Friday, August 19

Hannah Horvath is the best. She has inspired me to write. To like really write. To say that I miss my girlfriends, all the girly silly things we used to do. Like watch movies and eat pop corn for hours and not caring of getting fat or being lazy, cause you are actually with someone else. But the truth is I did care, I did worry about getting fat or being lazy even when I was with them. Why is it so important to do good things and be productive? To have a goal? To keep going? Can I not be aimless for a while? I just want to lay low, keep it simple and not think about it. But no, I have to be an adult - how to be an adult in ten days - and be productive and generally a good person. I want to be a shitty person. Or I want to be a person that does not have to think what kind of person they are. And saying that already makes me not that person. I know I am blaming my flatmate for the diarrhoea, but actually I have not cleaned the toilet seat once since I have been back. Cause this is a new built, everything seems shiny and therefore clean. But it is not clean, it is not clean and I have to remember that, memo. I will make a note above the toilet - just because it is shiny, it does not mean it's clean. Shouldn't the flatmate clean as well though? I am doing a marathon of girls with G cause I want to watch as much as possible before I move into the new flat. I am thinking of not getting internet there, kind of terrifying as a thought, but I am thinking of not getting internet. If I want to work, I go to work. If I want to rest, I stay at home. I really feel like an internet slave, out of control and running all over the place. Leaving dinner parties to watch netflix and pretending it's too hot. I made an entire group of people move from the sun, the only sunny day in England, into the shade, and then I left to watch netflix. Yeah. Great. But my bed was nice and cool and I didn't have to wear any clothes and everything felt familiar at home. I have bought some new plants - one I actually did not like, but all blogs say it is the most resistant and long lasting, it does not need too much light. So, the question is, should I take the rosemary with me when I leave. It is in a chunky pot and I would have to find an even chunkier container. But, it's the one my parents bought for me and I am sure it will die here. So, there, done, I am taking the rosemary. What about the marjoram? Still having the shits and the GP is busy till Monday.

Thursday, May 26

Idea: find contexts where people would normally repeat something, a word or phrase, and go wild with it, overdo it.

Friday, May 20

I am so frail I cannot hold anything in my hand anymore. The coins fall off my hand I bend down to pick them up and they fall in between my fingers, I bend down to pick them up and they fall in between my fingers. Nothing stays in place.
Left with nothing again, just myself which amounts to nothing. No stomach to punch, no intestines, no one to blame. An emptiness which hurts more than emptiness and I have to mend everything again, slowly, with care. My mother is long gone, her hugs unnecessary. I dream of a small house with two doors. I will smile only when I am ready and will not exit my room till you are gone. Trying amounts to nothing. All my layers are gone; no sun, no nothing. I wish I were ready for you and I am so scared you will also know I amount to nothing. I can make lists and oulifne priorities, but my stomach is empty and everything pierces through and comes out the other side. I could go to the cinema and then talk about it. But that amounts to nothing. I have to remind myself I am a person, otherwise I will cross the street and something bad may happen.

Monday, February 15

I have on my forehead these holes. They are hard holes, and each one of them is deep; it contains wood, or something that looks like a tree trunk. They are scars from spots I have scratched. They are now hard holes, I can see the tree trunk inside, I can touch it. I want to take a scalpel and remove it, but I cannot reach. I put my finger inside and I feel the hardness all around, the shape of the trunk, the depth of the hole. I push my finger inside, it is so disgusting and pleasurable, those dirty holes. So vivid, so vivid I have to touch my forehead from time to time to ensure.

P. announces to me that we are doing an opera and that I have the principal role. But I cannot sing, I say. I WILL TEACH YOU, he shouts. But, it's a waste of time, I say, extra-curricula, my arse, IT'S COMPULSORY, he shouts. It's bullshit, I say, but I know I now have to spend hours just learning the shitty lines.

I am having dinner with Mrs L. our of politeness and then look at my watch. It is 8.45pm and my class should have started at 7pm, it should now almost be done. But I am not there to teach it, I am not there, twice in one week. NOW THEY WILL KNOW I AM A FRAUD, I shout.

Sunday, November 15

One by one the chocolate bowling balls are coming out of my ear

Friday, November 13

Dear Sir/Madam

I am indeed very disappointed that I have to pay for postage to send this item back to you. In previous occassions, I was not required to do so. Just a note to say that I was trying to assemble this for about one hour. This is a whole hour of my life. I hope you appreciate that.

Saturday, November 7

I woke up dreaming of Dehli. Finish my book, quit my job and go. 

Wednesday, November 4

This is the best sensation ever, the very best thing: a nut, an almond and a walnut stuck together in the opening of the body of an orange, having grown together and not been able to exit into the world, pushing each other in the opening and knowing they go nowhere. 

Wednesday, October 7

Let's just pretend this is not the sound of phlegm, it is actually a really advanced way of cleaning the throat.
This dog reminds me of myself. He doubts that I like him, even when I offer him my heart on a plate.

I bet you won't have a huge pregnant belly, but you'll have a huge bum. Is that really ok to say? Even after I have admitted to secretly place my hand on my belly some days in the office and pretend I'm pregnant.

Monday, October 5

Darling, sitting down at Carluccio's having coffee and cake and listening to Love is a losing game and thinking of the weekend. Even if I never see you again or you decide you like boys more or you somehow fall out of my radar and never speak to me again, I know this: you have made me feel alive and loved and given me the hope of love. This I cannot compare with nothing else in the world (I bet there is some syntactical error in this sentence). I want to see you again, of course, and I want to be part of your life, but this moment in time, I want to stop and consider this (what I already said).

Wednesday, September 30

Inside my tummy I can feel the old people with the long skirts going up and down all morning. My tummy is expanding on the rhythm of quinoa and I realise I have to stop accusing people for the way the pronounce their lives. Olives, sweet potatoes and some left-over humous.

Tuesday, September 29

My teeth have fallen today and there is no excuse not to visit the doctor. He will say all ses fine, but I know that my teeth have fallen today. I can feel the gaps on my gums, swollen and distracted. Swaying from side to side looking for my teeth that have fallen today. 

Monday, September 28

take me out from this black hole - its edges suspended from the ceiling. I have no teeth, only a canine that has to do all the job - chewing and crashing the stones and the grass. My mouth is distorted and the rest of my head disappears into the abyss. Two strings are holding my ears in place and my unknown back is hurting.
Four bullets and you have to push. I have not felt this way in ages. So shit and going down. Like there is a big massive unchewed lunch in my tummy and I have to carry it from here to the library and back home. I want it to go away. Or to remember to chew next time. I'm made of glass and my fingers are melting. I cannot type, I cannot sit down. I can only feel the hole in my tummy, the weight of the hole. and press my arm inside it to see if it hurts more.

Saturday, September 19

A small eel lives at the back of my tongue. I pull it out and it has the face of a baby pig. My neighbour is taking drugs and all of my furs are stolen. We want to do a photography shoot, but someone is sawing wood.

Sunday, September 13

I am done. Done done. I could not find my pencil case, but I am done. Almost unpacked and thinking of puppy. My breath does not come from my lungs, it is mostly developed through the outside layer of my skin - I have forgotten how to breathe deeply. Here, there is not deep breath, not allowed, no such thing, just keep going with shallow ones, for as long as you can. But in an exciting way of course, I feel I am suffocating. New things, new all, new everything. Almost like a dream, I do not recognise my life. And when I do, it is already so far away, I have to say goodbye. That is ok. I can look from afar and wave. I will fold the boxes carefully into the green bag and knock on your door. I will make rare steak and avocado salad and chat about nothing. You know, that man in the tent with the mosquitoes that wanted to have sex with you. And I will wake up not knowing what to do again and wondering where I am going. In a straight line, I guess, like you said.

Saturday, September 12

I met my old ex boyfriend with diabetes, he was still smoking, still nice to talk to him. Then I was punished for some sort of crime, I had to stand all day not sit with my neck inside an iron thing with a chain. 

Thursday, September 10

So I fucked the taxi driver who looked like an old Matt le Blanc. I was in an island, my sister was busy. We ended up in a university accommodation eating strawberries. He suffered from a rare condition of hunching. As we were fucking, he got older and older and at the end he looked like my grandfather. My sister was looking for me, preparing a workshop on group dynamics. Good, because I didn't like the sex that much.

Saturday, September 5

I feel now nearer and nearer my place, where I belong. Stupid reasons really. Stockings worn with high heel sandals, five-year old child marvelling at a foreign language, someone taking a nap in the tube. I'm here, now. I won't read 'how to stand out', fuck it. I'll just stand. In the middle of everything. 
Go to the kitchen, lazy. All the answers are there, waiting for you.
My very first meal in London consisted of a half-cooked noodle-soup poorly soaked into a half-bottle of semi-hot water in my tiny kitchen in Mile End. Once again, my very first meal, for the second time round, 11 years later, cabbage out of a plastic cup in my little kitchen in Hackney. So delighted to be back. 

Tuesday, September 1

I'm back in the gloom of the summer, you are not here to hold my hand and my tummy hurts. These people in the plane were nice: he was kissing her hand until his breath was finished until he suffocated himself. Can we convince you to come face for graduation? NO!!! 

So rude. I have been so rude, I know. But then I cried. So much and with everyone. Rembering stuff. And I tried to figure them out. One of them said: I tried to piss you off and you kept going. And I said: I was trying to figure you out. And now I know: what you wanted was just to play. 

My dad is on his way and I can't wait to tell him about my discovery: what she wanted was just to play. He will be proud of me, like he always has. 

I will get up, make my first coffee of the winter and get ready for the cold. I'm at home here. But I can still be sad at home. Back to old habits, movies and coffee in bed, watering the plants just before they die.

I have people coming today. I will buy flowers and decorate the house. And a cake on a cake stand. I may even get some cherries on top. I'm thinking of you, puppy. 

Tuesday, August 11

I've got all the pears. I've got all the pears I want. All the pears of the world. One, two, three, four. I've got all the pears. They are both round and rectangular and like a small arse. A small purple round arse, the arse of Roy Orbison. Very round and purple, the arse of Roy Orbison. Very very round and purple, just like a pear. 
Here is what I need: an imaginative, spectacular hairdresser that will tell me how to wear my hair now I have new glasses. That will sit me down and comb it patiently with no remorse and make suggestions. Certain, certain suggestions, easy, easy suggestions that I can do in front of a big mirror in my new London room. Then puppy will walk in and say: I prefer your hair down. 
Instead of ears I have two long rectangular pieces of wood that keep my head in its place. They move sometimes and I'm dizzy. I'm also wearing a hat.

Sunday, August 9

I didn't know I did that. I didn't know I still got angry when mother asked for confirmation of being a good mother. I didn't know I still felt pressure when they both said there is clean peach on the side of the kitchen, when they put more spaghetti in my plate than I wanted. When they reminded me that they did not let me be on my own or with other people or myself. When they admitted to think of their life as just us. I didn't know I did that. I still got so upset when I knew, once again, that their life was just us. I do not want to be anyone's life, I do not want to give confirmation, because that itself is pressure, I do not want to eat the clean peach or the spaghetti. I only want to lie down, under the air conditioning in my underwear and think of the bright days to come.

Saturday, August 8

Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size not large king size Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size
Yeah yeah king size not large king size
Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 
Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 
Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 
Yeah yeah king size not large king size
Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 
Yeah yeah king size 
So this thing happens in my mind: I experience things taking place right now as if they are already gone. Kind of experiencing the nostalgia of having lived these things while living them right now. But, I'm living them right now and yet I'm sad, as if I look back in the past and I see these things in a time which is not now. A time that is already gone,  although these things are happening right now and that makes me sad. Like when you sent your text the teenage volcano last night. I replied and then looked at my inbox again and saw your message and felt as if this is not now; it is a time in the future when now is already gone and your message has been sent in a different time that is not now, and now is already gone and a time when you are not part of my life anymore and I live this as if I'm in the future and I remember how happy I used to be, how happy your text made me, in a time that is now gone. I received your text then, when indeed you were part of my life. But then is now and I'm thinking of now as then and experience the sadness of not having you in my life. And yet, you are here, right now, sending me this text. ( eirini, wake up and get a grip).
Darling, I had a dream about you last night. You made out with my sister, because I had a girlfriend, and then decided to sleep with me in the big corner bed. Under the covers you found a little bag of white powder and we took some, thinking it was mdma. But then discovered that it was pot-pouri.

Wednesday, July 22

I made out with the building porter so that he lets me in the flat. He wanted me to cook pasta but I said let's make out in the dark. I had a fight with M. Because she didn't want to wear what I proposed: a blue tulle net skirt with a pink and green top which looked great. On her way out I shouted: that's what's pissing me off, the float that you are trying to be invisible.

Wednesday, July 15

I wanted to throw my hand into the gutter and wondered whether I'd be able to retrieve it afterwards. Think of the good things, the good things, I thought as I was waking up.

Thursday, July 9

You had a shower during Labor Day and woke me up. If I get married my wedding dress will be bigger than the party hall, bigger than the priest. It will cover my long legs with lots and lots of layers of candy and I will move all around in a whirlwind of love. No shoes, or perhaps, no shoes.

Tuesday, July 7

I went to a kidney exhibition to check which kidney I liked in order to replace it with mine. I woke up and had three cups of coffee and fifteen cherries. All afternoon in the toilet, in other words.

Sunday, July 5

Drank a lot last night kind of hoping I'll be funnier and more lovable. I exchanged my chicken leg for two cigarettes: one factory one rollie. I smoked one after another without thinking. The air was warm and then cold. We had a table cloth with orange and blue sunflowers and then an offer was on top of me in the tarot cards. Fell asleep on the table, supporting my head with my weak arm. And then jumped into the sofa bed under the dirty blanket, no sheets or anything. Best sleep ever. Faded into obscurity, like you would say. 

Saturday, July 4

So, it's your birthday soon and I call you puppy. Can't remember how that came up, maybe I said something, you said something and I called you puppy. And then it stuck. For your birthday, here is what I want to give you: us waking up in a deserted mansion house in a big deserted mansion bedroom with a massive big bed somewhere in Italy. The bedroom windows face the garden which faces the sea (a bit cliche, but I'm an island girl, the sea has to feature). There are rocks, white chiffon curtains and a breeze. And I have all the ingredients for your favourite breakfast: strawberry mousse and waffles and hot coffee. We have breakfast and lie in bed for a while. And make up interview questions for imaginary job posts in exotic places and count the cracks and dribble all over each other and we are best friends. 
Some good changes recently, well done, well done. The FB thing, very well done, the reading thing, very well done. I manage to find a corner amongst the crowd just for myself. I manage to keep it for a while, to trust that that is my corner just for a while. I decided to do the FB thing while I was taking a bath and feeling overwhelmed with everything. I thought I wouldn't be able to follow through, but it's going well. I'm doing it. Ah, yes, and the computer thing, well done. Leaving it behind for a day or two or three. How nice. And just being with myself in the corner, making sense of the world.
Ok, I know it's time to move from a place when I am having a combination of crisps  and chocolate for dinner and enjoying it (which I have not done for a while, trying to be good). This is what happened with B. and C., this is what is going to happen with A. 

Wednesday, June 24

I never told you my little story

I never told you

A-i-w-a

I never told you my little story

I never told you

A-i-w-a

I never told you my little story

I never told you

I can bark at night

I can bark at night

I can bark at

A-i-w-a

I never told you my little story

I never told you

A-i-w-a

I can bark at night

I can bark at night (woof woof)

I can bark at night

A-i-w-a

Three times at night I wake

Three times at night I wake

myself barking

Three times at night I wake

Three times at night I wake

myself barking

Three times at night I wake

myself barking

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

(and I will love you)

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

I'll make lunch, lunch, lunch

And I'll buy you waffles

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

(and I will love you)

I'll make lunch, lunch, lunch

And I'll buy waffles
Be silent

all your life, all your life

Be silent

all your life, all your life

you have to shut up and

Be silent

all your life, all your life

Shut up and

Be silent

all your life, all your life

(ok, I am tired).
I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I know how not to burn other fruit and vegetables too)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(while having a shower at the same time)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I know how to take a shower)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I never told you other things too, I know)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(sitting in the patio and dreaming of you)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(wanting to be there, with you, in the patio)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I think I may have actually burnt the beans)

Drunk last night and thinking of you. I wrote a little song: I never told you this, but I know how not to burn the beans. I know there is an extra syllable in the second line there, but I just say it a little more quickly than the first. Struggled a bit to make it fit in, but I managed. It is a version of 'And if you stay', but culinary, you know, with food and cutlery. And I also played an instrument yesterday, before all the drinking. Kind of happy about that. I got up 8am with the screaming and shouting of a 6 year old outside of my door, who is staying here for a few days. Then I went to be again till 1pm and woke up feeling still drunk but happier.

Tuesday, June 23

I am so stressed again, but no diarrhoea this time. Just a bloated tummy - had some german vegetable that looks like a round potato, only green. I am taking it easy, did two sun salutations this morning, I am keeping warm. And yet, I am feeling so stressed and unsettled and far from home. But my home is not where my home is, it is probably further than that. Not sure exactly where, probably next to a green checked woollen blanket that is left by the piano on top of a red plastic box full of books for donation.
Thank you for our chat last night. You are so nice; of course I knew that, but now I know it more. More than before, more than before before, you know. I am terrified talking about stuff like that. Like being honest and talking about stuff like that. I am now wearing a woollen pullover I found in the free bookshelves. It is raining today, but I am going to see a show later on and then say goodbye to my students.

Thursday, June 18

I dreamt I threw a birthday party for a slug. It was sticky and very very fun.

Friday, June 12

I have a fireman in my house installing a fire alarm upstairs. I think he is eating crisps. I wonder whether he has tried my new mattress too.

Saturday, June 6

I was stroking you and I knew this is not right but I did not know why - perhaps because you were my dad - but that did not seem to be a problem then - there was something else the matter - perhaps that you were indifferent towards me and did not seem to care.
I was recruiting and one of them slashed my wrist and I texted N. 'I think he is a loser' and N. replied 'What makes you think that'? The sister of the slasher saw me writing the message and wanted to read it and my heart was beating because I was scared of my own life and tried to delete it inside the taxi cab.

Tuesday, June 2

so fucking tired of these numbers, yeah yeah, subtraction, percentage, maths. I do not know how to calculate percentage, I do not understand the difference between a DVD reader and writer, I have no clue why my fringe is going sideways. I am full of questions, questions coming out of my entire orifice, mouth, nostrils, nostrils especially. I am going to thread my moustache and shut up.
if no stupid children are in the map for me, I should abandon suburbia straightaway in 3, 2, 1 and go back to the magnificent city (with its lights blah blah) and enjoy gentrification to its max.

Monday, June 1

OR up and down
Up and down OR
Love my OR I've always have. 
No, not true. First OR today. Kind of got cocky and wrote OR. Just that. 
I do love the details. Like the detail of that wedding planning and the different colours of the lamp fans, and the flowers on the porcelain plate and the birds on the china cups. And leaving your postcard on the side, but not hidden, placed but not abandoned, near other stuff but nor out of site. I am making a forest. A large one, in which I can wonder around and place under each tree my square tears. This is how the forest will grow and blossom and be able to accommodate both of us.
so many times I have waited for something I am tired and my stomach hurts. I had some quinoa with basil and tomato (ready made) and I have to replant the hanging basket. I watered the window pot this morning, in my new thick socks and shabby trousers - I filled the blue vase and went out. This is always one of my favourite moments; it is a moment of ownership, complete have-ness. I have a blue vase, a window and a window pot. The flowers inside, which I have planted myself. And I have my socks, of course, and the water that dribbles down the pavement and this white door.
something is stirring, something inside my soup is stirring, it is a little fish that did not die during the transportation, a little fish which is still swimming in my soup, all the way around, past the wheat noodles and the chilli flakes.

Sunday, May 31

Something smells good - some kind of vanilla muffin smell. Three boys have entered in their football gear and open toe slippers with white socks. Is this a thing? I have 6 lei left and the water is 8. Maybe I will wait till the airplane and pay with pounds.
All good for now. Heart is fine, fire extinguisher not too heavy and I can walk. Only drank a very small amount of that wine you left for me, but it was good. Kind of sweet and it was quite late. I was reading about Richard and Kate and Sarah and the love triangle. And then about Marc. What a prick. Breaking up over a text message: 'I am not ready to be 50. I am not even ready to be 42.' What a prick.
Still here waiting for my taxi on the side of the pavement typing into my phone. I'm still touched, from earlier. Not sure how to describe this, it's a sort of sensibility I love and love to know that I share. Almost a permission to do this, to make you part of this and me and this world of mine. I'll stop obsessing now. But I have taken a screen shot of your post and I will look at it in the airplane. 
Yesterday was good. It was kind of sort of good and nice. I had a walk around, still carrying a heavy thing inside. It has the shape of a fire extinguisher but does not quite do the job. Smoked some shisha (my dictionary never recognises the word) and then walked back, taking my fire extinguisher with me. This morning, things seemed brighter, almost like that had never happened. It was a good meeting. I was getting pretty desperate, waiting for people to sign in and clicking on participants again and again. For an hour and a half I thought I would have to chair my own meeting, be my own host and read the steps on me own. But finally two people arrived. The sister of the famous football player and someone else. And it was nice. First time I talked to women. So nice.
This really touched me. It touched me in all the right ways. Softly and abruptly and without warning. In a simple, yet earnest way. No bullshit. And I am so scared and crying. Still here, under the romanian sun, just had some doritos with salsa (a bit too spicy for my taste and felt bad because I did not have any more money for tip, I decided to leave 20 lei for the cleaners - you can buy a sandwich and a beer with 20 lei here, so I thought this would be an ok tip). I said it. I said it. And it was fine. It was more than fine. In a kind and simple way. And we were fine. And then for the first time, I felt I could perhaps place my feet on the ground and stand on my own, no support needed, no one to hold my hand. Not because I do not want you to hold my hand, but because I want to be able to stand without it. I know you are there. I am here too.

Friday, May 29

Sitting under the Romanian sun doing some work - my bowel is not complaining for once. More coffee to come and I am chairing a panel. I hope I do not have any bowel movement before, during or after.
I wake up and nothing really matters. I am all alone, diarrhoea again, and black coffee. Bad combination. Bad, bad combination. Just stay away from facebook. No matter what, stay away from facebook.

Thursday, May 28

I am freaking out; I am fucking freaking out. I am on the verge of a panic attach, my belly is tight, I have had half pizza, a potato bake and three tomato skewers. I am fucking freaking out. I have had a beer (draft), some wine and a biscotti, I have palpitations, I give in, I give in, I surrender. I will not be able to just be, just lie on the bed and rest. I am so sad and lonely, in this big bed with the chandelier hanging on top, the silvery brown flowery patter on the wall and the fake pink orchids. The curtain is turquoise and the bed stool lilac. I am freaking out. I cannot even reach out and write to you out of fear you may not reply.

Monday, May 25

What does it mean to have five minutes to live- five more minutes alive. Do I call anyone? Who do I call first? And what do I say. And is everyone else dying too or is it just me? Because of course that changes things. It changing things completely. Like, if it is just me dying, I will say I will love you forever, or for the little I have left and I will thin of you, if I still have that capacity when dead, and I will send you some thoughts signals, or kisses, you will probably see them blowing in the air; blowing in the middle of the shy sky and doing a sort of backflip, you know. And I will be doing a backflip with them, I will be there, in the middle of the night, the shy night, doing a backflip, after I die.

Now, if we are all dying, then that's a different story. I think I will call you again and just wish that I could speak to you until the end, just chatting really, nothing heavy or important, just random stuff. Like wanting to have an allotment this spring and hoping to be able to grow some spring onions. Or, let's visit grandma and see if we can find that box of photos in the wardrobe. They will probably smell of mould, but we can scan them and keep them forever, that is until we die, eventually, at the end of this phone call.

Ok, you will say. Let's do that.

I received the toner you sent me, you will say, I used it, I did the test, it was good, lots of dirt came out on the cotton pad, the kind of dirt that makes your day. I know you'd like it, I will say. I was upset after you spilled half of the bottle in the train in Athens, I will say. You are nice, you will say. You think of me under any circumstances. You know, when I need stuff like that for my personal hygiene, no that sounds more like my personal hygiene, you know. I didn't mean that, you will say. I know what you mean, your personal hygiene, I will say.

So the phone call will continue like that until we die. We will talk about all possible veg we can plant this spring and whether we should book accommodation for the summer. Yes, of course we want to see the parents, but this is our holiday too.
The two girls left and they left us the sofa. So grateful. That woman with the carrot cake didn't really fancy our company. I think she didn't really like that we were kissing every millisecond of every milliminute of every millihour. You know what I mean. She didn't like how I made no effort to wipe the danish cramps off my mouth and just left them there hanging. It is not a fashion choice, the danish cramps, it's just practical. A practical joke. Like removing all tags from the tins in the cupboard and ending up making leeks and potatoes with chopped caramelised pear rather than tomatoes or date slice with carrot extract.
Shout at me. Make me cry. Shout at my weirdly shaped eyebrows. I do not want to think of a place without you. You know why. You know that I am four times the weight of my tears, all alone and no matter what, all yours.

So glad we settled this. So glad you know the lager is mine. It isn't yours for three reasons: 1. Your pigeon hole smells of poo, 2, You are really really handsome and 3. You know when I'm about to cry and you place your arm around my shoulder.

4. I really like that.
5. I really really like that.
6. Your pigeon hole doesn't really smell of poo.
7. I smell of poo.
8. Not all the time.
9. Only when I'm in the toilet.
10. You know, pooing.
11. Only then do I smell of poo.
12. Promise.

I am kinda starving now but I have washed my mouth with mouth wash. What to do, not sure. Have maybe some cereal with almond milk and then brush my teeth again. Or pretend that almond has some medical attributes and I do not need to brush my teeth again. Or just go to sleep. Or ask my flatmate to brush my teeth. He will probably say no.
how do I say this, in simple words, three days are somehow over. Very very quickly, but did so much. Laid in the sun, sang a song or two, shared a chelsea bun and did some yoga. All good, I say, all good, for three days. I will now go under the duvet and think all about it. And maybe text you later on.

Friday, May 22

wash well, under the armpits. do it better. you know how to do it. better than this. scrub it. scrub it. remove your skin. the first layer of your skin only. make it pink. make it really pink. scrub it. scrub it. ya ya ya ya, scrub it. it is pink now. purple pink. no, it needs to be fuchsia pink, fuchsia pink, scrub it.
You suck my jugular, which is located in front of my pectoral fin, you touch my clavicle, which is palpable in all people. You find my lateral end and comment on its flatness. You refuse to acknowledge the lateral lip of my bicipital groove and you reject my thoracoacromial trunk. Oh well, you say.



Thursday, May 21

in my birthday party no one comes. only Victoria Beckham who sits on a hay stack and cries uncontrollably because her husband is arrested for weed possession.

Wednesday, May 20

We are doing a showing off, all done with carrots now, and we will project a live spider on the wall; in her cage she kills a bird or a cat that carries another animal on its head. And then, for the projector, we have a rabbit. I feel so sorry for the rabbit, I convince my colleague to let it live and put the bird or cat in there fore her instead. I grap the rabbit and set it free.
It is carrot next to carrot next to carrot next to carrot on the white page in a square.

Carrot next to carrot next to carrot next to carrot on the white page.

Carrot stick next to carrot stick next to carrot stick on the white page.

Next page: another square: carrot next to carrot stick next to carrot stick next to carrot.

Tuesday, May 19

Yeah yeah yea bring it on, yeah yeah, I am ready. I am ready, I am telling you. I walk slowly and take notice and put my phone in the kitchen on the shelf before I go to sleep and I hide my vibrator in such obscure places I cannot find it again for days and I promise I will not flirt too much or hope too much or do too much of anything at all. I walk slowly. I do my exercise. I take psyllium husks to help my bowel movement. I try to squat in the toilet and not rush. I shave my legs once a week and I use mouth wash. All good and well. I am being good. I remember my BL and look forward to changing it when the time comes. Ok. Good and perfect. I am telling you.
I forgot about this; I forgot about writing. I forgot I can do this. I can sit down somewhere, and write. How lovely. I am not sitting down next to two men talking about his own five granary cabbages maybe in Chesterton I do not know where they are but it is a nightmare there. I think he just wants to get out of there. Lots of money. Ok. Done.
My dream bedroom looks like you. Spacious and bright with lots of art either hanging from the ceiling or leaning on the floor. With some white cushions and some plants that I do not have to water.
I organised a party and two classes of Chinese students came. Initially the blocked the door, but eventually settled down in the living and had some ice cream. They did not want pizza so I was not sure what to do with them. My sister had a boy in her room and the bed broke and  my muscle was too tense. I waited up to tell my mum what had happened, out of guilt that I had not been a very good daughter.

I am not meeting anyone - the parents, the grandparents. I am not meeting anyone. I will only give you a vintage pushchair to sleep in and snore and I will place it next to the coblestreet  near the crossroad.

Monday, May 18

change the lamp, yes, change the lamp, little cuts on my fingers, first, third, fifth, seventh, little cuts, spreading, change the lamp. I can see the map of my skin around the cuts, spreading, the red borders ready to lead action.
I hope this is not a treacherous path. Just a dark and slippery one.
Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

GO

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

No, no,

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

Repeat

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

No, NO

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

Come on, go

Stance one
and two
and three

Go, Go

Yes, yes, go, no, no, go, yes, yes.

Ok.
Inside, put it inside, further to the left, no, no it hurts, further to the right, to the right, please, please to the right. When am I going to be alone and with no limp to satisfy. No desire whatsoever to boil down to two. I am tired of playing the game for so many years and I long for some tireless sleep.
Poor, poor Malcolm. It is not enough he killed himself, his breath also smelled of poo.
τα κάναμε μαντάρα, φίλε μου

βρήκε η μαμά το χόρτο, διώξαμε το ψάρι από το σπίτι λόγω κακής διαγωγής, τα πήραμε στο κρανίο κι από πίσω κι από μπρος

Hi Bobby

Hi Bobby

dating
Really really red and white. No, not white. Really really really red and white. No, not white. Really red. Yes, really red. Yes, really red and white. NO! no white. Really red. Yes, really read (and white), NO, NO white. Ok.
The lower part of my liver hurts. Actually, I remember now. It has been a tough week. I have removed the skin of my finger, while trying to remove the paint. I scratched my mole and it bled. I burned my arm in the oven. And now this. My liver, which is located in between my thigh and my pubic bone, has decided to open. It is actually gaping open, really really red, like an ill mouth. A very ill mouth, trying to speak. There are two mouths in fact, one on top of the other. And they are both trying to speak. Not sure what they want to say; lips are red and as I open my leg, they open too. I try to walk, and they hurt. My liver has decided to move; it has decided to relocate and it is now in between my thigh and my pubic bone. What an awkward place.
I am counting the money. It is in £35 notes. I am counting the money. It is orange. It is a lot of money. I do not know why read has given me so much money for a 16 minute performance. It is in a strange boat and I worry that I will miss the plane. Haris is there under a blanket. His parents are worried about unscrewing the extractor fan. Noone cares about grandmother who has just arrived in a golden taxi. I am counting the money. It is a lot of money. Too batches. One is about £1000 and the other notes. G did the same piece but got paid less, so I am trying to hide the money in the drawer so that he does not see it. I am sure he will make an argument about gender equality or something.

Then something else happens. I make out with a toilet. No, I actually make out with the sign of the toilet. The toilet sign. The one stuck on the door. The door sign, yes, I make out with the toilet door sign. The sign is not of a man or a woman, is that of a baby! I make out with the toilet door sign of a baby! Then I feel embarrassed and I decide to cover the two signs with white photocopier paper, hug my pillow and fall back asleep.

Thursday, December 25

I want to go to bead. Let me. I don't want to talk anymore. I just want to go to bead. Just let me, I am ready. I have always been ready. But been waiting for you to get up and get out. Just let me go to bead. And I won't argue with you anymore. I promise.

Tuesday, December 23

I am not crying. Really, I am not crying. These are not tears coming out of my eyes. I am really not crying. So used to crying mutely I can now do it on demand. As a game. No need to worry about acting skills or breathing techniques. Very simple and easy. Practice makes perfect.
Fighting has now become a habit. Now the fighting is a habit. Fighting is now a habit. Nothing to fight about. Just got used to it. It has to happen twice a day, every other day, and three times on Sunday. 


I am not very good of maths, but I can tell that that’s a lot of fighting. I feel so lucky though, to have someone to fight with. Imagine all these other, lonely people, who do they fight with? 

Monday, December 22

is your plate full at the moment? does your water taste like shit? is your plate full of shit? full of random shit swimming in your plate? does your water exude a smell of shit? how many shit is in your plate at the moment? can you count? can you actually count?
we will keep you for a while until we are ready to get rid of you. just evaluate your options. you may have a bonus next year, so consider staying. be a man and make a clean break. let's take the risk together.
Where is the thermometer, all things missing, where is the thermometer? All things gone, well and truly gone and missing. Did we ever actually have a thermometer? An electronic one, perhaps and yes but not a manual, not the kind you stick in your arse and fart and pray. Where is the thermometer, I am burning. So, this is why I will never break up again. No thermometer and I am burning.
I suppose you know that by now, how heavy the logs are. And how hard to cut them with with no soar. They are long enough to put in the fireplace as long as you can get the right angle. Otherwise they will go inside your mouth and eye and nostril. You need a soar. You know that. But no soar to be seen. It is well gone now. Bring in the logs, the long long logs and stick them up your nose. They will be warm at first then start burning. Then burn your skin for good. Unless of course you have a soar.
I am coming. I am coming. Wait up. Or do not wait. I cannot warm up my hands anymore, there is no time. I am coming. Wait up. No noise from the cutlery please, no noise at all. No cutlery noise please, no crockery sound. All quite now please, just keep quite. Walk softly on your toes, touch the switch with the tip of the finger, remove the towel with one hand and pretend you are washing. The water makes noise too, remember. And when your armpits will smell and you won't be able to stand it anymore, just pretend you press the soap dispenser, no noise, and that you rub in on your skin, no noise, and that the tap is dribbling, no noise at all, and that is it, all washed and ready to go.
So you try to kiss me and there is no tongue but too much saliva, I cannot swallow. I try to swallow but I cannot. There is a vacuum in between our mouths, a vacuum that can never be filled. Although our mouths are touching and I try to swallow there is an endless vacuum and no tongues. Or too small tongues. Or no tongues. Then, I realise. I want nothing tainted anymore in my life. Nothing tainted. All should be pure and white. No past, no presence, no baggage. Especially no baggage. Hand or checked in, it doesn't matter. Neither is good for me. Only pure and white. So, no years on top or under, no years left, no years to wait. No years at all. I cannot wait for any number of years to see what you decide or what will happen. And you never took an interest in my blog in any case. So, pure and white, no tainted stuff, not anymore. No counting down till I can be pregnant or counting up, till you can be pregnant, or counting sideways. No coming to terms with your body, no coming to terms with anything. Still pure and white, like my white fluffy carpet and the pile of sheets you left behind. And never sleep with beardless people.

Thursday, December 11

Κατέβα. Κατέβα. Κατέβα σου λέω. Πιο κάτω. Μα δε σε φτάνω. Πέταξέ μου κάτι τουλάχιστον. Κάτι δικό σου. Να το έχω όταν θα είμαι στο νησί. Κάτι ήθελα να σου γράψω μα το ξέχασα. Α, ναι. Θυμάσαι που σού'χα πει ότι θα σ'ακολουθήσω παντού, όπου κι αν πας, κι ότι θα παρατήσω τη δουλειά μου και θα'ρθω μαζι σου, κι ας μην έχω δουλειά, κι ας μην ξέρω να πλένω τα πιάτα έτσι όπως τα θέλεις, κι ας μη με φιλάς κάθε πρωί όταν ξυπνάς παρά μόνο όταν σε ξυπνά η γάτα, κι ας μην ξέρω να φτιάχνω το πληντήριο, ή να φωνάξω κάποιον να φτιάξει το πλυντήριο ή τελος πάντων να δηλώσω εξαφάνιση πλυντηρίου, κι ας μην έχω telephone manners καθόλου, κι ας μη με θέλεις, κι ας μη μ'αγαπάς, κι ας το κάνεις ψέμματα ότι μ'αγαπάς, γιατί σ'αρεσει το σπίτι μου κι η παρέα της γατας, και το τραπέζι του κήπου, κι έχεις βολευτεί για τα καλά, κι ας μη με παίρνεις στο τηλεφωνο ή στο σκάιπ, κι ας μη χαμογελάς όταν με βλέπεις να γυρνώ από υπερατλαντικό ταξίδι, κι ας μη με προσέχεις που αλλάζω τα μαλλιά μου και φοράω φούστα μίνι, παρά μόνο όταν νομίζεις ότι δεν είμ'εγώ, κι ας αναστενάζεις συνέχεια, κι ας παραπονιέσαι οτι σ'ενοχλεί ο δικός μου αναστεναγμός, κι ας έχεις μεγάλο πουλί, τόσο που καμιά φορά δε χωράει, κι ας μη μου κάνεις νάζια ή κόλπα, ή τίποτα απ'όλ'αυτά. Θυμάσαι τότε που σού'χα πει ότι θα σ'ακολουθήσω παντού, όπου κι αν πας? Το εννοούσα. 

Wednesday, November 26

I know why you did that, sweetie, I completely understand. No, no, I completely understand, of sweetie, don't worry, no, no, don't you worry now. They did not speak to me, they did not speak to me at all. They just walked out one by one. How serious, oh how serious, to have nowhere to go, nowhere to rest. To know, you have nowhere to go.
What did I do wrong? Did I not hold your hand tight enough? Did I not promise things will be better? Did I not buy you the expensive things you wanted, cook a nice meal at the end of the day? Did I not tell you how much I loved you, often enough? Did I not bend backwards and forwards for you to have someone to hold on to?

Monday, October 6

What a fig, what a lovely fig.
The other fig, I walked all the fig and found my fig, drowning in fig. When I figged to fig, the fig, somehow figged to no fig. I learnt to fig and not so fig, so fig fig.
I am a false fruit. What a false fruit. I blossom inside. I am a false fruit.
Where are my buttons? Where are my buttons, where are they.
I am capable of stuff. Stiff stuff, stuff.
I am capable of stuff.
I am capable of stuff. The stuff of the stuff stiff stuff.
So many stuff.
I am capable of stuff.
I am not a false fruit
I am not a false fruit
I am a multiple fruit.
Multiple and good. I am a good fruit.
I want to be good, I want to be good and do well.

I want to be friends with you, be good, do well. I want to,
obviously, listen to,
obviously, your point of view,
obviously, I want to know,
obviously, if you have few,
obviously, children and,
obviously, when you do.
No no, no imitation needed, just free entrance to all events, especially if you are a famous fighter. Leave a meter of lace hanging, this is at least what Francesca said.
Inside further on top
Tear it out
Inside further on top of the top
tear it out
inside left of the top of the top
pull it out
both hands helping
night pulling left letting go
left pulling right letting go
inside of a mouthful of pear cuts

It’s so serious

No I don’t want that, I don’t want any of that. My cardigan is too small, it is too small and I am falling. And I know that I have to be nice and stop complaining. So hard that I can hear myself scream from the other side. How long have you been standing there? 

I have to change this cardigan, change this cardigan and start behaving. Like a proper lady. I should not ask for more affection. Never ask for more affection. That is not lady-like. Never ask for things you should not be asking for. Just shut up and listen. Just sit down next to the cardinal and listen. Why don’t you want so many things 

Gimme more affectionnnnnnn, gimme me more affectionnnnnn, caress my hand, kiss my jaw, touch my hand as if by mistake. Gimme me more affection and kisses and all. Or I will die. 

Stand, Still, Next, to, the jaw. Your Jaw. Don’t. Move. Your Jaw. Stand. Still. Next, to, Your Jaw. No JAw. No Jaw. Stand Still. DOn’t move. 

It’s so serious. Trying to make sense of my schedule. 
It’s so serious. Ordering a side of hand cut chips.
It’s so serious. Smoking.
It’s so serious. Auditioning for a part you barely want.
It’s so serious. All these fucking people in the street.
It’s so serious. All people in the street swearing at you because you don’t take notice of them.
It’s so serious. All the people in the street, the fucking people, swearing at you, because you do not take notice and accelerate and almost fall on them. 
It’s so serious. Your mouth full of debris. Your mouth full of stupid debris. 
It’s so serious. Not wanting to want to cook or keep wanting. 
It’s so serious. My pyjamas - are so serious.

My underpants. Are so serious. The hundred times I am woken up by all the sniffing. So serious. it’s so serious. Why don’t you give me a fucking break. It’s so serious. You are so serious. Oh so serious. Oh so serious. You know when you are looking at me as if I am not English, as if I do not have an accent. When you think I am who you think I am. It’s so serious. Being serious. Oh it’s serious. Being serious. Oh it’s serious. Being serious. Oh it’s serious. It’s so serious. Being serious. Oh so serious. The headaches, the pieces of musty bread in the sink. All the batteries that I do not know where to recycle. My cat’s antibiotic treatment which never expires. It’s so serious. Having too many pillows. Not making the bed. It’s so serious. Hating the people in the street, hating the fucking people in the street, even the ones you like. It’s so serious. Missing the meeting. Missing the meeting. Missing the meeting. It’s so serious. Missing part of the meeting. It’s so serious. Missing part of the meeting and wishing you were not there at all, wishing you were DEAD, wishing you did not have to add it to your online calendar, because you are DEAD. it’s so serious. Being DEAD, because you don’t want to be in the meeting. 

It’s so serious. Oh so serious. Oh so serious. Oh so serious.

Trying to think of a think that will make you relax your shoulders. not being able to convince yourself to stop the madness. To stop pretending to stop. Oh so serious. Have the fish. Have the battered fish. Oh so serious. Close your eyes. No, no ketchup, just mayo please. Eat the chips. Just eat the chips. And do not think about the meeting. 


Just pretend you have created an impression. Pretend you have created an impression. Pretend the other person is important and you have created an impression.

Thursday, September 4

My bathtub is full of debris, standing on four feet. I open the tap and do not realise that my bathtub is full of debris. The bathtub is shrinking like wax, very small and now transparent. Next thing, I fall in love with a man with two children 'I have two children', he has a moustache 'I have a moustache', he holds me for a while and then has to go 'I have to go'. He returns and 'Here is a t-shirt' as a gift and a list of the best Lebanese restaurants in the area. My dad opens the door and I say we met in an international, interdisciplinary conference.

Who am I going to complain now about my tooth 1,2,33,4,5,6,7,8,9,29, that is broken again? My dentist is DEAD DEAD. He died under the most horrid circumstances, he was illed while trying to fix a 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,29 broken tooth.

Underneath of me there is a pool of shit, no, no, underneath of me, there is a pool of shit, no, no, underneath of me there is a pool of shit, no, no, underneath of me, there is a pool of shit, I envision you struggling to come out. Taking too long to come out of the coffee shop toilet. And then, I turn round and I see you. You are standing with the familiar pose, one hip slightly leaning. You are talking about cultural imperialism, or something, to a woman, I do not know. What if she is funnier than me? What if she entertains you more than I would do? What if, she will take you by the hand and make you laugh more than I do? What if she falls in love with you and you fall in love with her and you both talk about cultural imperialism underneath the candlelight. What if she proposes to you and you accept and you go to Santorini for your honeymoon and you fracture your toe and they take you to the hospital and while you wait for the doctor you overhear a conversation about cultural imperialism and your doctor has written a book on cultural imperialism and your wife refuses to have children unless you talk to her about cultural imperialism and your uncles and aunties open a trust fund so that they can fund your operation, so that you can keep talking about cultural imperialism. And what if in your first meeting with your publisher about your book Cultural Imperialism and other tragic stories, you meet me again, and you remember how much you loved me, before you met that other woman, in the coffee shop, on your way to the toilet. 

You write to me and sniff your nose and wipe it all around and up and down. Is it because you wan to say 60%, or or 60%, or 60% or or 60% or 60, 60, 60 % ?



I am dripping in my pants. You are HOT HOT and I want you now. Your tie, hot hot hot, always does the trick. If you come, hot, on a Friday evening, hot, hot, I will wear my hills and smell of nutmeg, hot, and vanilla. I will ask my students, not so hot, to do some task, hot, so that I can think of you. You will be lost in the maze, hot hot hot, of this place, hot, but will eventually find it. It will be hot, the right kind of hot, and you will hot, and hot the other way, perhaps a hot of shyness. I know this is not hot, you always find the hot hot, but it's ok. I am not hot, or hot, or hot hot. In your hot I find hot, but it made me hot to you, so Ho hot and hot and hot hot hot and hot and hot. Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot.    


Monday, June 2

I thought I was in love with you - your long hair, beautiful eyes, until you wore that stupid scarf. Until the day when you put on that stupid head scarf, a stupid egg yolk bandana around your head. Give me a break.

Friday, April 25

Mi Fa La Si Si

Let's pretend it is Saturday

Mi Mi Fa La Si Si Do

Let's pretend it is Saturday

Mi Fa La Si Si Do Do Reeeee

I take a walk in town and my legs hurt, someone gives me a wheelchair. I have a girlfriend and she has no tits and my boss, who looks like my uncle, tries to kiss me in the middle of the road.



I, I  was just helping

BITCH

I, was only helping, I was not the mole

BITCH

I had security clearance

BITCH

I was helping my twin brother who knew nothing about the president's alternative route

BITCH

I had security clearance

BITCH

He was my brother

BITCH

He he

BITCH

It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't

BITCH

BITCH

BITCH

It wasn't me, I was never on the Bieber or the Russian plane or the casino in Macau

BITCH

It wasn't me in the fiords, or in the mountains in Pondinya. I am not familiar with the morse code, I have never worn a wig, I have no knowledge of the radioactive RTG light houses in Russia, I wasn't the mole. I have never been to the STS headquarters, or the NSA, CIA, STD, YMCA offices, I promise

BITCH

In ppppp
In ppppppp
In pppppppp

are you bored?

in pppppppp
in pppppaaaaa

in praprapraprap

in pact
in parct
in practice

you know this, you know! This is I did this is I did this thing I did this thing, the parrot thing, drunk and pissed off, cause the line-up was so shit and did this parrot thing mmmmmaaaaa Pipineza!! Parrot wanting to shit with his butt but the owner has invited the president for tea, Pipineza!! mmmmmmaaaaa, the owner, Pipineza!!! Has cleaned the bathroom doors, the knobs, the matt the brush and the parrot wants to shit with his butt mmmmmmmuuuuaaaaaaa but the owner, Pipineza!!! has invited the president for tea. The president, Charchoudas, has been invited for tea and the owner, Pipineza! has cleaned the bathroom mmmmmmmmaaaaaaa!
Why not- why not take off your fluorescent orange bikini first
the bottom then the top
why not stop in the width of coast, look
at me and say
why not stop in the
width of coast, look at
me and
say
why not look at me and wave.
Left right leg
up- left- left
right - leg down
upside down - leg
left left leg
right left
leg left left
and then right
and left left arm
right left arm
right left and
right. Right
leg right right
leg left left
arm right right
right arm left
left arm left left
arm and leg left
right.
You are coming that way, You are one two three, four five six seven, You walk in two's, under the branch, next to the rock, near the parking. You dry the excessive water off your shirt. You are out of sight.
Thailand 2014 In my dream you whisper: egg-free pistachio, egg-free pistachio! I had a boob job and my tits look like fried eggs stuck together and looking sideways.

 No, no worries, I know you do not munch crackers in the airport. No, you are not this type, munching crackers and cheese cubes our of the purple bowl in the airport. No, you are the type who wears a long, pink, chiffon skirt, which touches the floor and sweeps the cramps from the crackers in the airport.

 Thank you, thank you Town Hall! Thank you! Thank you Town Hall, Thank you for your kindness, for the years of trust, for the sleepless nights, for this magnificent ceremony, for saying goodbye, Thank you Town Hall, I love you. I love you Town Hall, I have never met a Town Hall like you before, my dear Town Hall. Ευχαριστώ, σας ευχαριστώ, με συγκινείτε, με συγκινείτε, πως με συγκινείτε.

 Hear that? KSSSSSS, no that, KSSSSSSSS, that? KSSSSSSS, hear that?

 Pipipipipipipipipipipopipopipipopopopopipipopopopopopopopipipipipipipopopopopopopopoppopopopopoooooooooooooopopopopopop, hear that? 

Oooooon watermelon-lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon 

OOOOOnnnnn, watermelon -lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon 
ooooooooooonnnn watermelong, lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon
 You chocked oooooooon watermelong, lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon
 ooooooooooooooooooooooooon watermelon

Friday, April 18

Debris

My bathtub is full with debris, standing on four feet. I open the tap and do not realise I have to bathe in debris. The bathtub is shrinking like wax, it's very small now and transparent. Next thing, I fall in love with a man with two children. He has a moustache, he holds me for a while and then he has to go. He returns to give me his t-shirt as a gift and a list of the best Lebanese restaurants in the area. My dad opens the door and I say we met in an international, interdisciplinary conference. What a bore.

Tuesday, April 15

My apricot stone breast

So I take you to the other end of the world and you choke on watermelon. Something about displacement of enjoyment I guess. But what do you want me to do for your watermelon? What do you want me to say? Wewwaterwaterweewareewaterweterwarwatermelon

Friday, April 4

Who am I going to complain now about my tooth 29 being broken again? My dentist is DEAD DEAD

Friday, February 28

Underneath of me there is a pool of shit. I envision you struggling to come out, as you fight your lower tummy cramps, taking too long to come out of the coffee shop toilet. And then, I turn round and I see you. You are standing with the familiar pose, one hip slightly leaning. You are talking about cultural imperialism, or something, to a woman, whose face I cannot see. What if she is funnier than me? What if she entertains you more than I would do? What if, she will take you by the hand and make you laugh more than I do? I love you x

Monday, February 10

Let's pretend it's Saturday. I take a walk in town and my legs hurt, someone gives me a wheelchair. I have a girlfriend and she has no tits and my boss, who looks like my uncle, tries to kiss me in front of everyone. Let's pretend it's Saturday. My legs hurt and I am afraid I did not do enough stretching after my pilates.

Wednesday, December 4

So good looking

You are so good looking I can hardly take my eyes off you. So good looking. Your hair is good looking, your eyebrows so good looking, your mouth, oh, your mouth, so good looking, your elbows, the tip of your nose, so good looking. You are so good looking. your lips, so good looking, your ear lobes so so good looking, the back of your neck so so so good looking, your fingernails, so so so so good looking. You are good looking. So good looking. So so good looking. I think I love you.

What to do with myself

I don't know what to do with myself. I am sitting here, not knowing what to do with myself. I am feeling restless and a little lonely. Not because I don't have friends or love, or because my family is miles away and my sister never calls and the beef bourguignon was a bit too dry and the potatoes a bit too thick, but because I don't know what to do with myself.



I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do with the early mornings, the radio which keeps falling in the middle of the night, with all the recipes I do not know and I will never be able to memorise. I do not know what to do with myself. What to do with my guilt for being here, for having a house with a garden, a cat named Veronica and a rug from Peru. I do not know what to do with myself. What to do with feeling restless, feeling angry, feeling over the moon. Feeling that this is my life and I do not live it because I do not know what to do with myself. I do not know what to do with my parents, the external examiner's report, the UCU strike, a degree in Japanese Language, extra dimensions, temporal arteritis.

I do not know what to do with my cash, when I am bored, about orphaned animals and the wildlife. I don't know what to do with the feeling that I want to be a man, so that I can comfort a woman in my arms and say that it will be ok. And perhaps that woman is me, not knowing what to do with myself.

I don't know what to do about this concert on Wednesday, what to wear, how to make sure I do not fart. Don't know what to do about my helmet, my lousy ovaries, the fat cat that keeps shitting in my garden, my doctor who wears pink.

I don't know what to do with the mince meat, whether I should season it before cooking or after, when do the onions come in and if I should clap when they do.

I don't know what to do with 115.293 results of not knowing what to do with myself on google. And finally, I don't know what to do with short hair, leftover chicken, egg yolks and daffodils after flowering. But I suppose there is time to talk about those things and figure it out. And you are here, which is always nice. Thank you.

Saturday, November 23

Kind of fine

It's sort of kind of fine that you are pressing against my bottom next to the rubbish bin while I'm trying to savour a Cornish pastry. It is kind of sort of fine that you pretend not to notice that you are dribbling all over me. All over my new vintage vinyl bag that I love so much. All over my new golden brooch, all over my fury collar that never sighs. 

It's sort of kind of fine that you are fine.

So late in me

So you are so late and the noodles are all soggy and the ginger not so gingery and the chilli pepper all over the place.

You promised that you'll bring some soya sauce bad you forgot. So late in me now and no come pillow at all.

So late in me

So you are so late and the noodles are all soggy and the ginger not so gingery and the chilli pepper all over the place.

You promised that you'll bring some soya sauce bad you forgot. So late in me now and no come pillow at all.

Youme

You write next to me and sniff your nose and wipe it all around and up and down. You wrote and I am looking for the  % symbol, which is very hard to find.

Every time I have a shower I drown and shout as if I'm drowning. But I am drowning for real but I shout as if I'm drowning although it is for real.

I leave work, meet you at the pub and we fight.

Saturday, October 26

You either have your legs too open or too closed. Why don't you just wrap them around my body? You say, while you contemplate moving to a different summer resort closer to the beach. The price is higher, but who cares, it is important to have a view to the sea (I suppose).

Friday, October 25

The doctor is naked. His body looks very lovely and symmetrical. I think he loves me. I lie down and he examines me. His penis is near the tip of my nose and his dead mother next to me under a sheet. I think this is not a clinic, it is his bedroom, or, his mother's bedroom. I think there is an electricity cut, that's why he can't work in the clinic. There is a long queue outside but he is very thorough with his examination and doesn't say a word about his mother.

The murderer has a habit: he kills two people at a time and buries them in the ground, after he has carefully removed one of their shoes. But this time, his victims wake up. They are alive. They seek revenge. They post the other shoe to him. He receives it with two days delay; a post strike or something. Need to buy batteries and be nicer to my cat x
I am waiting in the middle of the street. I am waiting with my mother and my sister and this man who is wearing a wig, whom I do not know. We are sitting on a big dining table in the middle of the street, waiting for our taxi. We booked it through a wedding company, it was a good deal. We are waiting and chatting and my water is finished and I use the shop's fountain - twenty seven pounds? For a little running water? I return and sit on the dining table, the man in the wig is still there, I sort of fall asleep. We have now been waiting for two hours. My mother does not want to cancel, I can call Camcabs or something, but she does not want. I sort of fall asleep and then everything happens quickly. The taxi is still not there, my mum refuses to cancel and the man with the wig decides to leave. I wake up just at that time, when he has left his seat next to me in the dining table in the middle of the street. I wake up and I realise the sucker has stolen the battery of my new iphone - I run after him, grab him from the neck (cause I love my new iphone) and challenge him : Gimme me me iphone, gimme me me iphone. He grins, with a stupid grin, his wig falls slightly on the side and he gimms me me iphone. Then I have a fight with my mum about the taxi, my sister is there too, we are all sitting down, next to the kiosk, I realise that I am wearing a wig too.

Monday, October 14

How much did you say? How much does this cost? how much does it cost to spend a morning of serenity with my cat lying on her pillow and the tap running. GO eat a burger.
Now you are ready, now you are ready to start swinging from side to side, to take off your belt and start swinging, to play skip rope with your mother's kitchen gown, to start jumping up and down, from side to side. Now, now you are ready. Now, now.

Wednesday, October 9

oh no no, no baby, no, oh no no, no baby no. No more of this or that or whatever. No more of anything. Just lie down. Lie down and sleep. Sleep baby sleep. Do not fart, do not sweat, just sleep. Baby, sleep.

no more tummy tuck

I refuse to tuck my tummy in any longer. I have been doing this for at least twelve years. Twelve years of my life, I have told myself: tuck your belly in, yes, yes, that's it, that's better. That looks good. That's it. That's it ladies and gentlemen. That's it. Tuck my belly in no more. I may have to adjust a few things, like 1. wear slightly bigger jeans and 2. avoid tight t-shirts, but 3. who cares, ladies and gentlemen. My belly knows it, too many years of tucking in.

Just grin

No one will actually tell you this, but the opposite of grinning is frowning. They won't tell you, because they have nothing to lose. I have something to lose. I have something to lose. I am so fed up of all this grinning. My forehead hurts. I want to be able to collapse, not once and for all, just little by little. I won't grin every again. I will laugh, yes, but not grin. Stupid cow.
1. do not stumble 2. do not hunch (hunching is never good) 3. do not frown 4. smile 5. smile 6. smile wider 7. wider 8. relax your face 9. try again 10. how pathetic.

Fed up and cracking up

That's it. I am fed up. Fed up with the whining and dining, the here and there, the nows and goes. I do not want to do this. I do not want to have to face the bells, when ringing out of tune. I do not want to only eat rice cakes. I want it all. I want it all. And a little each time. I want to be able to walk slowly, without stumbling or falling. I want to eat BREAD to eat BREAD to eat BREAD. I want to eat bread. That's it.

Friday, October 4

I am going now. I am going. I am not going far. No, not too far, but I am going. I am going. I am going downstairs to make a cup of tea and see whether you want to talk to me now. I am going. But I will come back.
this is good. yes, very good. no, the other way. do it the other way. do it the only other way you know how to do it. you know it's only the other way you know, don't you know how to do it, don't you. don't you don't you know how to do it.how to do it now. now. now. yes, yes, oh, yes, that's it, yes, that's it.
i 've had enough. of all the shit, they shitty shit lying around. i've had enough. of all the shitty shitty things lying around. i know, i can be a bore, but i've had enough. not a pig, just a bore. a big bloody bore. thank you very much and goodnight.
here we go again. sweaty armpits, toenails longer than usual and an itchy back. and all I care about is my shoes. My shoes. MY SHOES. whether they look nice. And if they do the thing, the thing they are supposed to do. The very specific thing they are supposed to do, that is, walk me everywhere. Students seemed to like them. So, that's good. It is a start at least. A very good, hopeful, precise, wondrous beginnng. here we go.

Saturday, March 16

I had another strange dream, I put all my clothes inside the toilet, after I had expelled faeces and pushed them and and flushed, because I thought the toilet was a washing machine. Then I had to tell the man in charge to dig a hole on top of the shit hole to fish my clothes. The operation was successful and I washed my clothes and let them dry in the sun. I also dreamt I was a sort of poet, who wrote in a strange way and was only reading when there were christmas decorations around.
Last night I dreamt that a white long shiny mushroom was growing on the side of my bottom. I pulled it out and it did come out, only it grew back again. I pulled it again and put it in a napkin for autopsy.

Saturday, December 29

Top ten

of 2012 1. Swimming in sweet lake with toothless Johnny 2. Finding out about my new job in Cambridge 3. Performing How to Catch a Dog in a Bucket with Joe K. 4. Performing Lola and Stephen with Owen G. at the Hayward 5. Keeping in touch with Andriana, Haris, Owen etc. 6. Performing Pussy Pocket in the lesbian dinner party and having dinner with Amalia 7. Seeing my mother recovering after a long time 8. Moving to Cambridge (with Owen) 9. Visiting my sister in Berlin 10.Meeting G. 11.Being a respondent in PM (G. was there) 12. Falling in love with G.

Tuesday, December 4

I squeeze squeeze squeeze your hand as if to say: I am here, I want you and I will stay. And I hope you feel the same. But my hand is cold and my skin is breaking apart. I miss you and I have no words to say this. Just rubbing my broken skin on yours and trying not to look at my watch.
I feel I am doing everything wrong. I woke up too late, I did not call my mum, I waited till my coffee was ready to open your letter. I did not wash my hair, I made a bun instead and I am spending this precious time thinking of all of this. Stop thinking, stop thinking, you stupid bitch, and get back to work.
It is very cold today and I don't have any ear muffs. I wonder what you are doing, with your slender figure against the wind. I had nightmares again last night, about you having an allergic reaction to my duvet. I did wash it, I did wash it a while ago, but I will wash it again. I promise.
I know you don't want a bike. I know you don't want a fucking bike. You just want me not to make love to the train driver. But I won't. I won't make love to the train driver or the bus driver or the captain. I will sit still in the middle of this cold nothingness and wait for you to come back home.

Sunday, November 11

Am I the fucking fat girlfriend who spills her wine all over the place? Am I the fat fucking girlfriend with the woollen skirt who does not break the glass, but manages to spill her wine over? Tell me know.
I so fucking desperately need to make new friends in case you leave me. And I am pushing away all the people that come near me. Like Katrina. Why did I push Katrina away. She had a lovely accent, and two big sunglasses and ear protection. Why did I push her away. What a bitch I am.

What a fuck up

I fucked it up ; there was a loud knock on the door and I got extremely scared. Someone put his hand through the letter box and I shouted. Oh. It is my landlord. With a strange looking woman. And before I have time to think, I say: who is this weird woman? I actually said, in front of her: who is this weird woman? I mean, I think being weird is a compliment. But, people can be different. Then I was panicking and my heart was beating. What a fuck up. (And you are far and silent and I cannot reach you).
I am feeling a bit sick in my stomach today. Wondering whether it is the egg and garlic rise I microwaved or just that I am missing you. You are not that far away, and I am in this little room with two sky windows. I really like them, but sometimes there is too much light on my screen. I am burping and burping the garlic and hoping that you won't smell that through the screen, in these words, on a lonely Sunday afternoon.
I got a door stopper and a bath mat for you. I know you needed them and somehow I know that now you love me more. Especially about the door stopper. Because you are of course someone who appreciates that kind of thing and does not like closed doors. Or hidden things or dark secrets. So, I will make sure I keep my door open for as long as I can, but please do not be late, because I am cold.

Thursday, November 8

I came into your office and you turned my heart into a valley of roses. You told me about your colleague who died and his wife who cleaned the space and all the dark dark thoughts she might have been having at the time.
I am eating curry and I cannot stop thinking of the little poo that got stuck in between my buttocks. Is this very appetising. There are chick peas into my curry. A little tiny poo was hanging from my buttocks, as if from an imaginary thread. What was I supposed to do? I shook my butt from side to side, felt it hitting against my buttock walls but not falling. I shook again and again and finally decided to remove it with my index and middle finger. The imaginary thread came out with it. I washed my hands and had my curry.

Tuesday, October 30

Very horny this morning thinking of you cleaning the mould. When I left you last night, the double doors of my building sang Only You to me. Is that a sign? Is that a sign of love? Do my double doors love me to death and very desperately, or do they take the piss out of me falling in love? I want to clean your house. I want to clean your house. I want to hung the curtains, mop your floor, tidy your drawers and books and towels. Tidy your towels, give them a good wash and hope for the best.

Thursday, October 25

Took my homeopathic remedy, sucked really hard on it and feeling better today. I also held hands, shared affection and broke plates. I feel an instant attraction towards people in pain. The more the pain, the stronger the attraction. If someone's finger gets caught in between double doors or under the piano lid, I am attracted to them. If they fall in a paddle of water and break their wrist or shoulder, I am very attracted to them. If they are in any kind of physical pain, caused by a long-term condition or just accident, I melt for them. But most of all, it is emotional pain I am interested in. Breaking up with a long-term partner, losing one's job, losing a loved one. I die of burning desire thinking of all these hits of faith; and deep down I want to love all of these people deep and hard, because I think my love has a healing quality.

Wednesday, October 24

Shoot me. Shoot me. Shoot me, or I will shoot myself. Please, shoot me. Don't you see? Don't you see someone needs to shoot me? I am DELUDED. I am so fucking deluded. Don't you see? I decided to be a bitch, a real bitch, and not so long ago. I decided to be a real, truthful, trustworthy BITCH. And look where I've ended up. Look how silly I am. I am here again. In the beginning. Exactly where I started years ago. And I've learnt nothing.
I can never tell which is worse. To be loved fully and completely and to be utterly terrified of losing that love, or never ever experiencing it in the first place. I struggle with this; if you text me, then I will text you and then wait for your text. And if you text me back I do not want you to wait for my text, but if you do not text me in response, then I will wait for your text. If you do text me again, because you are nice, then I will contemplate not texting you, so that I do not suffer from waiting. But I do not want you to suffer either, so I end up texting and waiting and suffering from waiting for your text.
Once in a while I wake up feeling shitty. Really really shitty. Today is one of those days, like Dan would say. Not Dan Shelton, the other one. I feel so empty and fucking lost and I forgot to take my homeopathic remedy and my friend is abroad. I will never love and be loved, cause I have a fucking hole instead of a heart, which is dripping. It can remember nothing, nor the love, nor the kisses. Maybe I should eat something. Maybe that would help. And some coffee. One day I love this place, the next I hate it. What the fuck is wrong with me? Now, tell me, Dan Shelton, or the other one.

Thursday, October 18

I am dripping in my pants. You are hot and I want you now. Your tie always does the trick. If you come, on a Friday evening, I will wear high hills and will smell of nutmeg and vanilla. I will ask my students to do some kind of task, so that I can think of you. You will be lost in the maze of this place, but will eventually find it. You have a compass in your heart. It will be dusk, the right kind of dusk and you will smile and turn the other way, perhaps a contour of shyness. I know, that is not the right word, you always find the right words, but it's ok. I am not shy, or jealous, or competitive. In your ruins I find shelter (that is also stolen). But it made me think of you. So, make up your mind and come and see me. And I will dump my students and writing and come and meet you in the threshold of my loneliness (blah).

Monday, September 3

You are back. With your glasses instead of hair. You put your big ass on the small blue chair and you pout or smile slightly. What are you thinking I am thinking. Oh god. You start humming. You start HUMMING. Emmmmmmmmmmm. To the cheesy music of this cafe, which is actually far less disturbing than I imagined it to be. Just don't talk to me. Please do not address. me. You hold now your lips together, as if you have heard me. Please don't talk to me, just keep humming. Emmmmmmmmmm. I know what you've done. You have taken your coffee and moved downstairs. Where it is very dark and very warm. I think you expect me to follow you. You expect me to follow you, sit next to you and keep typing, while you slip your hand in between my thighs while sucking your thumb at the same time. Now I cannot even go to the toilet; that was the whole point, to have an americano and go to the toilet. You bitch.
You have no hair whatsoever just a few blonde hair sticking up on top of your eyebrows; and you wear sunglasses instead of hair. What a fucking weirdo you are, looking at me so intensely from such a close distance. This is a public space after all. And I already have someone I love.
I am holding my breath. One two three. Seriously. I am holding my breath while typing. I am holding my breath to see how long it will take you to reach me. I am trying to reach you. I am trying to reach you. I am holding my breath. I make drafts of unnecessary chapters and trying to reach you. An old man with a blazer passes next to me, he smells of moth bolls. Doesn't he know these things are toxic. I am trying to reach you. He just needs the toilet. He says it out loud. I just need the toilet. Now I do too. Cause I am trying to reach you. And I can't stand moth balls. You know. I could do many things, but I am still holding my breath.

Sunday, September 2

So you broke up over sauce hollandaise and raspberries. These things can be important. Sometimes I do not have time for any of it and others I keep thinking. I am in a foul mood and you read your newspaper next to the window.
I have to try to get out of bed as soon as I can and go and have a dump. How disgusting and how dare you talk like that. I will wash my hair, perhaps, and pretend I am ten kilos less and have a kiwi for lunch. My garden is a sunny one with two red chairs. You have never seen it and you might never do. But if you come one day, I will make something special. Venison or something.
Now this might be a long one. Because I have lots to say and nothing at all. Because you say I should remain the same and then you don't like your dinger in my ass your tits next to mine. You don't want to walk all the way to the train, or make an omelette without help. You sit on your carpet and tell me how we are incompatible. And then you tell me keep loving it. I will keep loving it now from a distance and I will eat sweet and savoury and listen to the radio and think of you.

Wednesday, August 29

I dreamt that you were fucking me and I was throwing up milk on your expensive sheets like a six months old baby. Then you took me to bed and I was trying to cover the mess.

Tuesday, August 28

Don't you see? I want you to jump ahead. I want you to think of staying over at mine, waking up in the morning and drinking coffee, making hand made cous cous with coconut oil and nuts. But if you jump, please take care of your dodgy ankle. I don't want you to hurt or anything like that.
You dress smart, come down the stairs, empty the rubbish bin and eat your croissant with knife and fork. Seriously? Knife and fork? Which sane person would eat a croissant with knife and form? I am just asking.
I dreamt that you told me to turn around and take my underwear off; there was a man next to me doing the same. So I did. We were both on our fronts with no underwear on, his ass was hairy. And then I realised that you wanted to lick both of our asses at the same time and stick your finger in them. And so I protested: But that is not hygienic! How are you going to do that, first the one then the other, all the germs will transfer from one ass to the other. And then Jack, from BBC, who was masturbating nearby, said: Oh, I know! I have the solution. And produced from his pocket a little plastic blue brush with black bristles, usually used to clean the keys from old type writers.

Sunday, August 26

I see you from my window. You are in your garden. You are smoking and spitting. Smoking and spitting. Taking the smoke in, exhaling from your nostrils and then spitting. Why the hell are you smoking and spitting.
I am over the moon. You are coming to see me. I will place the dog bone I kept for you in a brown paper, fold it over and keep it under my pillow tonight. I will give it to you when the time comes. I will try not to show my enthusiasm out of fear you might run away. Please, do not run away, just bark softly and eat your bone.
I wake up my mouth is dry my tummy is dry my pupu is dry and there is a tropical storm outside my window.

Saturday, August 25

I am walking towards the grass and the swings and you follow me. I hold a dog bone in my hand. I show you the way and call your name. Something something the swings and the grass, something something, your name.
I am helpless tonight. Under my dotted duvet I wait for nothing. I am looking for nothing. Only for someone idiotic enough to want to skype with me about nothing.
This has become a habit of mine. To love you and love you and hurt. My tummy hurts again tonight. And I know it is not the urinary infection. It is because you write to me and then you stop writing. And I do not know whether I should wait and wait, call or just call. I moved house today. I lifted fifty three big packages and a small one. I carried your toothbrush in my purse, next to the lorry driver. I did not want it to get dusty from the mattress. The lorry driver, who has the name of a Shakespearean hero, listened carefully to my five year plan and the list of potential grooms I have made in my mind. I laughed, made some pleasantries and waited for the ride to finish. But you had still not written to me and my tummy aches.

Monday, August 20

What do you want? Tell me, what the hell do you want? One week thrush, the next urinary tract infection. What is it precisely that you want and why don't you leave me alone. I have other things to do, you know, I have my postgraduate degree to write, my article to finish, also to figure out how not to piss my feet. It is quite late now, please leave me along.
I think I will throw up. The longer it takes for you to answer, the more I want to throw up. What have I eaten today? Chicken cooked with cumin and white wine, bulgur and green leaves. So my vomit is bound to be green and white. I have also drunk some cranberry juice for the urinary infection. I am in the library, so I will probably throw up all over the computer and the books I have borrowed. Then someone will come to help me, I will feel embarrassed, I will try to clean the mess. People will look at me and politely smile. I think I will throw up all over the place.
My tummy hurts and I am all alone in this terrible city. Thank god I am getting out of here. Thank god I will not have to spend all my mornings and afternoons with my tummy hurting not being able to make tea or fruit juice or pasta. I have been here for almost a year. Every time I set foot on this place my tummy aches. Ache ache my tummy. I only eat brioche and almonds in this house. I cannot stand big buys. Because big buys mean long periods of time. And I am hoping of course to go very soon. The big white stone in my heart grows every day. And I have tried to love this city and make it mine. But I leave with no guilt and no pain. I hate this place.
So you have everything in order one and two and three and two I wake up in the middle of the night and I think of you I am sweaty and hungry and I want to lie on your sofa and read newspapers and fart all day long. I wake up and stand next to my bed and think of your radio; the blue and the red; they are kinda the same but they are not. What are the called, they have a name. I wait and wait and sweat again and again and drink cranberry juice and visit friends and think of my vagina and you lying on my sofa. And how my sofa is so dirty that you will never come back to visit. And I can see, clearly now, all the stains in my apartment; the toothpaste stains, and all the hairs stuck on the inside of my bathtub. And I know now for sure that that is the end of our relationship.

Tuesday, August 7

last night I dreamt of you. My belly was naturally a killer and we were stealing post it from your work. Then we took the elevator to visit the countryside. We went through all the trees and landscapes. We were the two of us. Two sissies together. And you decided you wanted to keep the purple post it, you didn't care about the green, and we rowed and rowed and loved each other's breaths and blinkings.
Now I am going away. I am leaving the small shitty town I never loved or cared about. I am moving away with such joy. I will pack, again, all my little things and hope you will come and find me in Walthamstow. Did you hear the good news? I am fucking off from this shitty place, from this big whole of poodle, from the worst of the worst of places. I am fucking off and never coming back. Because I love people and places, because I want to wake up brave to face this shitty world, because I want to have someone who will appreciate my red satin kimono. Because there is no way it will take me so long to wear my kimono again. I hand it behind the door for a time of emergency. I I wake up in the night and I want to pee. Or if there is a fire in the building and I want to escape. And sometimes, you wear it too. Did you hear the good news? I am fucking off, you big piece of shit, you nasty little number. Bye bye.

Blue

Now I know. Now I know for sure. My mother is reading my blog, every morning before going to work. Does this change things? Can I still say fuck off and you big piece of shit and hold your prick, baby, until I come back home and wrap it in sugar and eat it? Can I still say how much I love you, although you are never there, how much I think of you in Liverpool? Once or twice, I know now, you think of me. You know that I have never spilled my drink, I have never shat on the brink of the wall. But I do not have blue hair or small lips. I have brown hair. Is that the prerequisite? Is that the prerequisite for your love. My blue hair for you darling.

Friday, June 1

some filthy folk

I have only found a title for this one. Nothing else comes to mind. Only the fact that my window is not high enough for me to jump.

yeah. Walthamstow

you are so far and I've been waiting. I hate the train, I can't stand the bus, I'd rather walk and come and find you in Walthamstow.

been waiting

I have been waiting for so long. For a change. Now I am not only the girl with the bad hair, I am also the girl who is left behind. I couldn't do it. I couldn't do the sprint. And there were so many others, older than me, that could do it.

Friday, December 30

I come back home; I sit next to the fireplace, I fantasise about you. I always doubt whether I should write fantasise with an 's' or a 'z'. I am all alone and you always give me raki.
You just listen to bad music all the fucking time; I know you have two pillows next to your bed and all your fucking bad music and you spread your shit all over the place. When I come to your place, you give me lots of things: a pair of white slippers, a piece of bread, half a lemon coupe. Every single time you kiss me goodbye, rubbing the lemon on my lips. I like the white slppers, I wear them and I eat the bread.
You never pick up your shit; you never pick up your shit when I give it to you. When I hand it to you during breakfast, lunch or all of the above. You never ever let me pick your shit up and you never put it in its place. I told you; shit should always be on the second shelves next to the towels. Next to the towels which are next to the towel detergent, which is next to the toilet paper. And don't argue with me please, don't argue with me, I told you, you never pick up your shit.
Did you receive my Christmas gift? I wrapped it up and sent it to you last night. I was careful. I did not cry or spit. I followed your instructions. I took off my pants, sat on the marble kitchen table and pissed all over the place. I then careful wiped the piss with my pants, added some orange peel and marzipan and posted it to you.

Sunday, November 6

that is not your name; you only fucking show me how it is you need a name to go by for people to call you to shout at you to use in bed. that is not your fucking name. I am here now counting each of these words being scared of the consequences. This is me being scared of the consequences. I need to have a fag, I need to have a fag, my chest is heavy and I need to get away from my boring life.
I am thinking of you, dearest darling. Of the times when my fringe was sticking on my forehead and that was a fashionable choice. The times when I was wearing a shirt for a dress and could not smell the dirty loneliness of the vast city. The times when I could only feel the excitement and the filth and nothing else; when I did not need to earn a living, when I only had to walk and read. I was good at that. Now I have to earn a living; how tiring; to sacrifice everything you have in order to hate yourself every morning. And to be scared that even that shitty job of yours will be taken away from you one day. That, which makes you drug yourself every morning and have chocolate for breakfast and crisps for lunch.
Get the hell out of here, get the hell out of here. You run around all day long, your weight still running; get the hell out of here. Walk in the night on the small street on the green grass on the dead leaves in this ugly town. Run around, go to this, go to that, nothing for you, nothing for you, nothing in it for you, nothing in the whole world would make me stop now. Just get the hell out of here; out of this small big sweaty bed of yours; just get the hell out of your bed and go clean up and be a man.
I scream and shout and then simply say I cannot keep doing this any longer. What's wrong, what's wrong you say; you pull your body next to mine, your carpet stinky. You hold me and hold me, what's wrong. I cannot keep doing this any longer, running and carrying my own weight; I am too heavy and too old for all that. I have been heavy and old for a very long time. What's wrong. Who cares what's wrong, you only say that because you do not want to see me crying, you say that to remind me I should not cry. And I try my best not too. I discover you have a freezer instead. Onion bread and chicken tikka, this is all you eat, night after night, in front of the giant screen of yours. I have never had chicken tikka in bed; I have now. What's wrong and my weight is heavy and I even travel light. Pair of knickers and a dress.

Friday, November 4

I am down here and I can see one thing; the hole of your asshole; you wake up and turn around your hole is turning little sweat on the side it has been warm during the night; you were scared of catching a cold; you left the heating on all night long; you had this weird dream, screaming and shouting: but I AM HAPPY I am happy but I am happy, your arsehole is happy that is for sure. You wake up, you turn around, a little sweat, you wipe it off pressing your shirt into your arse how disgusting; imagine if when you are thinking about me you then press the same bit of cloth into your mouth. How darling.