The thought of you poisons me to the point of nausea. I wish I could purge you, all of you, you disgust me, like the food I love and hate, I have to be rid of you so I can be clean.

Too much dirt, too many germs. Keep your debauchery to yourself.

And who am I to criticise? What right have I to judge?

I'm one of you, but I don't want to be. I want to paint myself differently, and burn the model. Dorian Gray style. Burn my skin, and sink into the 2nd dimension.

I refuse...

2010-07-28T00:58:00.001+01:00

To stay...

I want my fucking tentacle back! I despise these legs, these arms, everything human here... I have to go. I'm sorry, but it needs to be done. Good bye. xxx

Don't call the coast guard!

2010-07-25T14:09:00.003+01:00

I'm coated in all this pretty dirt.

Dirt and glitter, filthy shimmers all over me.

Clods of dirt clogging up my veins, it's been a while since the dam fell down...

I didn't run out of words but they ran out of me, so we ran away, and there was no blood left to control us with.

I went for a nap in the ashes and hoped to wake up as a beautiful phoenix, but maybe my ugliness will transcend to the peak of beauty, I'll be so, so filthy and dirt encrusted that you won't be able to see me at all through the layers of grime. And. Then. I'll be beautiful, won't I?

Someone stubbed a cigarette out on me while I was sleeping, and I thought the flames meant I had my wings and the phoenix would fly away. But no, I was just camouflaged. I used to burn so brilliantly, but the fire died out. We tried pouring alcohol on it to revive it, but there's nothing to burn after that. So I threw some old photographs, stories, poems, records into the dying fire. Your face burned away, but I could still see it forming in the smoke, out of the smoke, going into my lungs, and now you're there forever, with all the tar and dirt inside my organs... Glistening.

Smoked humans for dinner.

Mmm.

I'm vegetarian, but I'll eat my young.

And I really don't know, all the knowledge and enlightenment was wasted on me.

Then the tsunami quenched the last of the embers, and blooms of jellyfish enclosed their tendril tentacles around us. I was safe. And that's where I want to be forever.

Nonsense from the hospital bed.

2010-05-10T10:52:00.003+01:00

It's been a while... I just thought I'd share with you some words from the hospital bed.

Glowworm

Beautiful beetle, did you mean to deceive?
Or is it our fault for the thoughts we conceived?
Beauty is only as we allow it to be
And only appears when we choose to see

But we have not your compound eyes,
Just retinas dumbly repelled from the skies.
Maybe we envy for this larval skin
And our hopeless inability to emerge from within

Maybe it's for your lunar beam
Because miracles of nature are here unseen...
You are blameless for your gorgeous glow
You give and you take, and you reap as you sow

Mankind could learn from the lessons you teach
But our arrogant forms themselves would preach
And in the night when we come around
And our artificial azure intrudes your ground

And bedazzles your beauty in destructive contempt
Remember we lack the beauty you've spent
Shameless as we leave your fresh cadavers:
Glowing faintly, metamorphosed martyrs

In my heart you will always glow
And my mind was open to the secrets you know.
At least now your name corresponds your place
The Earth is used to dying stars from space...

As your life glows away from your brand new skin,
I wish you'd have taught me how to emerge from within.

_____________________________________________

Constellations of Riddles
Burning in Verse and the Universe

Tonight the moon wears her Cheshire Cat face
Grinning at the lycanthropes' groans
They crawl beneath her encrusted space
Bathing in the purity she emanates alone.

The nymphalid spreads cerulean wings
With flutters chiming into the chorus.
Sinister, sincere, or some other thing?
Is Lunar's smile truly beaming for us?

Borrowed light on this rock in the sky
Does she charm, bribe, or blackmail the sun?
If one night she decides not to shine
The ink will be staining all but one.

The stars spell out ridiculous riddles
By the bid of the Cheshire moon,
And with conjectures men have fiddled
But they won't be solving them soon.

_____________________________________________

Inky papers of sympathy,
Like wasps a'buzzing, chewing trees
All I see, cheap imitations of nature
You're just the way the surgeons made ya'.

_____________________________________________

A Prayer for the Prey

As I set forth to sail on the watercolour sky
And feel the world fall beneath my wings
I hardly supposed one as insignificant as I
Would be entangled in the collector's strings.

My patterns are not the most pleasing to the eye
But that was no matter to him.
To the flowers and sky, I bid good bye,
Preparing for the worst of the cataclysm.

From the net to the jar, transferred was I
Despite my failed methods of escape;
Removed again, he pierced my owl eyes
In order to scrutinize their shape.

I strained to see the walls aligned
With my predecessors sharing a tomb:
Stolen from the sky, beatific butterflies
Signaling to me my doom.

Now perfumed with formaldehyde
In the butterfly collector's lair,
All the world we are denied
Yet spectres live on to scare.

_____________________________________________

Congealed rubies around my wrists,
The jewels which feed me: unwanted gifts.

_____________________________________________

Narwhal, Ad Infinitum

Equine monstrum of the waters
With horns calling to your daughters

Such a threat to primal man
Who drove the creatures off the land

The unicorn swimming within the sea
The predator calling out to me

Because immortality never dies
The rapist waits beneath the tides.

_____________________________________________

A Song of Solitude

Scratching down the days on the walls of my cell
Aligned with the scratches on the walls of my skin
Strangers scratching pens to wish me well
Doctors scratch their heads and scorn the djinn
They feign to help and pretend to listen.

There's one week spent and three to spare
To fix this bug which was never mine.
My mood corresponds to the blue of my hair,
As I apply my maquillage for the pantomime.
Was it a worm or nymphalid butterfly?

Jack had some beans which never grew,
As Cinderella slumbered atop the pea;
I could sure do with a magic bean or two,
But what my tongue craves most is sweet liberty-
For the butterfly collector to set me free.

It would taste like kisses, smiles, vodka and coke,
And reckless decadence with Mickey Finn.
"I wish I'd gone to Toy Town," I choke,
As my eyes embrace that lonely djinn,
As I scratch away at my larval skin.

With laughter lost, words are all I own
So with them I build my vital escape:
An empire I rule, yet I'm here alone
Because it's only myself in these fictional walls I've shaped
It's only myself in these fictional walls I've shaped.

Misnomer.

2010-04-04T01:09:00.002+01:00

This picture contains no hearts, brains or lungs.

Covering oneself in hosiery is an ideal suit of armour.

Good luck.

Waking.

2010-04-01T18:43:00.002+01:00

Somnambulation in smoky circles

SNAP OUT OF IT!

It's a fantasy, a phantasy, a phantom came to me in my sleep...

He walked right through my front door without knocking

INTRUDER

Intruding my retinas, lifting the curtains from my myopia

In a breath he bid me to walk through

And I refused

And

THIS IS IT

And it's so dazzling

Beauty in macabre waves

Washing over me as oxygen speeds through my veins

The bends

And

It's all gone...

The bends

And now there's just nowhere left for me.

I'm so sorry.

No metaphors were harmed in the making of this poem.

2010-03-24T01:06:00.002Z

Words spilling across the page

Veil drifting o’er my head

Insects dance, I disengage

Statue girl, she stole my bed.

Rain descends from the ceiling

Not outside with the orchestra

Hallucinations devoid of feeling

My beloved lachrymator…

Excuse me, it's raw.

Like the title says, no metaphors were harmed and no metaphors were used at all (except that one).

Because this is really what I've been seeing. My eyes are open, and the world shows me this. Whether it's my world or theirs, it's what's happening. And it scares me. It's scary when the world is singing and playing an orchestra to you, when words dance and turn into insects having a party, when it rains in your room and there's a live statue in your bed.

Not the first time I've hallucinated, and doubtfully the last.

At least this time I got to stay in this world... Like it's such a great place to be, huh?

What is the world trying to show me?

What does it want?

You don't fit me anymore.

2010-02-14T15:29:00.004Z

I gave my familiar back to the devil... Or did he give me back to him?

If he did, Lucifer's been treating me pretty well here in these flames.

He's taught me the latest modern techniques in magick, we've been dabbling in all these new herbs and powders... Explosions and elation, torturous tension gone...

And I am gone from the world, from your world.
I am gone from your hauntings, I have evaporated into the flaming clouds... To rain down upon you with my burning lips and fiery words.
Up here, I'm the lightning in fireworks, partying with Thor and his hammer.

You never gave me the chance to shine like Lucifer does - or provide me with the illusion of thus, like he.

You see, that old story about Hell beneath the Earth's crust - that's all a lie, a fairytale.
Hell is the sun, where I transcend with hungry wings.
Heaven is that safe trap beneath the bland Earth. You want to go to Heaven? Carry on digging that 6 foot hole for yourself, that's where Heaven is.
Meanwhile, I'm a firework dancing in the sun.
Those kids in Fatima got it all wrong! It wasn't the Virgin Mary, those convoluting colours were me from the future.
You have to listen to me, please: the future is NOW, and you're missing it!

My message in a bottle for you sailors of the land, to the birds who used to live in my hair.
The ruby throated hummingbirds deciphered and understood, they soared and exploded into stars of sharded glass - life is best above the clouds.

Ask them for tips and directions.
I'll save you a seat above the sky...

And you have to understand, I needed to take my clothes off to dive above the air. I needed to take and your too-short-sleeves off. Pure and naked atop the elements.
Climb a mountain and I'll meet you at the top, half way, to see how well you fit then.

You can ask the birds for directions.

A sincere apology to no one in particular.

2010-01-29T05:21:00.004Z

Words, I'm sorry for neglecting you.
I'm sorry for not feeding you.
All victuals went towards the birds, you know how greedy they can be...
Selfish birds. Selfish me.

The pages of the rose are all withered and crumpled. My resurrection spell is lost, she'll stay dead just to spite me.
Selfish rose.

I'll endow my all to you. It's not very much, certainly not enough, but it's all I have.
Well, not anymore.
Selfish you. Selfish me.

The birds can starve for all I care. I'd rather feed you than the insatiable parasites atop my skull.
As their premature forms wither, like the rose I left there, I'll feed you their feathery skeletons.
Your feathery skeletons.
Selfish feathers. Selfish skeletons.

Because I don't want their cadaverous lullabies anymore. They shut my ears to the world around me. I desire to grip my senses onto something, someone, anything tangible, real. I'm tired of waving my branches in the wind of symbols, and shedding my leaves for a metaphorical Autumn.
Long ago their true mother mistook me for a wood nymph. Not their fault, the forest framed me.
Selfish forest. Selfish nymphs.

So, I adopted them out of loneliness.
How is it this always ends up so "me me me"?
I'm tired of that, I don't want it to be that way anymore.
Selfish me-me-me, I-I-I.

Here's to you. No more wasted metaphors or banal symbols. No more superficial similies. No more artificial allegories.
Just you.
From now on it'll be you-you-you, because Selfish Me has exhausted and expended herself.
Just you.
Who ever you may be...

Good bye.

I'm just trying to feed the baby birds - this only looks like bulimia.

2009-12-30T00:29:00.004Z

Maybe if I feed them enough, one day their wings will be strong enough to carry them out of the birdnest. My birdnest. Birdnest brain, birdnest hair - I don't care.

I remember the day the eggs hatched in my skull.
Incessant chirping and squawking
Violent, noisy colour pervading all the blanks
The filled blanks as well as the empty
Violent, noisy, anti-lullabies
The insomniac, the bulimic, the fraud
It's the birds, the birds make me do this!

"Birds ate it," I wanted to tell them. "Birds ate my face."

The magpies caught the glint in my eyes

With their beady sight and hungry beaks

Who said diamonds last forever?

Sleeping Beauty doesn't even come close.

2009-12-20T12:37:00.002Z

I can't remember how to sleep, I can't remember how to wake up.
All I remember is how to float in the ether of the distant memory of a dream...

Ethereal seclusion.
My hands are tied with ribbon woven from the wings of a moth - we frazzle in the ether eternally, as the moon sings us the lie of a lullaby.

2009-12-16T18:26:00.002Z

All I've been retrieving from the well of words within me will now be being poured into pages instead of this blog - I may write some more fragments occasionally, but my novel is where most of my words will be going now. It's thirsty, and needs to be watered so it'll grow.

17 dead butterflies and a baby in the womb.

2009-12-13T08:30:00.004Z

The butterflies awoke me early this morning - so early the world was still asleep under it's blanket of darkness, so early that I could still taste the party four hours ago. It tasted like heroin and unknown familiarity - qualia?
They flutter their diaphonous pages of wings insistently, demanding I awake my ears to the news they have been crafting for several months now.
The beating of their wings sends mellifluous, lyrical vibrations into my soul; they seem to sing about a caterpillar enclosed in his coffin of a chrysalis, who's just dying to meet me...
I swallow them back down so I can't hear their threats - the taste of thyme and rust slides down my throat, as I begin to digest the news: how shall I choose to interpret it?
Do I accept this cadaverous newcomer and welcome what fortune he may bring - or do I remove the foetal corpse from the chrysalis so that I may find shelter there?

This is why you should take your anxiety medication.

2009-12-05T13:39:00.005Z

This morning I vomited 17 dead butterflies, fluttering in the spectral zombie fashion which is so popular nowadays.
But the sickness remains within me, I should have chosen to keep my collection in my pillowcase, instead of the hour glass which I've become. The ethereal, faerie-like creatures fall fatally through, piercing through the walls in revolt. I try to swallow them back down, vainly hold onto the glass to keep it together, but all that happens is it splinters into stars - embedding in my hands to create a beautiful crimson night sky in my palms.
I bequeath this crimson night to one I love and loathe.
I'll bathe you in the night, until my palms whiten and the makeshift stars lose their shine...

17 dead butterflies
Fighting through my neck
Entering the crimson sky
Fluttering plague unto the Wreck.

17 dead butterflies
Wings all painted dead
Once more in my heart reside
When the plague has all been shed.

17 dead butterflies
Presently interred within
And visible behind my eyes
Until the ending again begins...

Lolita and the Humbert Bird...

2009-12-02T21:04:00.005Z

I didn't want them to, but they did.
My tectonic plates got excited, too excited, hit yours and now I'm not sure whose fault my epicentre is.
I should have forced them to remain placid, but now the crust's broken, the earth's dancing and I'm uprooting the homes of the ruby throated hummingbirds.
The branches entangle around my ruby throat in self-defence, and the rise and fall of the earthy waves show no mercy.
The birds are a beautiful illustration to this catasrophe; their mellifluous, lyrical songs providing the perfect soundtrack to disaster.
My ruby red throat plumes feathers, soft and weightless. My arms, by the multitudinous hands of the trees, bend to look like wings.
I might look like you now, but I'll never be able to sing like you.

Look out for me.
The silent ruby-throated hummingbird, flying solitary, gazing at the wreckage of her epicentre.
A red feather of blood dives into the debris.

I don't think I'll write anymore, because words don't mean anything now.

2009-12-01T12:18:00.001Z

I don't think I can write anymore because there are no words, no possible combination of words and poorly strung sentences, to possibly explain anything now.

Choking on a Lego brick - inspired by Psychotic.

2009-11-25T20:01:00.005Z

I promised her I'd construct my next piece of writing out of Lego blocks.

So I'm sticking together the primary colours, building a shelter out of the warmth of red, happiness of yellow and dreams of blue.

The house of cards can not possibly compare to the domains of an imaginary childhood, rented memories I don't want to return.

The tectonic plates are yet to test their strength on my new home.

Even they excite in the event of your smile...

James May had the right idea. Please don't demolish my plastic palace as well...

2009-11-23T13:36:00.003Z

She taped the house of cards together

to protect it from the wrath of the tectonic plates.

But when the wind whispers, we all go down together.

I have evidence that it's just the two of me; no weeds growing through the debris for me to either feed or uproot.

Self-destructive celebrations are always the most enjoyable.

I think there's another person inside me.

2009-11-21T13:28:00.004Z

And I don't want to murder it, like he does.
How could he not already love the life that's growing there, like I?

We are babies ourselves.
Perhaps the life I'll give will take care of us and help us grow up, into the adults we're supposed to be?

It's not even definite. I'll find out next weekend...

All I know is, I'll be devastated if I am... And heartbroken if I'm not.

If I end up devastated... Whose life do I sacrifice?
Mine, or yours?

My friend Shadow

2009-11-20T19:32:00.003Z

Shadow tries to slip away

So she sews him to my sole

A dim reflection of me he is

Like a dark visual echo

In certain light he multiplies

In darkness he escapes

But the revenant returns again

In reflected hostile shapes

Sometimes he walks afore me

And other times behind

But within my heart I know

He's there, and in my mind

Shadow tries to extricate

Tugging stitches which bind us

And all I wish to eradicate

Are the memories which defined us

Shadow tried to slip away

And this time he succeeded

I miss his darkness dancing

Because it's what my soles have always needed.

Please go back underground.

2009-11-17T20:14:00.004Z

You were conceived by tectonic plates, dancing life into your foetal form.
And you danced with your parents beneath the earths crust, and you danced your way up through the cracks and mess they made.
You danced upon the rubble, and now you dance upon me.
When will little girls learn to not play in the world's wreckage?
It would be so easy to slip between the cracks and quake it all.

How much higher will you go?

Can I come dance with you on the clouds?

Please?

2009-11-15T20:58:00.002Z

And I raise my head to the coruscating firmament, breathing smoke signals to whichever divine entity cares to decipher my message...

Incorporeal foetal words inside me, begging to be given birth to.
Perhaps I'll go to the hospital, release this life into the blank pages in which they belong...

My baby, it was an accidental abortion. I will endow my life upon you, trade my breaths for your imaginary existence.

We are only guilty of loving too much.

If we are 95% our surroundings, you must be me.

2009-11-10T14:39:00.003Z

I eviscerated myself and flushed my being away.

Disintegrating, deliquescing.

Particles of me dancing with the fishes.

Particles of me reforming, into the jellyfish I've always been.

It dignifies my nothingness; my lack of heart, brain and lungs.

Come and swim with me in tsunami lake, I'll enclose my tendrils around you in an everlasting embrace.

You'll learn to bloat like I have, my fishy friends will devour you like they'll soon be devoured.

The sirens won't sing for you, music is a privilege of the living.

Surgical gills on your wrists, allow my vampiric tendrils to kiss them better...

I am 95% water. The other 5% is you.

I should have been born beneath the waves.

Mummy and daddy could tell, so my name tells all.

Kiss the floating stars in the coagulating sea.

Wish upon the pretty ones, they shoot into infinity

And escape this liquid coffin.

I wish I could shoot myself too.

Or find my home, with the other jellyfish and Coral plants...

2009-11-08T15:55:00.004Z

You remind me of the lessons the kaleidoscope taught me.

I never knew such beauty could shine through the plethora of sharded glass.

Cavorting with you in our golden tube, showered by the rainbows of a future memory.

A nicotine kiss in the crystal smoke reminds me of the lessons you're about to teach me.

A diamond embedded in your chest, piercing excruciating passion through the bars of the bird cage. Who let her go?

I leave this diamond here in her memory, and a withered rose for the dead.

I slumber, somnambulating in concentric circles between the bars of bones, awaiting the revenant's return.

She's already here, isn't she?

Excuse me, it's just my peculiarity of painting disease pretty,

with my can of words and brush of lips.

Pretty little blister kiss.

2009-11-07T15:43:00.003Z

We're spinning again, can you feel it?
The paper wind rustling all around us,
Yesterday's newspaper's screaming in our ears,
The infinite cliches compressing our heads together,
Your cells imbued with mine,
Colours clashing and cavorting in the desert rain,
Drenched in disease and happiness,
Who is left to turn to?
Who is right to turn to?
Turning, turning, turning on the axis again,
Away from their world this time,
No longer watching detached,
The audience absconded and constructed their own puppet theatre
Out of lint and butterfly wings,
The puppets spinning on their spiderweb strings,
Our strings entangling, a bloody mess of mangled knitted limbs on stage
Aborted road-kill at the gates,
A dome of lies to shelter us and shatter us,
The invisible worms consuming our innards,
Eviscerating the containers of innocence,
Digesting us,
Shitting us,
Recycling us on the earth to be reborn again
On our bed, our flower bed...
O Rose, thou art sick...

We consummated our loathing like lovers;

Like Heathcliff fucking Cathy's corpse.

I have enough blood and noise to paint with now, thanks.
But I don't want to paint any more.

Birdnest Hair

2009-10-24T21:48:00.003+01:00

He gave me more blood and noise to paint with.

I gave him vomited vodka and a hug goodbye.

I indirectly apply my blood and noise to the fabric of her skin, a cheap theatre costume for an unwritten play, for a character who is a nonsensical nonentity.

Who wrote the unwritten?

Was it you?

Because I expended my supplies in the theatre, the painting is finished, incomplete. I chew it up and spit it out, like a mother bird feeding her little chirplings. The invisible birds nestle in my hair, chirping sweet lyrical lullabies to bid my consciousness away. I don't chew the frame for them, I kindly let it live and be worn as my suit of armour.

The day after the night before,

Puppets devoured by the stage trap-door.

Hobbies and Interests:

2009-10-19T20:12:00.005+01:00

Well, I quite enjoy haunting the dead...

There's something rotten round here.

2009-10-17T00:53:00.003+01:00

I think it's me.

Yesterday lasted a week.

Last week lasted a day.

Chronology convolves here.

There's cynicism on my bedroom floor,

Kicked out of my bed from the night before.

2009-10-13T17:10:00.003+01:00

Cigarette burns on my arms fight the fog in my head.

The fog is transported to the 3rd dimension, where a paper doll sits, burning, barely perceptible amidst the nicotine fog.

Yesterdays news imprinted on her skin, burning.

No one can see her through the fog.

And if they could, well, what does it matter?

Internal Haunting

2009-10-11T20:11:00.007+01:00

I remember now...

Today I saw our ghosts sitting side by side, watching the world spin away from them as they silently sipped their coffee.

Did you spin away with it?

Is that what happened?

I watch you turning on your axis, spin spin spinning, so fast it makes me dizzy, sick, nauseous...

I don't spin anymore, just hover; incorporeal and weightless.

Now I'm watching another ghost, soaked in a halcyon day, spinning on a playground roundabout.

The bruise-like scars remind me how I jumped off too fast, my ghost couldn't keep up, so she spins there still.

The halcyon stains me blue.

I'm cold.

The Trick is to Keep Breathing.

2009-10-11T16:06:00.001+01:00

These meds have killed me and transformed me into an animated corpse.

Feeling like snakes to dust.

2009-10-07T17:20:00.003+01:00

I don't think the doctor really wanted to listen to me.

I let the wasps out of the jar and took the stings... She sat there and watched, looked through my medical/mental health history and then gave me a prescription for citalopram.

That's it.

No talk of therapy or counselling, "just be a good girl and take your medicine"...

I find it ironically hilarious that inside the med box there's a little info sheet which states that "thoughts of suicide or self-harm may occur, or may increase" as a side-effect...

I want my innocence back.

2009-10-06T12:14:00.000+01:00

I'm playing hide and seek by myself.

Can someone help me find me, please?

I'm losing.

The Healing Powers of Tea and Kindness

2009-10-06T11:02:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I went insane again, and then I disappeared. I found myself later in a Victorian tea house with some of the loveliest people imaginable. They gave me elegant pots of tea and crystal sugar cubes, sweet milk and a matching china cup and saucer... They even told me I didn't need to pay. Incidents like this restore my faith in humanity. It was beautiful.

My phone is inundated with well-wishes from my friends. I have no idea how to reply, let them know how much I appreciate their concern, so I don't. Even though I want to.

I feel like my skull's too small for the two of me, so tomorrow I'm going in for repairs. I'm terrified. Doctors scare me. But it's for the best, right?

As a side note, I'm really not as annoyingly miserable as I seem here - I just use this blog as a place to vent all my silenced thoughts and emotions. I need to put them somewhere, they're too heavy to carry around all on my own. And then the load feels a little lighter and I feel a little relieved. Smiles.

In other news: I recently joined an online LGBT community http://www.prettypinkpearl.co.uk
My name there is Coral - hit me up, yo!
It's a relatively new site, so more wonderful people like YOU should join. :)

Thank you for reading.

Last night I possessed myself.

2009-10-04T12:10:00.001+01:00

I didn't mean to.

I didn't mean to ruin the special occasion. I didn't want to have a mental breakdown in the restaurant and cause a huge scene. I didn't mean to get hysterical and cry and scream and collapse and black out and lose consciousness and have a panic attack. I didn't want to have to be given a sedative to calm down just so I could remember how to function and be human again.
What the fuck is wrong with me?

The Ventriloquist's Doll

2009-10-03T11:52:00.000+01:00

Why am I doing this?

I slept for a month last night, and woke up the same way I always do: amazed that I'm still alive. It's quite an achievment for me, waking up and not being dead.
I've been trying really hard not to kill myself, and it's been three years since my last (direct) attempt. But I'm bored of trying not to try. It's exhausting. All my energy is expended on surviving.

I need to find some skin that fits, maybe I can sew my own out of these remnants...

Departure to Desire

2009-10-03T01:16:00.000+01:00

I'm going home. I can't stand wearing this false form any longer.

It's going to devour me whole...

Not if I devour it first.

***

I think I've outgrown you, and that scares me.

What will take your place? What if what I want doesn't fit me either? Will anything ever fit me? Or do I have to shrink myself for you? Or you? Or you?

***

You wear your insanity like a suit of armour.

Just go home. If you remember where you left it.

The Underrated Importance of Disintegration

2009-10-02T17:29:00.000+01:00

It's hard to tell where I am with my eyes closed, but I think I'm at your door, my imagination painting pictures from the palette of undecipherable noises. Next time you leave the fallible security of your tree house, I hope you see the noisy portrait I left for you on your door.

Whether you've gone or not, I'll be there. In the corner wearing my indifferent obsession, behind the guise of smoke and glitter.

You don't even realise I'm pulling your strings, operating every fall for my own sardonic pleasure.

I am the breath erecting goosebumps along your wooden spine.

I am the maquillage upon your splintering face, the termites behind nibbling away...

I am the moonlight in February, reminding you of your biggest mistake.

The pigeon who brings your messages, that is also me. I tamper with them before I deliver, pecking at the truth to create prettier words to pollute you with.

Ventriloquist, too tired to throw my voice anymore. One last time... Can you catch it?

Do you recognize the silhouette in the mirror? The shadow of the rainbow in June? The discarded teddy bear, now a buffet for maggots?

I painted this scene, and I can easily erase it. White-wash with my obsession, delusion.

I need to start again.

Just give me more blood and noise to paint with.

I hate that I miss you.

And here I spill my thoughts to you...

2009-10-01T12:12:00.000+01:00

Even though you don't exist and therefore won't be reading this. I kind of hope you do.
You probably have better things to do in your imaginary sphere than consider mine...

I'm taking a day off from life to fall into a fictional one. I finished "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky. It was beautiful. One quote particularly resonates with me:

"I would die for you, but I won't live for you."

Do you ever read a book and think you are someone else and then when you stop reading it you can't remember who you are? And then after a while you realise that you weren't so certain about who you were anyway? So you carry on forgetting and think of ways to wake you up.
Because I want to wake up, I've been taken by the zombie faeries and can't find my way out. The big ones keep me pinned down, but I don't mind. The small ones are the most evil. They flutter inside your brain and pull the light switch, have a bloody feast in the dark. It's hard to focus when the lights are off in your head and zombie faeries are devouring portions of you. And because it's dark you can't see at all, you can just sense them there, and the world outside becomes blurred and out of focus. Operational error.
A cure: leeches? Blood-letting? Self-evisceration?

I need to break my ship free from this glass bottle, sail upon the shards and actually feel, experience.
Maybe the zombies and I could make friends and sail together.
But I want to give them a taste of their own medicine, and devour portions of them too.

I hate people like me.

I'm not really anyone. I'm just a patchwork quilt, a collage of other ideas and other people and other ____, etc. A montage.