If you need me I'll be in the garden, pottering about, with gin blood and tobacco lungs.

"We're still holding hands through a cat flap aren't we?"

Oh, I was born with the name Geraldine
With hair coal black as a raven.
I travelled my life without a care,
Ah, but all my love I was savin'.

Okay, so it's this excessive swelling of the chest area. You try not to write blog posts or go on facebook or smoke cigarettes or text too much or drink too much alcohol or be sad and pathetic, like monopod and all. You tell yourself, when you're walking to work, working, walking home, sitting on the deck, lying in the park, not to do these things. They're unrealistic, damaging to the heart cells and shit. Sometimes I feel a moment defining a section of my life. You look back and you remember songs that you listened to when you were lonely, food you ate when you were content, the air quality when you couldn't get out of bed, the smell of linen when you knew someone, the season when you read The Great Gatsby. Silly shit like that. They define parts of your life. Little, tiny stories that die after a while. I don't know why it's relevant, but I think am bored and doing that thing I told myself not to do.

Like, do you ever want to eat yourself up because someone left themself all over your skin and behind your ears and in you hair and in between your fingers and stuff. Like, you just want to eat it all up and spit it out and cry and then stop and have heightened eye colour? You're weird if you do. That's just super creepy.

We're just wearing black and going on lonely dates, for morbid fun.

It doesn't matter now, because everywhere I go, I will be beautiful and live on cigarettes and berries. It wont matter what I am or where I am. Just be. I am glad I don't need anyone. I am glad I have realised this. I don't even need you, stupid blog of doom.

Each cell freezing in his lungs. Probably started when he was twelve. Everyone is feeling sorry but I am not, because if he didn't want to die then he wouldn't.

It's sad it's gone, but there will be something else, eventually. I hope you miss me a little, sometimes. That's all I can hope for.

I remember simplicity and AIR and skin and prospects and hope. I remember new places and excitement and happy anxiety and cigarettes and drinking stuff from bottles in paper bags and rain and shine, humidity and never being shit. I remember wanting and wishing and secrets and faery lights and people who were all the same, unchanged by real life. I remember feeling numb and blissful. I remember pretending and hiding and smug smiles and sadness that couldn't be shared. I remember coffee and food and tea and milkshakes and spliff and the cinema and train trips and pie and poetry and parties. I remember gardens and parks and never thinking about danger or getting caught. I remember when being nothing didn't matter because we had each other. I rememeber when we were both lonely.
This is life in technicolour.

A rain drop where a tear should be.

For breakfast I ate half a croissant and a coffee. At lunch I ate half a salmon bagel. I am touching my toes and letting my hair dry on its own. I am listening to songs of songs of songs that play in our hearts.

Today I had toast with homemade raspberry and blueberry jam. It was so lovely.

I have these thick, little tear drops caught between my eyelashes and I am between laughing and crying, so I smile so much to the sky and wait for the rain.

"You must make your own life amongst the living and, whether you meet fair winds or foul, find your own way to harbor in the end."

You made me good until we made me bad.

Mwa ha ha ha. Two can play at this game, my dear. Oh, the wicked cat is back!

It's not like it matters. The streets are chaotic in a quiet, demure way. Like they're waiting to jump out, attack you with every bit of energy the trees are producing. It's strange to feel your mind melt and to watch silently eveyone die like a flower in the midday sun. I don't want to wait anymore. It's not going to happen. The magic wave of joy 'aint gonna happen. I wish I could go back somewhere but everywhere I've been is quiet.

"She loves you. But she can't stand it. Can't stand the love, so she fucked me instead."

I think my blood has become alcohol. My limbs are dizzy and aching.

Sorry, I wish I could be happy, for you.

I am still in bed. I have been making up sad, painful stories so that I have a reason to be sad. They're stories about arrows spearing hearts and people being vicious and heartless and people dying from other people they thought they cared about and really do and wishing they didn't. Everything is a shattered reflection of myself. It's lonely knowing people.

I woke up and it was raining and I stared at the ceiling for a bit.

It's dumb when you don't know what to wear or when you can't imagine anything looking nice or mostly when you just don't care. Sometimes I wish people didn't touch me. I would like to shatter on my own.

Oh Gypsy, where are you? I guess you got tired of weeping behind sunglasses and speaking french when no one else did. I hope you find your home, because you never did fit in anywhere.

And, poof. They're gone. Like a camera flash. It's weird and then it's not, because you get used to something else.

There is dust falling over the people and there faces are wicked with age. I looked at the old man, no longer resembling youth. It got lost somewhere amongst broken bones and sagging skin and insanity. I just wished to god that I was somewhere warm, but it has been grey for a while and I want to know someone who can be the same as me, because for a while I felt okay, but it is so sadly easy to be left behind. Like an old man, who hobbles and smells awful and is no longer appealing to pretty girls and he doesn't know what will make him happy.

Happy Halloween when we all know it should be Happy Halloweed, or at least vogue. Well I am off to find some gin, catch you 'round.

Vodka and cranberry on a lonely deck. Fuck it ! We're all dying like Great Aunt Margaret and the others who all thought thoughts and now aren't. Wow, nineteen is swell.

We aren't classy, we drink it from the bottle. Our hair is unkempt and our hearts are tar laden. We want to get high, see the sky, fly. We want to feel, because we're so fucking sick of being nothing.

I can't breathe from sparkling wine and pretty music. Oh sha-bam! It's pretty sad, because you realise, you're all so much older than the beginning. I wish I had died somewhere along the way.

It would be nice to be smart, but I must say, I prefer being silly.

Busy is good and less deathly than one might assume. I am simplifying my life. It's all sun and work and saving and alcohol and salad and juice and stuff. It's nice and there are people and conversation and sweet boys who buy creamy soda and smile at you. I hope it lasts this time, because sadness is shit and always comes a knock-knock-knocking.

I just want to go home. I haven't been there in years. It got lost in sadness and grey.

My face is a contortionist. It is pretty amazing.

It is so awful to see how ugly I have become.

Rain for two days and nostalgia wont go away. Fuck off.

Dear Melancholy, It has been a while. Welcome back.

They're all we have.

Today all I want is, some vegemite toast and a cup of tea. It's easier, wanting simple things.

Sunlight wandering, trees create flecks of warmth and cool upon skin and hot asphalt seeps into bones. Ten cent lollies in a bag, melting and sticking. Swings and bark scratching feet. Running and laughing and lying and dying. Tea and chairs and flowers. Bare legs and dancing moths and long, long days that, ironically, are fleeting. Smoke is lingering about your face and your teeth are rotting from sugar.

Drinking cider in daisy-grass, it all goes so fast.

She is such a wicked elf, with her gin laced tea of cornflowers and orange. She is the black gypsy of the night and her hair is long and thick and flowers are knotted through it. She is pretty and vulgar and knows how to die, just for a little while, with her empty bottle and her heart in shreds.

They're valium fingers that forget how to write and roses are dying which is nice because sometimes being alive isn't pretty.

She's soakng it in through her pores and it's overflowing with golden ointment. She is forgetting. She is comfortably numb. Peace has become silver and apples are to die for. Trampolines are to jump on and people are to talk to. There aren't thoughts of blood and deathly faeries. Just the sun, pouring into her veins. Filling and overflowing.

I am cool and fresh and alive.

It's time to close the curtains because all I write is sad and dead and I am no longer pretending which is dangerous. Goodbye, I hope you enjoyed the show.

the first star i see tonight i wish i may i wish i might.
i used to wish for everyone to live forever.
now i wish we would all just die.

dear aimee and rhiannon,
i miss you like summer and chai tea cigarettes.

life has a way of being different, suddenly.

the empty that is now,
that seems forever.

i don't care that i don't care and i know i should be worried.

sometimes i think his death made them feel cool. like they were part of this big, cool group. and this sad boy, who probably smoked cigarettes and felt lost sometimes was just an excuse for them to be noticed. but how could so many people love him? how could so many people love a sad boy? sadness can be so ugly.

two smoking boys and a cat. memories that fade and ones that linger. ones you wished would disapear because you feel silly for caring. sitting on the trampoline, in the sun. no make-up and an unhealthy liver. cra crazz crazy hair. more champagne. a forehead twitching and radiation buildng blocks in his bones. cats that sneeze and cats with sore feet and cats who try to slit their throats because numbness is uncomfortable. writing too much when you know you should stick to one sentence.

I had a glass of aspirin for breakfast.

today a man noticed that i wasn't reading my usual penguin classic. i was noticed.

I sit at tables wishing I cared about talk. I soak in the sun and don't think about the consequences. I suck on sugar and put too much butter on my toast. I get addicted to food, like Marmalade. I know people can see right through me, because I can see right through myself. But you just keep talking and talking about things that don't matter or even make sense and you're grateful for things like your eyelashes and your toes.

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.


Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.


I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.


I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.


When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.


I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.


When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.


-Leonard Cohen

i looked everywhere, but i couldn't find you and smoke rings attached themselves around my eyes. there are loose bits of skin in my throat and i love that we're playing with fire.

red licorice, chai and cigarettes. what more could i want?

There was this girl who always wore black and smoked musky, dusky, vanilla cigarettes and her hair was past her shoulders and her waist was thin and all she did was drink gin and talk to strangers because anything else would be have been too dangerous.

sometimes my skin feels so thick and heavy.

it's lovely when you slip into that phase of lovely convincing starlight stage performance magic and you live on strong coffee and cigarettes and wear red lipstick and sweet boys light your cigarettes for you. it's just such a darling thing.

I made a splendid minestrone soup for dinner. Oh boy I am a swell cook. The garden is starting to take shape. I have plans for herbs and sweet smelling flowers, wisteria and lemon myrtle. By summer it will be blooming and bright, just to be abandoned and turn black. How sweet and evil.

well i do so feel like buying so many bottles of alcohol, for those days where i need to pass the time. they would look so pretty all lined up in my room and they would be mine and i could have my own secret shots at midnight and it would be so nice and hazy.

and now i know why you had his name written there. i guess you do own him, because you love him, and i could never love anything. well, except you.

peachy.

i just wish i could be that happy lonesome girl again. but you can't go back. nope, nope, nope. such a dread! anyone for tea?

ginger wine, cupcakes and cookies, candy and vodka soda. time to change to gin and tonic, celery, tea and sleeping in the sun.

I feel like I will never know anyone again. Although, I probably never did. I baked some peanut butter cookies and drank peach schnapps and twirled about with smoke because I was alone in the house. I was alone and lovely.

there were little girls with wicked souls and skipping ropes and no matter how much you wanted, those blonde curls would never be yours.

oh! and I feel burning,
because I will never be good at anything.

There were things I had in mind to say, but nothing seems right to write. I had lots of tea at work today and I ate a carrot and a banana. I made a wonderful dinner. I looked for a job and wondered if anything would make me happy. Money seems vacant and I figure people think I am a bit vacant as well.

lots of things make me sad. desolate gardens, cakes that aren't baked properly, untidy bedrooms/kitchens, broken glass, cigarettes that go out, grey, clothes with holes, shoes that wear out too quickly, missing people, losing things, wasting money, eating too much, staying in bed too long, forgeting to watch the sun rise, not finishing a book, grandma, my parents, other peoples parents, selfish people, myself.

this morning i baked a carrot and berry cake. it's in oven now as i write. i am going to jump on my bicycle and take that cake over to sarah and we're going to eat it and drink tea and cry because sadness is common among humans.

today i had a million of cups of green tea at work because there was nothing else to do.

I ate a blueberry bagel with cream cheese and strawberry jam for breakfast and it was so lovely to eat and to look at. I wish I had gotten a photograph.

There once were two Cordelia's who went to strangers funerals just to laugh at those who cried. No one liked them and they liked no one and that was the way it was.

white sangria to numb the numb.

Fighting this feeling.
Rain on my eyelashes and mud in my toes.
How lovely to be alive?
Only the sky knows.

sometimes people aren't always there and that's kind of good because you learn to breathe by yourself. but it is also a lonely sea to sail.

This morning was nice because I had a butterfly cupcake and four cups of tea and mother told me stories from when she was my age.

Today at work I overheard a conversation between two girls. One of them was going to boarding school and was so very excited. Isn't that lovely?

Today it is raining. Today I ate homemade bread with butter and raw honey from Chile. Today I had a cup of tea. Today I will be meeting Rhiannon for tea. Today I have a job interview. Today I am only working three hours. Today, like always, I miss you.

Today I hung the washing and then collapsed on the grass and listened to 'I hate Seagulls' twice.

at 2am I wrote a page of words that turned into black smudge from my bitter tears. It was rather cathartic and when I woke up I thought I was cured. I lay in bed and slowly I thought about nothing and I began to die again. Anyway. I ate some salad for lunch and am having a herbal tea and maybe I might swim to the bottom of the ocean and hand cuff myself to a sunken ship and throw away the key and drown. No, really I am great. I feel pretty swell. Even though my eyes are starting to sting again.

but still, i just want to cry and cry and cry and cry until i die or live.

Sometimes all you need is a shower and a cigarette.

I am feeling bad, guilty. I have legs but I don't want to get out of bed. I have friends but I don't want to see them. I have a future but it looks black.

It's like my body wants to die, shutdown, black. Then when it does, it decides it wants to live again. I have no say in this at all.

walking home through the windy night, my hair tangles in cobwebs and rose thorns. i am free. your skin cells mingle with mine under the howling moon and we're flying because we can, because we should, because that's all we need. flight.

oh wow oh wow

Whisky can't kill a love bird but he can get tangled in willowy fig branches.

I went into the garden and found the faeries weeping. I lay in the weeds and wept with them, for we were both made of sadness and cruelty.

Combine knowledge and acknowledging you care and you get true unhappiness.

I feel lovely today, alone.

I woke up with affirmations to the shadow-light ceiling. I dressed in black because clothes have become unflattering. Thankfully I found my cigarettes in the green blazer, so I greeted the rainy morning with my smokey breath.

some people are so pretty. they smell like vanilla cigarettes and leave themselves in little places that break your heart.

I smoked a cigarette, listening to the smiths and then I made orange juice for us.

I thought of things to write, like how I had porridge and blueberries for breakfast, how the air outside is fresh from early morning rain, how I feel anxious when I sit still too long, that I eat too much, drink too much, dream too much, lie too much, tell the truth at inappropriate times, feel sad, cry, waste, rot. Then I thought how silly it is to write anything at all, then I did anyway, explaining why I wasn't going to.

I just want to use that golden boy, take his spirit and leave him black. Why am I so evil?

I want a reason to feel broken.

Never fear, there will be no Arsenic swallowing today, even though I feel sad like Gypsy.

The fig trees are almost bare. Lisa and I shared a cigarette on the deck this morning. The fig trees really are quite bare.

The fig trees are turning yellow. I had weetbix and tea for breakfast. I wasn't hungry but I ate.

"I will come back here, bring me back when I'm old
I want to lay here forever in the cold.
I might be cold but I'm just skin and bones
And I never love England
More than when covered in snow"

You buy yourself a furr coat, because you're sad and want to be glamorous. You run through the autumn leaves and learn how to break pretty boys hearts because they are far more pretty than you. You never quite get to be fully human because you become cold with little darling lies that never end, unlike the cigarette you just finished. Maybe that sun is false, maybe it's that cold autumn sun. Do not fret dear, because you have glasses to hide behind and a life that could be anything.

maybe one day you will wake from your sadness and find that I am dead.

I had some Earl Grey tea for breakfast this morning. I hope smokes and gifts is open, but sunday is always tainted by rest.

I have been wearing your jumper, since you forgot me.

Sometimes I forget how nice it is to see people. Sometimes I forget about the possibility of speaking.

Today I had cereal and a cup of tea for breakfast.

I feel black like the sky at that certain time, you know the one, where the pollution has covered the hopeful stars. Sometimes I wake up and life seems simple, like I can drink my cup of tea and eat my toast and feel nourished enough to survive the rest of the day on water. But then sometimes, no matter how much food you swallow, it's just never enough to satisfy. You're insatiable. Sometimes you can't satisfy that need to live, so when you're alone at home, which you mostly are, you drink your parents wine and your brothers vodka and you feel perfectly numb.

Our lungs must be soulmates,
as mine cannot breathe,
all black and smokey,
inside they seethe.

Please keep some hope,
if only for me,
we can dance. we can sing,
and drink cups of tea.

Remember my darling,
we must all die,
let's hope to god,
it's from too much sweet pie.

x

because we do things, like steal tea and roll cancers, you know.

I had a dream you were running away from me, into the sea. That was the other night. Tonight is better. Because tonight I choose not to think about earth worms.

and you're breaking up from toooooo much vodka and lemon, when you look in the mirror you see his face and you think shit fuck man. and youre thinking, wow my face is unusually rough and red and sagging and frowning and then you hear the death sound come creeping into eyes and and you become blind because all you ever knew was sadness. and you think , fuck yeah i am vulgar.

She was numb, even to the little raindrops that fell in her eyes and made her heart hazy. Even the clouds opening up and spilling their contents wasn't enough to create a beat and when the sky fell and the earth began to crumble she held out her hand and caught a dying raven, because that was all she knew. She was the girl in green with the lilac eyes and a phoney heart.

My eyes are bleary, bloodshot and smokey, I like it.

Well, I am scared I have become a burden, become boring, become a shadow on your face.

I almost stepped in front of a train today. why? because I could.

and I can't even remember my first impression of the stairs.

The days have been pleasant and I know the big sadness doesn't go away, but you can push it back somewhere for someone else this time. I have been eating lovely food, drinking wonderful wine and enjoying the cold evenings. Work is peaceful and so are my idle days in the garden. I like to be alone and I like my few genuine friends and the fleeting conversations with strangers. I filled myself up with so much of your beauty, that I forgot I could be beautiful too.

"Are you angry? Punch a pillow. Was it satisfying? Not hardly. These days people are too angry for punching. What you might try is stabbing. Take an old pillow and lay it on the front lawn. Stab it with a big pointy knife. Again and again and again. Stab hard enough for the point of the knife to go into the ground. Stab until the pillow is gone and you are just stabbing the earth again and again, as if you want to kill it for continuing to spin, as if you are getting revenge for having to live on this planet day after day, alone." - from a book, I like.

Why do I wallow? because I feel that's all I have.

I got home from work not long ago. I had some pizza, chocolate cake and a cup of tea.

Listening to The Verve, the drugs apparently don't work, someone should have told me earlier. I have been eating a lot and I have gained a nice little belly. I am job applying again, because my 2 shift a week roster won't be sufficient enough to get me to London. One day I'll be sipping tea in a mouldy appartment, keeping warm by candlelight, I want it more now, because you said no.

Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning.

Today I journeyed to the other side of town, to visit my dear Sarah. We had a lovely day, full of french cheese and wine and gin and berries and sunlight chatter on the balcony. My eyes are stinging now from travelling on fluorescent trains and walking in cold night air.

Oh something wonderful will happen, I am sure! Just dance to Feist and apply to work in quirky cafes.

So the rain stopped me from gardening. Instead, I smoked in it until I was as drenched as my cigarette. Now I am making myself tea because I am terribly cold. I don't think the rain caused my coldness.

Today I am alone so I am going to garden, i'll pack my camels in my top and a pot of tea on the deck. I won't forget a jumper, because it's grey outside and i will try, really try, to remember.

it follows me on the train, when I am walking the narrow streets, sitting drinking coffee or smoking on the deck. It's always there , sitting in shafts of brain and muscle, festering. i want to scream, scream so loud that i would explode and it would disapear into the drizzle, into the night that descends around me.

I spent the day eating. A glass of wine at lunch to make me dizzy. Then an afternoon watching the sun fade and listening to music outside. I know that as each day passes I am acheiving little, but part of me doesn't mind the excessive hours of silence and I am becoming used to the distance that spreads itself between me and humanity. It's so easy to become accustomed to new situations but so very hard to find your way back.

the rain stopped and the dragonflies were darting about the sky, her face was black from tears and rain as she shivered there, bones and anxiety.

too much mashed potato, half a cup of lukewarm tea for the undeserving Vittoria, pools of liquid filling each other, warm night air after much cold, thoughts of jazz eyes and smokey throats, utter emptiness and lack of inspiration, staying in bed far too long that you become sticky with stillness and your bones begin to burn, burn. heart pains (literal ones, not metaphorical), some gin and ice, lying amidst piles of clothing that no longer belong in a wardrobe, reading and forgetting how to talk. are you scared of death? there are bats in the trees. No.

I need Holly. I need Holly now.

I made lovely toast with ricotta, cinnamon and sugar for lunch/breakfast. It was so nice. Then I gave myself crazy black eyes.

My tobacco hands will hold your words forever.

Yes there they are again and those clouds are oh so heavy on your head. So you let the teabag go dry, stared at the wilting paper, soggy and breaking in your hands and you knew those words were lost forever.

I am listening to The Panics and wondering why my vains are really quite blue. Sometimes my eyes get so dark I am sure fires have gone out in there and now only ash lingers, reminiscent of another time.

It's cold and it's raining and I think loneliness is Romantic, so cut me open if you wish. You will only find vacancy.

sorry darling, i am just so empty.

I took them with a glass of wine and the hope that my brain would lose its pain.

I made great apple porridge with cinnamon and brown sugar this morning. Then made some tea and watched the morning light scatter itself around the living room.

I just want a gun
so I can shoot the sky
and watch the stars fall
because I am sick of them
watching me.

Drunken nights, shared cigarettes, starry skies, rusty days, blurry eyes and fire in our heads.

Despite the howling cold wind, I couldn't be warmer.

I think your lungs are caves filled with sweet smelling flowers because your breath is like perfume.

I had peannut butter toast and it was great. I also own a laptop! Now I am going to have some tea with Mama in the cool afternoon sun.

Rainy morning in bed with words and thoughts, photographs and morning light. A hot cup of tea to warm my aching bones.

My lips and teeth are fushia stained with red wine and I feel my eyes might just be as red. The saddest part? The numbness wont last and I'll keep hoping one day I wont care.

Today I had painkillers for breakfast and a cigarette for lunch.

oh dear! I woke up sad today and now I wont eat for a week.

Today I made a banana smoothie for breakfast. I am going to meet Julia for chai tea soon and perhaps tonight I'll get drunk.

Today I woke up, washed my face and had a cup of tea.

I would like to live in the country for a year. Grow a garden and my hair long. Allow freckles to form on my chest and forget that being alone matters, because really it doesn't.

Oh! Late night baking. Rosewater and lavender teacakes, fingers crossed x

i waste my money on coffee and library fines.

today i went to work and wrote terrible poetry.

little heart,
i pick you up,
bury you deep,
in the ocean sand,
your blood will scatter,
the palms of hands,
and when i wake,
i'll hear the wailing,
sky lark.

we sit there forgetting we exist, until we remember that we do.

some days I am a better actress, that's all.

sadder than the drying dew.

What's holding me here? Perhaps it's some disgruntled form of hope and I keep looking and looking but the sky gets so large I can barely breathe. Then there are moths in my lungs, reminding me of the beat, the beat, and I am dying. I know it because no one comes out alive. Now I am thinking of the fox... one runs the risk of weeping when one is tamed... and I can't believe that I have been tamed or perhaps it's because I am weeping. So I am swimming, swimming up streams and dusk falls and I am quiet, I am cycling and the moths are suffocating me and I look up and see the water still, I see the swallows glide and I know, tomorrow I will wake up different.

I could be anywhere, I tell myself.

put the song on repeat and watch the walls turn dark.

sitting by the sea, smoking camels and wishing you were here.

So I did.

The sky is pressing on my head and it makes me want to chop my hair off.

Today I want to buy green and rosebud tea and a small book of melancholy poetry for the oncoming Autumn. I am having lunch with Lisa and then I plan to sunbathe in the afternoon if the sky remains golden.

She had roses in her hair and jasmine on her breast.

I chased a fox around the flooded lake just as the sun was rising.

The garden is withering, a bit like me.

Well it rained (what an understatement). It thundered and great balls of ice flew from the sky. They crashed and they burned shop owners hopes. Water soaked my wretched body as I waded the streets. The streets became rivers and my shoes expanded with water. Everything was flooded, everything was frantic, except me. I was swimming the streets and I felt as though we could have been washed away.
Things have settled now, the pressure has been lifted. There is an insanity in the air, the bugs are swirling like a hurricane. We could be in The Wizard of Oz but we aren't and the world didn't end.

I chewed a whole pack of juicy fruit gum at work today, hoped for rain, awaited a response from a university regarding mid year enrolments, ate cheese and biscuits for supper and have a pot of tea brewing.

all I can do is hope but music makes me sad and slowly kills me. I am sick of myself, goodbye.

My days disapear rapidly and I am left with an uncertainty and an empty stomach.

Sinewy arms of the world, took out my insides and left me hollow.

SCRABBLE.

First day off from work in what seems like ages. I had porridge for breakfast and a cup of tea. The sky is grey and cloudy. I just ate an orange and am drinking peppermint tea. Today I need to pick up my reservations from the library, call the doctor, meet Aimee and Rhiannon at creme and then meet lisa as we are making eggplant chips at my house and watching movies. I am listening to Cat Power and hoping it rains, because the clouds are heavy on my mind.

Slowly I am becoming a familiar face. One day they'll start calling me by my name, getting my coffee ready five minutes early, telling me about how they love the sky in the evening. Mostly, one day I wont look as though I am alone, even if I am.

Today was so cold, like easter weather and I wore a coat to work. I had a pot of tea for lunch to warm up and I almost finished reading "What's eating Gilbert Grape". Everything happened quickly and now I am even. There is a thought I have, which I can't define, but it makes me ill, if only I knew. I think that is all. The funny thing is, I always thought I had something but I didn't. We only have our thoughts.

I am faceless, see through, empty.
you are so full, full of everything I want.

My eyes are bloodshot from being busy.

The evening in bed with red lipstick and Opera, looking insane, feeling hollow.

I had chicken and vegetable soup and a cup of tea. The house is empty and my mind is ticking, ticking.

I want a cream volvo, with flowers lining the back window. I want it to get so hot in summer, that our heads hang out the rusty windows as we tempt fate.

I wish I could remember what I liked but I like nothing and nothing likes me.

She ate rose petals, because they tasted like her soul, bitter.

It's overcast and there is a chill in the air. I haven't done anything today. In a minute or three, I'll hang the washing. There are blackbirds in the tree and I know, whatever I do, will hurt you.

I woke up not long ago. Made toast with lashings of butter and some jam. The pot of tea brewing. I have decided one step at a time, so let's start with breakfast.

I can't do this. darn.

So perhaps I'll get skinny, start running, eat melba toast, watch the stars a little less, read a little more. Connect, because sometimes I wake up and I am not there.

. I am vague and vacant. I forget things because there is no point in remembering them. That's my excuse.

The night will linger in your mind. I guess you always were a night owl. you and your scowl.

I feel old and useless.

Job applications, staying in bed, tea,lack of sun exposure, evenings outdoors, hope, lack of hope,sleepless nights, five cents on the floor, $2.50 coffee, hidden cigarettes, wilting flowers and all things melancholy.

There are little bits of sunlight on your face that catch my attention. you are sunlight.

Penniless by day, sleepless at night.

i'd rather be myself (faults included) and love people because they are beautiful souls.

Tonight I might go the beach. It's awful hot and I am waiting for Sarah who has movies. Don't forget your sunscreen kids.

we're all just people who make up shit in our heads.

I am not quite sure I know. I am not quite sure I care. I think I'd prefer to never hear or see anything other than what was meant to be seen and heard. What that is I am not sure and I know I am foolish and silly and write about nothing, but it's fun, it passes the time, it's just a little bit of nothing to see the weeks pass, the words form, the situations different. Sometimes I wish I'd never known any different. It would be nice to wander barefoot forever. That's not the case. It never was. I don't know what I just wrote, I fell asleep. Will I wake up?

I hate to be inspired.

Maybe it's a new era, wrong choice of words? Perhaps. A new time or place or skin. It's time to stop being a coward and admit the world is circular and inconsistant. I am not opposed. If I were I'd be dead, or frozen, but I am warm and sad, ready. It'll be grand and it wont matter when we rot because It'll have all been ridiculous and brilliant.

To cure/reduce the mean reds, read Breakfast at Tiffany's. I do, daily.