Ascent.

I can feel the weightlessness taking hold… sparsity overcoming the soles of my feet… emptiness in my limbs… a big (       ) you to gravity. 

 

I have begun my ascent into space. 

2.2.12

Today my heart is a mood ring.

It is a nerve at its exposed end, an inflamed wound, a flickering fluorescent.

It is a bombe alaska, bare feet on nails, a laryngitic throat.

It is wearing 3D glasses and is drunk beyond recompense.

My heart was punched in its own heart by a mysterious lady carring a kaleidoscope. She visits each year on this day.

 

But this time… my heart fought back. It launched itself onto its attacker and clawed away at her face, her thoughts, her kaleidoscope. A blur of arteries and rainbows, colours and cartilage, blood and… well, blood.

 

Nobody won.

 

But that’s not really the point, nor is it, I guess, entirely true. Read into this conclusion however you will, but all I know is that today my heart strutted proudly back to my rib cage, leaking life fluids along the way. It took its place dutifully inside me and smiled and waited patiently to be overcome by a new and vibrant colour.

The Olfactory Line.

It is a funny thing, the nose. Disregarding the ludicrous physical form it takes (a mound of cartilage and flesh with two divots gouged out), it is certainly a strange and powerful entity.

I traipse this city of mine and it is sometimes like perusing a gallery of sensory memories. A barrage of assaults and insults and slaps-to-the-face…

And ever so occasionally… a kiss.

Elderly lady sits politely down on the bus next to me and she is my mother, donned in “Beautiful” by Estee Lauder, which father offered her as birthday, anniverary and Christmas gift for years 0-15 of my life.

Best friend spritzes some Hugo, flick, flick… And he is my brother, noticing girls at 16, leaving me at home to play Nintendo 64 alone.

Colleague saunters in, wafting swathes of Diesel “Green” and I am back at high school sleepovers, dressed as The Riddler, allergic to BFF’s bdrm.

Myer sales-girl hands me a card accompanied by plastic words- “a gift for your girlfriend!” A suggestion, a question, an accusation. I sniff… D&G. And she is suddenly in Blue Jeans, with stained hair and a nose-ring. I take her by the hand and promise that I love her because I don’t know any better.

And I almost make it home alive.

But as I’m walking through the Central Tunnel I see him and hear him chatting on his phone before he’s anywhere near enough for the real exchange… He draws nearer and eventually we graze, slow motion, soft friction, sweet interruption.

He is laced in “Truth”.

And then he is gone.

I stop.

I fall to the ground.

And I lose control of my breathing.

All because…
All those years ago…

I was lied to.

If it be my will.

I wish I was a slut. I wish I could gain satisfaction and invigoration from the sucking of anonymous cocks. I wish I lived in an emotional vacuum. I wish I was a black hole. I wish I could consume love and happiness as inconspicuously as I do oxygen. I wish I was selfish. I wish I could be energised by a battery, a computer, this iPhone. I wish when someone said “Hey sexy” I could reply with “Get down on your knees and say that.” I wish I wasn’t incomplete. I wish there wasn’t an emotional murmur in my heart region, Chinese whispering with my other organs. “He thinks he’s so fucking hot” they hiss, “look at that hand he’s holding… It’s his own, and even that is squirming to get away.” I wish I was arrogant. I wish I was paid attention because I demanded it. I wish I sulked when I don’t get my way. I wish I could punch people. I wish there were people who deserved to be punched. I wish I was capable of feeling I’d been wronged- and that the wrongdoer deserved to be punched. I wish I didn’t understand. I wish that didn’t even matter. I wish it didn’t still matter. I wish I could stand in the ocean forever. I wish there was life in neck deep water. I wish I could be cold but enclosed. I wish I could be wrinkled but comforted. I wish I could be forever bathed. I wish there was an arm around me. I wish I didn’t wish that. I wish I wasn’t getting older. I wish I had blue eyes. I wish that hate was a natural emotion for me. I wish I let myself hate. I wish I still had faith in love. I wish I was a drinker, woo hoo. I wish I got fucked up and did stupid things like steal shit and have unsafe sex. I wish I licked happiness straight from the neck. I wish it trickled down my esophagus and burned my innards, set fire from the inside out. I wish I could be happy to not remember. I wish someone pointed a finger at me and said “you’re ruining yourself, change.”

I am ruining myself.

From the inside out.

I wish I was a slut. Maybe then I wouldn’t keep fucking myself over, I could leave that to someone else.

Lead.

Today I took out a lead pencil and began the long and arduous task of colouring in my skin.

One day I will be galvanized.

The Familiar.

A familiar is the prize of men,
Just one, a love, a sun.
A dozen doesn’t, in the end,
Outweigh the love of one.

Familiar is to family,
As rain is to the cloud.
A promise we assume is kept,
But never is made aloud.

Familiarity is fluid,
So they tell me is the rule.
Pick-and-mix the sweetest teeth,
Perhaps you might feel full.

Taught, I was, that my familiar,
Was on his way to me.
‘His bus is late, his train delayed’,
Excuses I daren’t believe.

A familiar is the prize of men,
Of this, I am no longer sure.
Forgot, I have, the reason,
To ever wish for more.

To Do.

To Do lists are living documents. They are ever changing, growing, evolving, metamorphomisisationising…. they are living documents.

The trick is to not let them outlive you.

 

 

Cycling.

I would happily be their third wheel, if it meant I no longer had to be a unicycle.

Profundity.

“True love will find you in the end.”

I am not profound because I wasn’t the first to write that.

But I am profound because I believe it.

For the hearing/visually impaired.

I am ears dancing with eyes. I hear the song, you see the dance.

“What’s the matter, can’t you see that I care for you?”

I can’t hear you, speak louder please.

Louder.

 

I am ears living with eyes. I listen for our voices, you watch our bodies.

Grind, we both detect a grind.

“Can’t you just trust me?”

I can’t hear you, speak louder please.

Louder.

 

Before I met you I heard and I saw, but I lived in blare and glare. I begged for sweet release from suspended non-assurance… but now… I feel it like your old friend wrote… in mediocrity. I hear even, unimpressive melodies and see dull, ineffectual lighting… Give me more love or more disdain.

 

I am ears and you are eyes, but neither of us speaks any evil. In fact, one of us doesn’t speak at all.

 

What’s the matter? Why can’t you tell me… anything?

 “Speak louder please, I can’t see you.”

 

It is the first time you utter a sentence loud enough for me to hear.