And whenever I had to leave I was always thinking, from the moment I realised I had to go, all through the leaving, 'why do I have to go? Where else could I possibly need to be? life is so clearly here. As I move away from her, there can only be less life, moving back into that strange place where I scratch around, waiting til the next time I see her.' And we texted each other during the day, we sent messages;
'I'm throbbing', 'I can still feel you', 'I can still smell you', 'When can we see each other again?', 'Can I see you tonight?', 'Shall I come over?', 'I want you so much, I wish you were here right now,' 'Come over straight after work,' 'there's so much I want to do to you,' 'I don't ever want to sleep, I just want to be with you, fucking and talking,' 'Oh Yes! Me tooo!!!' 'I can't wait!' 'I can't think about anything else.' 'God, this day is dragging, why they fuck did I have to leave you this morning.' 'Every moment without you is shit.'
And, of course, this is how it goes, and you get suspicious that the intoxicating cloud of lust and physical aching has completely detached you from everything else. All the other crap you do pales in significance. And you get suspicious, and you think about distraction, and you think beyond distraction, and you start not to trust, and you think about madness, and you lose perspective.
]]>Bedhead
Hair on your head
Was it something I said?
She might be dead
Bedhead
Girl in my head
Hair in my mouth
Hair on the head
Just finished J.M Coetzee's Diary of a bad year. good ruse. typical JC sad and sorry style infused with intellect. Shades of Nabokov with metafictional tendency and old man love young girl dynamic.
On the train, finished Mark Kurlansky's Non-violence (A history of a dangerous idea.) Short, punchy and to the point. Good history. I'd like to re-read a few times just to fix it in.
Have started Barak Obama's Audacity of Hope but already flagging.
Also started reading the Bible. Am on chapter 32 of Genesis. Strange tales these people tell. Where's the magic or spirituality?
Enjoyed The Passion on BBC over Easter. Very appropriate. Jesus Aryan and patronising. Disciples weak and moping.
Saw Diary of the Dead. Horrendous. Just really poor. Was difficult to take. Makes Land of the Dead look like a masterpiece. I do really like Land of the Dead though.
Lines to reflect
I want Jesus to touch me.
If I was a girl I wouldn't just want to be desired. I know that men desire me. I know that I am vulnerable to men's desire. I want to look at you and know that you desire me. I want to see it in how you look at me. Not like a crazed lecher but with tender, piercing eyes that I want above all others.
]]>I have been thinking more about Jesus recently. A friend of mine has recently started his own blog www.downroute66.com. Jesus obviously spent Lent hanging out in the desert by himself with no thrills or distractions outside of meditating and wrestling with his demons, or demon. I find the idea of going off and doing things by myself a very romantic but ultimately fearful notion. I worry about the pending and inevitable boredom and failure, depression and misery too much. So, I admire the man and see hope in being able to spend all this time away from the things that defend us against such things - friends, family, loved ones, work, hobbies, booze - and would like to give it a crack.
One of my strongest inner desires is to go and wander the earth in a directionless yet somehow purposeful and enlightened, liberated manner. Home is where I am. I am where my home is. My body is my home. I love my friends and hobbies but I am aware of them defending me against my sadnesses, and thus protecting me from taking the big risks. Jesus gave up his safety net of friends and frivolity for 40 days to face his enemy head on. I think he is swell. I can experiment with being more like him by giving up the drink for a bit. I will now be relying on freshly squeezed orange juice and soda water for my social lubrication. small steps.
]]>There was a boy and a girl who met and became boyfriend and girlfriend. It was very romantic and they were 'head over heels' in love. They were a real delight to behold - always giggling and flirting and touching and beaming with joy. But, as time went on, the great flourish of burgeoning romance naturally dissipated and the lovers found this hard to deal with and relations became strained. They weren't really able to reconcile their love in a satisfactory way. The boy was awkward and un-effusive, wary of these excitable feelings that seemed to lead him into the tempestuous web of love and the lady grew frustrated at this and felt rejected as she desired to toboggan on the sledge of love off into the sublime swirling unknown.
So, the lady left and moved away and went to another city. When she got to the new city, she found a job which was really much better than the one she had before, and then she found a nice new boyfriend who was really into her and made her very happy.
]]>I haven't visited since I got a new job 3 months ago. I have some thoughts. The job has given me time not to think about things. I have been busy regenerating externally. I have filled my days with acts and pursuits. I no longer get up in the morning and ask, what do I want to do. I just get up and eat and piss and go to work and do the work and eat and drink and furthermore.
The best thing about the game is that you only lose the game if you think about the game.
There are no right or wrong answers, there are just really good ways of carrying on and heinous ways to carry on. I was called here by angelinthedark, love333 and The_Walrus. They are my friends. Tally ho.
]]>Too old and too educated
I flop onto the sandy bed
rejected by the sea
Going to Netto for cheap beans
and eggs
A reliable act
The crazies haunt the streets
like the screaming sunlight
Unfettered by window and shape
The crazies greet me,
Asking for pennies.
The 'Penny for the Guy' child
relentless in request
Of pennies
Ashamed
'Don't you have a job?'
Autumn is here
Once in, every now and then
I stare into the receiver
I want it to ring, bearing good news.
I phone them up
The job people, the agencies
Where have you been
What do you want
What can you do
Why are you old
Why are you calling
I must get a job to escape this hell
The child will keep asking me for pennies
The crazies too
I don't want to be
Amongst them
Another day
I look into the mirror and grin
]]>My body starts to feel aggitated.
It requires movement, it's energies swirling about, asking for release.
I'm not sure how best to satisfy this, but I take it running.
Although, while we are running, I definitely feel bored.
I reconcile this thought with the needs of the body.
The body comes first, I tell myself.
It feels strange to have my mind interject with its opinions
Boredom.
I instantly want to obey this boredom and give up the running.
But I am learning to differentiate.
It is a request of the mind, not the body.
The body comes first.
This mind is unruly and unhelpful.
During the day, it makes few requests, other than to follow the body.
It talks too much. It rabbits incoherently, sometimes for a long time.
It starts to hanker for interactions with others.
This transmutes into a physical ache,
So, I find someone for it to talk to, and it comes out through my mouth
When the conversation is over I feel, physically, satisfied.
As a result of these conversations, I often feel a physical excitation.
This is pleasant but it's come from these others.
The need to piss, shit, wank, rest, eat,
Doesn't come from anywhere else but inside.
These external influences are unusual.
I sit blankly often.
Waiting.
I sometimes think, abstractly, 'what would i like to do?'
Can't really put this into any kind of action though.
Doesn't really make sense.
I hear of these people who 'like' to do things,
Who have a passion for actions and behaviours.
I just do as I'm told.
If I keep my body happy, my mind does not get too aggitated.
Sometimes when I speak to other people, I get very excited.
Sometimes I feel an intense warmth and happiness.
I sometimes even want to press my body against theirs in affection
My body asks for this as a result of the verbal and mental interaction.
I've decided not to show my body too many things
Other wise it will drag me about in an excited frenzy
And I will feel completely lost.
(this is an attempt to try and define depression when I am at my lowest)
I was looking forward to sloping off and sinking into my own selfish inertia. To turn my face steadfastly towards books and screens in order to relieve the nervous exhaustion of sharing spatial and facial interactions with the humans. The journey home normally wizzed by as i giggled to myself, got a semi to some semi-pornographic literature, welled up over emotional passages. My own internal business, sordid, unpalatable and mine.
When I awoke in the morning a sudden wave of nerves erupted. I stared at the ceiling. My environment would soon be filled with questioning, smiling faces. How would I answer them? I thought back. Had I had a good evening? It was worried. I was immersed and absent from the crushing realities of the day. Hardly a suitable answer. Indeed, I read, and watched some rather interesting shows about cats. 6 in a row. I was actually dying to talk to someone about it.
I'd tried it a couple of times, but it always went askew leaving their morning grin sagging into a nervous expression, hopeful but uncertain. I'd start to talk about something I was reading. (For God's sake this was a publishing house! Couldn't we talk about these things?) An amazing book about two brothers who are emotionally and sexually stunted. Great stuff. i could have stayed up reading it all night. You know, there were some really interesting bits and it left me wondering about sexism. I mean, I was enjoying them, and I'm a literary erudite person, but they were pornographic. Really made me think etc etc.... OK. Right. No. Just a quiet one thanks. Bit of TV and catching up on some reading. Yourself? Stayed a bit late. Had this launch to prepare for. You know. Excellent. That's plenty. Ah. Cool, crisp exchange. My smile never dropped.
I'm dreading tomorrow, but I'd better get over it. Writing and thinking about it's not going to help now is it? Just going to exacerbate the situ. Too right my man. Just a game. They're just colleagues. Cool, professional, environment. Indeed. I want nothing less. Right. Eradicate the dwelling and the inertia. Best to replace it with positive functionality. Then there'll be no need for this. No need for this.
Why would you rig a poll to name a cat?
]]>David Foster Wallace please.
]]>Tonight I am out again.
Trying to say things. Words and sentences are old tools for a close approximation.
I'm thinking a lot about time. The nature of being a nowist vs a futurist. I am not a futurist. I remain deliberatly naive about the future. Plans and schemes feel heavy, oppressive. I love the now. I love this moment I'm in. I love the moment. I'm looking out over Sheffield right now in the evening. I'm going out soon to see friends. The now is fine. But what do you want. There is a problem of being committed to the now and that's that you are unprepared. Totally unprepared.
There's a girl. I know if she crosses my path I'll be scrambled. Being in the now makes you very vulnerable. Like writing. If you live in the now of the sentence it lives its own weaving rambling arabesque and any sense of an over arching thesis is lost. And this is very unsatisfying for the reader. A concept of the future is invaluable. It means you won't put too much emphasis on the moment. Living for the moment means every instant is about seeking to optimise the body's pleasures and satisfactions out of fear. A kind of paranoid and fervid hunger.
With a concept of the future i can keep perspective, not put too much onus on the moment and take it as a small block in the building. Life is a sandcastle that is never finished. I need to keep moulding and sculpting and shaping with my vision in mind. Demand precise attention to detail. I may spend hours shaping the turrets.
]]>Apologies perverts. Ogle over my luscious cock.
]]>The men had gathered in the public house to relax and speak after work. They huddled close to the window and relaxed happily into conversation and drink. They were held in a place between mid-afternoon and evening and no-one had any desire to be anywhere else.
Nick sat at the heart of the group. "How was work?"
"Same old shit."
The same easy tones and reasurring phrases to mark their place in the week.
The fight broke out seemlessly and at once. The drunks set upon the drunks, pounded fists into faces and blood was exchanged on shirts. Shouts and bodies piled in and were scattered by affray. The old calls of 'leave it,' 'calm down'denied by squirming bodies and elbows.
The exchange collapses under its own weight, deflates under its own tension. Adrenaline only goes so long. The short quick outbust. The shots ring out. All moves happening too quickly. The spontanaeity of action preceding thought.
In the aftermath, men stood; onlookers outwaying the fighters made awkward by their numbers. The victorious party scarpers, ambling away indulgently. The other human remains, standing defiantly.
The crowd murmers to itslef and is aware of its need to act. Is he ok. What should we do. What wankers. Do you think we should stay. Where is X. I saw it all. They just went at him. And history begins to take shape. Friends cross-examine each other to confirm what they have seen. Interpreters of what they have seen.
He said he had a knuclke duster. They were just looking for an excuse. He's the kind of guy who would though, I know him. I know him. I knew those guys were trouble.
And as the witnesses spill away, the highlight of their evening is retold and retold. To friends, we saw a fight in the dog and penguin earlier. Really what happened. He threw a punch. There was blood. The police were involved. I've got blood on my jeans. New details eke out. The story comes to rest.
The people who spoke at length.
Spare Parts.
Low impact.
]]>"I'm always here if you need me," she said. "That's the problem," I said. The problem comes from the need to conquer intimacty. Intimacy is an illness and a need.
The difference is I don't want to fuck my therapist. I don't crave his fit ass.
Vision/Wants
I don't want to be here.
By not being here all my problems will be solved.
One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.
Sin is whatever obscures the soul
The most decisive actions of life are most often unconsidered actions.
There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.
"Therefore" is a word the poet must not know.
Through loyalty to the past, our mind refuses to realize that tomorrow's joy is possible only if today's makes way for it; that each wave owes the beauty of its line only to the withdrawal of the preceding one.
What another would have done as well as you, do not do it. What another would have said as well as you, do not say it; what another would have written as well, do not write it. Be faithful to that which exists nowhere but in yourself-and thus make yourself indispensable.
Work and struggle and never accept an evil that you can change.
Art is the collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.
]]>On a wim, I had decided to go to France to travel. I arrived at the ferry depot too late and had to wait to take the firt one in the morning. When I arrived, I found that several of my friends were already there first. We were in some town which was half Paris, and half some beach side town. Two of my best and oldest male friends were already there, S and H. S, the consumate consumer, traveller who is always ahead of me, confidently at home in these foreign dwellings. And, H, who was relaxed but more nervy. I love these guys even if S does intimidate me with his largesse.
Then there were the girls S and H. S had been there a long time. Right at home in Paris. H had decided that she was now a lesbian and spoke of the relief and freedom to be free from the nasty imbalances of heterosexual love. Her hair kept changing. She was more hippyish with blonde and blue dreadlocks at one point. She looked less pretty than i remembered with no make up but still brought all the tenderness back nonetheless. My male friend S had footage on his phone of the two girls tonguing each other in a cafe and laughing.
All quite merry and forcing me to accept that, while some things are very different, some are very the same and I have to roll with the times.
]]>After repeating the practice the body did not ache so much as throb calmly satisfied and the feeling became more familiar.
After the split and time wore on, the body was forcibly starved and seemed to ache hungrily for replenishment. A different throbbing now which spoke of an absence. The physical longing.
Time would see the pangs quieten.
Others kept their bodies on a constant drip feed of sex and cock.
]]>Like repeating the same acts. The similar dialogues, the same tactics, the drinks, the weekend breaks, the moans, the sharing of dreams and jokes.
She decided to reclaim her body as apart of reclaiming her independence. She took revenge with her body, aggressively, coolly fucking her way through a series of anonymous lovers, to vigorously scratch out his touches that lingered lightly traced on her body. As she lay drifting off to sleep that night, she lay her hand on her waist, which he had always loved to caress. This place which had been associated so painfully with him was now reinscribed, the memory scrambled by a series of drunken half images, vying for position, where vague happy lusting faces merged with Chagall-ian effect, flickering, strobing like a mosaic, of abstract greens, reds and purples, disavowing his cruel monopoloy over her.
It was hellish but not altogether unpleasent. At least it was an alternate chaos to the exhaustion of the perpetually unsatisfying tunnelled focused love she had used her body with before in devotion to him. So that was something.
]]>I like Milan Kundera because he articulates the complicated unruly logic of relationships in the finest way I've seen.
Who do you like?
]]>The fear of recovering memories of sexual abuse. Using therapy to look back and to help. Assuming everything was fine but being afraid of recovering something horrible. What do you then do with that memory?
Zombies vs Terminators.
Future film where military robotics is highly advanced, so society is completely protected by an omniscient killing system to control and monitor deviance. Everything is controlled. People are passive. But the dead are restless. The undead could be undetected. Appearing like people and tearing their heads off.
Possiblities. The robotics don't recognise zombies, thus allowing them to overwhelm.
It becomes a battle of robotics v Zombies.
The robotics turn on the humans.
Viruses.
Stages.
1. describe the society
2. what's the story?
3. whose the hero?
Memory.
Out of sight, out of mind.
The will to forget.
Forgetting about her because I don't see her.
The will to remove someone.
Getting over it.
Don't look at them and they will disappear.
What if they reappear?
What if that person or memory reared it's head in front of you.
That person or memory could loom up and terrify you, send you into shock.
Why would it return? Like a monster/beast.
(different to)
Recurring memory.
Someone keeps recurring.
The same situation.
Nothing changes.
Like an addiction.
Self destructive.
Very happy memories.
]]>I do. In fact, I sell them on ebay. If interested, let me know. I'd be interested in swapping/selling/buying.
Is advertising one's wares, terribly immoral and against the spirit of the blog?
We'll see.
More poetry to follow.....
]]>Only when I'm rid of these things will I be rid of her.
]]>I need to record some of the things we said, lest they are committed to the gloom of forgetfulness.
Key things he said:
'you can't let go.'
'You dismiss everything, sarcastically.'
'you need to try and recover more memories from pre-adolescence.'
'you don't become a warrior overnight.'
'You liked vehicles a lot as a child.'
I talked a lot about my parents. (my therapist likes this.) I admitted that I hate them for being a let down. He said I believe in primeval myths - which i thought was annoying as it means I 'm stuck as a 4 year old.
He played a game with me at the beginning. I was early and he asked me to wait a couple of minutes. I waited 7 minutes and he said I was now late and would not get the time back. I argued my case, that he had been flexible in the past about beginnings and endings of the session. He asked me what I was doing. I said I was fighting my case. I could not win though. I am annoyed. I should demmand my time back. But I won't. I did not win.
I can learn though.
I talked about how I hated my dad for being an ignoramous and asking me stupid question. I said that I often attacked my mum with sniping comments. He asked, why do I go back? Do I realise I have a choice?
I said I know I have a choice, but I don't believe I have a choice. I can't let go of anything. I want to go back and make things better. I can't cope with broken relationships. I want to go back and fix them.
My therapist seems to think that I need to delve into my memories to get a clearer understanding of this. I don't know if this will help. I'm thinking I just need to train myself to be nice and accepting.
Last night I went out drinking with pals and spent lots of time chatting to some gays. Then I thought about how I might like some cock. But only briefly.
]]>feeling too much being a dichotmous idea where lust becomes over complicated with love. Feeeeeling too much being initially, a lusty, rampaging rumage over another person's body. This leads the luster to fall hopelessly and painfully in love. Confusion reigns over the distinction between lust and love. aaaah.
]]>I had grand plans. When I thought I wanted to be without her, I thought what I needed was independence and freedom. I thought that I must learn to grasp life for myself and not keep looking to others to provide inspiration and direction for me. Then I realised people will always be there, as will my memories, friends and family, all influencing and suggesting. It's up to me to make my way amongst that considering I like them and don't want to lose them ultimately.
I can never sever myself completely, although this did feel like a kind of dream. Total independence. The dream of independence is an ideal view I have where I am a very different person, taking action, making things happen, being dissident, being deviant. Being Jean Genet. These are the characters I admire. I find it hard to accept I am just who I am. Lazy, disinterested, avoiding the issue, letting life fly by. One has to retrain oneself, but it is tiresome.
So, I am left with two desires. I always seem to be able to pair my problems. I have a desire to go to her and start again, and I have a desire to flee in a reach for independence.
To be with her, I would move to London now. I would get a temp job, while applying for work experience and internships with publishing companies. I would try and get involved with creative stuff, write a poem. While doing this, I would work out how to make it happen. My fear is that she would say no. If she said no, I would up my passion and give her an offer of commitment she could not refuse. We would see each other after work and kiss. It would be delightful. Then we could go away at weekends and be romantic. I would listen to things she said and we would spar with ideas. We would become publishers and go to Prague together.
But she will be angry. I will say I can't stop thinking about her. she will say, yes you can. You have a choice. My pals will say I'm crazy. I will agree. I will then be alone in London.
The question is, how do you cope when you are alone? The idea of being in London without her is awful. Even if I have a career in publishing. The idea of being in Sheffield without her is horrible too. But at least I have friends and 5-aside football teams to take my mind off it.
Being unable to cope on my own is the real fear. If I went there I would be very dependent on her.
]]>Yummy Yummy Yummy Yummy Yum Yum, protect me from the restaurants.
]]>But context is everything and now I am in the blog world I am thinking about the audience. I have a choice about making things public or not. Initially I was thinking just to be private and hidden, not to get involved in the public nature of it all. It is a choice. But, deep down I have a need to test my ideas with the people.
I'm asking myself some questions:
How much do people like making themselves public? (I'm thinking that bloggers love it)
How do they chose what to keep private/public?
How many indulge in this kind of questioning on their blogs?
How many came here initially to exorcise their pain - a kind of therapy, to narrativise their misery in an attempt to cleanse and move on? (Hello, my name's *. I'm looking to gain something from blogging.)
The blog has defeated the process. The blog has routed me in a a squalid pool of questioning. I am not 'taking action.' The action to be took was one of progressive new fiction and prose to spew forth from my type-board. I can't blame the blog though. I have a choice. This was my choice. This was my choice. (This must have been thought and written 5 years ago.)
Learnings and discoveries:
The blog has manipulated what I say.
Maybe this is Ok.