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Aug. 18th, 2010

i bite

(no subject)

Sigh. My "public" blog has died and wasn't slayed by my own hand for once - or twice. I'm exhausted. Today was exhausting, emotionally life-sucking like having ten gigantic straws stuck on the end of each of my toes. I'm sleep.

Aug. 17th, 2010

i bite

I love...

people who can turn themselves into works of art. it must take a monstrous amount of discipline and also vanity. but the impulse go beyond the human is mesmerising..

Jul. 18th, 2010

i bite

Fight against Boredom

I know boredom is luxury and that I have to preface everything I write with a crippling self-knowledge that everything I think and do is selfish. This is not new and the setting has never been more perfect for possibilities. All I need to do is fight against ennui and this might start with something as simple as reading. There is a reason I spent 5 years of my life pouring over literature, which has shaped me in so many ways and prepared/dictated to me the inevitable confusions that accompany adulthood. I love everything, I really, really do. And I can only love things more by unlocking even more gorgeous possibilities in this glorious city. I have a greater knowledge of what interests me - walks are catatonic, runs liberate, so-and-so comforts, daydreaming is pleasure, repetition is hell. Everything else is so much more open.

Jul. 17th, 2010

i bite


I'd love to make more time to write without shame or pressure. Today I started with joyful music, then a small spat, then lovely tea-drinking, then a sunny walk with everything well again. After lying on a couch for an hour, after drawing out a delicious continental lunch with cheese and fruit from the market that is literally next door, and listening to music, and reading up on not-that-much, I'm writing again.

So what's been going on recently? Well, I went to the dentist for the first time in twelve years. And, well, I need ten fillings. The dentist, who can only seem to mutter 'very, very bad...' when he peers into my mouth seems to hate me and my sad decaying mouth. As someone who brushes my teeth twice a day and occasionally flosses, this is confusing.

I've not found a suitable running route and I've joined the local, council-owned gym. The half-mile jog to St. James's park is interrupted countless times by unconscious tourists leisurely soaking in the...fumes of the massive roundabout? But back to gyms; they are freakish and monstrous things, deliciously post-human, and traumatically repetitive. People are moving meat. The men are frightening thick-necked, thick-armed demi-humans with violently focused eyes. It's hard to get over its absurdity. And then, as what usually happens with running, you get lost and find a new space in your own music, no doubt looking as material and repulsive as everyone else.

I begun this post thinking I had a lot to write, a lot to say, a lot to spill, a lot to vomit out. But, for now, I am calm.
i bite

(no subject)

hello dreamy life and bright rooms and warm weather and cheese markets and lovely walks - how you doing today?

Jul. 8th, 2010


(no subject)

...and when I disappear abruptly, this is because i am no longer alone. and nothing kills a muse more than company. women seem like such boring muses in retrospect. now that this is the second night i have wifi, i can write more frequently. all i need is to sit in front of the screen and i can begin expressing...anything with a kind of certainty that's always lacking in my perpetual indifference/blankness. I think blankness is better.

it's strange how you're meant to go through an identity crisis when you're 13 and then get over it pretty swiftly -- once you're out of your teens at any rate. but at the moment, i have no idea what i am. what sounds more accurate than who. who is almost too coherent. i am glut of all kinds of things - tendons and blood, fantasies and chemicals. i think the idea of fantasy troubles me in particular. i have to live with the fact that any sense of 'self' is actually just a fantasy and i don't mean in a 'incoherently, disjointedly traveling through time' way. I mean in a what I think I am is actually a fantasy and that's never going to translate into actions. writing, at times, is the closest way i can come to articulating that self. maybe journalling gives you too much of a sense of self -- or maybe the opposite.

why do we have to go through these thoughts?

i hate deflated moments -- so many moments are deflated -- flat stale breads. tongue-cutting. but my tongue is cut 90% of the time - or at least tangled or lying fat in my throat.

these are the moments when i'm sitting in front of a screen with dumb eyes, walking home, walking when i have nowhere to go or dithering in uncertainty, when cleaning up and in the throes of dull domesticity, feeling... uninterrupted.

here is it very noisy. the sirens warble. and people get into arguments all the time for some reason. maybe there is something aggressive inducing about the lamp post opposite. people seem to hate one another. i find it baffling but understandable. there is a lot of frustration here. but it is so beautiful -- the architecture, the light, the views, the cafes, the liveliness, the relaxed touristy ambience, even the people. but there is also the hidden frustration -- the homeless talking to themselves, shouting at strangers, screaming their frustration at the world during the early hours of the morning etc. etc. 

i want to get rid of the following words 'love' and 'hate', 'happy' and 'unhappy'. i find my mental tongue sucks on these words so often, too often, and it's dangerous. the lens of 'happy'/'unhappy' is too simple. what if we had neither? what other possibilities are there?

Jul. 7th, 2010

i bite


So this is the first evening with wifi in my new flat and I'm having a jolly time tangled out on the sofa surround by a grotesque amount of cushions, waiting, strangely enough, for another sofa to arrive. I have a great deal to write about living in the luminescent froth of the Big City -- how sirens and shiny bus squeaks and furious, hobbling drunks scream out into the brown sky. But there is so much delicious ordinariness in it all -- how baroque my life seemed to be when it was filled with 3 hours commutes and part-time homes. the sun means staying long hours as work makes no sense. this is near kind of bliss. i can't help but notice my ever-so-slight lethargy, reluctance to spend,

Jun. 7th, 2010

i bite

Cuts, cuts, cuts

Guardian front page spewing misery. La la la la la la la la la la fingersinears la la la la la. Isn't odd that the majority of politicians in charge of the 'economy' haven't been trained in economics? Heart flutters with violence. what does it mean to have £70bn in debt interest? all the cool kids are in it, no? what i hate about it, i guess, is the impulse to be selfish. 'oh no, we must be frugal and vicious and selfish, it's going to be me me me who loses everything, oh it's all so bad, everything i've worked for will all fall apart, hide hide hide hide hide'. aren't we all fretting about this mad, mad number? when it's really, really going to fuck people over - people in the public sector, people who rely on the public sector, people with families, people with responsibilities other than being able to buy enough booze to anesthetize their brain cells every weekend in the name of 'fun'. this impulse to 'hide hide hide hide and prohibit, prohibit, prohibit' blocks empathy to everyone around us -- friends, communities, strangers. Fear is supreme selfishness, legitimising one's own fear at the expense of recognising other people's. i know i know so little about economics, politics -- it's difficult to go beyond the rhetoric and respond with something other than superficial criticism, reflexive opposition, unengaging engagement or gut-vomit. getting involved isn't fuming at the computer screen. and fear isn't a good motivator. 


in side lives, i'm enjoying suburbia immensely recently (less than two weeks until i move out!). another 2 mile run today by fields. sweet smell of summer - soil, blossom, roses. light drizzle. warm air. soft, crunchy earth.

Jun. 6th, 2010

i bite


80% of people's conversations seem to be about self-justification. I find it horrific. Perhaps it's because it's so much more obvious than it used to be. I have decided X and therefore I must vainly fight tooth and nail in a delusional fantastical world that X is what I always wanted, 110% right, aren't-I-so-amazing-because-of-it. I can't deal with inconsistency masquerading as egotistical coherence, especially when it is used as a way of judging someone else. Vomit, vomit, vomit, vomit, vomit, vomit... And any time I do the same, I vomit at that too. Just lots of vomit. Ladies and gentleman, we have a vomit show on tonight. 

Sigh: I know it's a protective mechanism so we don't have to deal with 'cognitive dissonance', so hypocrisy and self-delusion are fully within our evolutionary rights, but damn it, damn it, damn it. It just doesn't make it easier.

Idyllic Weekend

Morning x 2: woke up and hit the road running -- literally, through fields and suburban streets -- keeping pace with rolling rhythms.

Saturday: voyaged to London on a sunny morning - slightly stifled by the train ride and an old man struggling to sit calmly next to me and the jangling laughter of sun-happy families.

I went to the White Cube art gallery and experience Antony Gormley's Breathing III - giant, blue-green luminous frames interwoven in a mysterious city and merged in darkness. Figures (other visitors including myself) curiously exploring the structure -- anonymous, shadowy, slow, creeping and mysterious. Then a blinding, eye-scorching bright white light burns down on us -- turning mystery into painful, brutal interrogation.

Lay in a park with a small lawn frothing with flowers reading. Disturbed by wild, running, lumpy children with big, curly heads and unnaturally deep shrieks. Unsettled -- drifted over a bridge and watched a dance exercise at the royal festival hall. Women of all ages.. and ability.. flapping arms and hands and whirling. 

Lunch with a friend under a parasol on South Bank. Delicious light and warm air. A waitress: strangely distressed when alone but with a near-manic smile when she spoke to you. 

Watched 'Love the Sinner' at the NT - tense, wordy and a little bit boring. Staged in six arguments. Contrived. Weak characterisation and lack of sympathetic characters with the exception, perhaps, of the archbishop. The domestic meets religious institutions, moral ambiguity, confusing, incoherent. 

Sunday: running, writing, reading, baking, listening to music, napping, gardening - I planted marrows, strawberries, impatiens and rose morns. 

Idyllic with slightly unsettled, restless undertones.


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