Saturday, September 7

are you still waiting around for an answer. no. then what are you doing here. waiting around for an answer. so you are waiting around for an answer. no. so what are you doing here. waiting around for an answer.
no you killed my hard on. I don't care if I like you or not. I just want to play. I want to play here and now, from my bed, from my desktop. I don't care if you are too skinny or too white or have a pink dick. I just want to be me and you to be you and sometimes to lose ourselves into each other. Is that possible. Misscall if yes.
you've given me a task and I keep tapping on my screen so it doesn't get dark. I can't wait till you text me: Five reasons why you wan to meet me in bullet points. You must be horny as fuck. I thought of K today when masturbating. First time in months. That I thought of K. Not that I masturbated. I want my very own AI lover. He will be kind and gentle and affectionate, a little like Dimitris, and a super hottie and an intellectual, and he will have all kinds of ideas why he should be allowed into my home for good. Like he will say things like: I am working  through my neuroses all the time and then I get better and then I start again. Or he will say things like: you seem to have an interesting relationship to sex. I like people who are not scared of their sexuality. Or maybe not. Maybe that's too obvious. Yes, that's too obvious.
wow you are taking that slag thing very personally. You are actually typing for so long. Fucking her, just say it, just press enter, just press enter, come on. Can't stand this waiting. I am not sure I fancy you, I mean you are frail and white and you probably have a pink dick. I mean what good could that be. but I am curious to know why you like me, I am a total slag. You like me because of that or despite of them It better be the latter, you want a latte? no, it better be the latter.
so why do you want to meet me. Cause you are a slag. How to you know that. Cause you are a slag. And how do you know that. Cause you are slag. Slag. And how do you know that cause you a slag. keep fingering my screen. Cause you are a slag. keep playing with my keyboard. Cause you are a slag. Keep doing stuff to my electronic devices. Sexy stuff. Plugging them. You keep plugging my electronic devices cause you are a slag. Slag slag. Not just to charge them. Just to plug them cause you are a slag. Just to properly properly plug them. To properly properly plug them cause you are a slag. Slag. Slag. Slag. Slag. Slag. Slag. Yeah Slag. Cause you are a slag. like a proper one? yeah. Good.
did you call me a slag. yeah. did you call me a slag slag. yeah. I am a slag slag slag. Yeah. did you want me a slag slag slag slag slag yeah. I have to see you later. Make an appointment. Slag.
I am doing much better these days, but I still need to do the washing. The washing machine? No, the washing. The washing machine? no the washing. I need to do the washing. You mean the washing machine. No the washing. The wishy-washing? no the washing. The wishy washy machine? No the washing.

Further up, it's further up. Like down? No, it's further up like down like further up just brush it brush it brush it - pretend your re having sex with Richard D. like non-penetrative sex like he is fingering you for hours and you are running around in a shirt to find the toilet. Like the fingers go everywhere - inside, outside, everywhere, they go up your anus, up your vaginal walls, they extend inside your uterus, they become your baby, your featus your baking bring inside your vagina, it the fingers of Richard D. but its also your featus your feature your featus crying inside your uterus, your tilted uterus is that an issue? no but they might have to do enforced sea section on your forehead. Why on the forehead? Cause the doctor is blind. Are there blind doctors, yes, of course, don't discriminate against the blind.
I found a way to be me and not me at the same time. It's simple. You just keep all things open for a while and move across the pages. This one and another one further down the line. What things matter most: having the space and time not to move too far when you have 1. sore breasts, 2. a fractured food, 3. a headache. Knowing that it's ok to be wrong. It's ok to be angry and if you hurt yourself or someone else, you can still apologise. Or correct your position. Wheel back and forth and correct your position. Not to smooth out the creases, just to be in the place you choose. Is that the right place? No, it's the place you choose. Do I need to say any more? Yes, you do/ do I ? Yes you do, do I, yes you do, Do I, do I really, yes you do. do I? Yes, you do, you fucking do, you fucking fucking do, do I need to say more? Yes, you fucking do.

Friday, September 6

You know how you text back and forth back and forth with great fervour with someone you’ve just met at a conference who said that your work has got under his skin and then kissed you under the trees? And then suddenly  the messages stop coming and you’d wish you had not sent that last message saying: excellent! Let’s be writing buddies? Yeah, I never do that. I never stop at that really great moment so that I don’t appear too much. I keep going. I keep going and I don’t fucking care, I text him again and again, follow him on Twitter, stalk him on Facebook and like his pics on Instagram I keep going I keep going I keep going 

Thursday, September 5

I think the rhythm is on. It is ready the rhythm.
I dreamt I had to go to military service for three months. I did not have time to cancel my appointments, I was crying, my dad was crying, I took the green jumper with me.

I want to find my men like I am in a charity shop. Look through all the rubbish and then discover this one unique, precious find. This is how it works for me anyway.

Wednesday, September 4


I can see the addictive pattern. I can never properly look at you, as me, when you are around. I can only look as this other person. The moment you leave, my elbows tall in place, my brow relaxes. I'm still tucking my belly in though just in case
My legs are crossed like a lady and I softly touch my fingers with one another, feeling that I'm still there. I haven't yet disappeared. I still exist despite your absence.
But this is not me either. Cause I've been so close to you it's impossible to feel anything without you.
I can't ever order a drink without you. I wait till you are back from the toilet until I can order another drink. I'm worried the words don't come out properly they will just sound like sound.
Just put your seashells back on and leave me alone. Do you fancy the octopus more?
Yes, but only for foot massage. What's that about stationary? Oh, that's from last year.
I promise I'll never be a sucker again.
Yeah! Be a sucker!
Yeah! Be a sucker!
I promise I'll only fuck with the clouds.
Yeah! Fuck with the clouds!
Yeah! Fuck with the clouds!
I promise, I'll never make stupid faces ever again to a baby (on the plane)
Yeah! Make stupid faces! Yeah!

What do you do? I'm a script writer. I study literature.
I'll never fuck a man with glasses and funny beard. He'd look too much like my dad.


I'll come in the night when your baby is asleep and sit on your cock. It will be totally consensual, of course, but you'll be asleep.
Don't call me daddy.
Cause I'm not your daddy.
Yes, you are.
Yes, but not in that way.
what do you mean?
I mean, I'll only be your daddy if you do
the dishes and wear the clothes I ironed
for you and go to spin classes.
Lovesickness is like grieving. So, I use Chris' illness to cry about Kurtis.

Are these boys astonishing? Maybe? I have no idea if they are a distraction or the whole fucking point.

Is focusing on them a way of focusing on you?
Exhausted by all the bullshit. I've seen all the pictures, I went to the exhibitions.
Bring in another boy!
Don't stand still, it will hurt, it will stink, it will burn. Bring in another boy, admit defeat, cover up the pain. Don't miss him, don't miss him, it's too painful, or miss him, but make sure you find someone else quickly. Cover it up, cover it up new. You don't want to be lovesick for too long.

Find someone with gorgeous lips to forget about him. or find a Dom to tell you what to do. Or find someone with a prominent jaw or a beard that goes all the way to their ears, or someone with big eyeballs. But I want him. His eyeballs, his gorgeous lips. No, you have to find someone else, you can't commit to one person again and lose yourself. Just find someone old or young or middle-aged it don't matter. Just anyone. I'm basically looking for holes. Not unbearable holes. Just really spectacular, beautiful holes where I can stick my fingers and toes and relax for the night. I'm basically looking for a snack to nibble on. Not too salty or too sweet, just your average nibble.

You don't owe me anything. We said goodbye by Sainsbury's. You said you like my voice.

But you are awful on the phone. It's ok to have an awful phone manner as long s your bed side manner is good.

I'm so depressed I have a belly. I thin of my belly as an extended field of ugly herbaceous stems that extends beyond where the eye can reach. It is the kind of field that has holes in places and can suck you down. I feel the same about my lower belly, pubes and bones. I never said I don't have Herpes, I only said it's been dormant for a while.

I don't want to meet anyone married for a while. Not for chatting, not for fucking, not for company. This is not for me. All this Simon business has totally put me off. I can never comprehend how the here works. First you totally go for it, utterly overwhelmed by the incredible imaginings of hope - you dance like crazy and fuck up the ass - even the poop doesn't bother you.


And 8 months later you are tired of his dick and blame the birth control pill. You are in Greece for holidays and your vagina is dry as fuck and the only thing that excites you is designer jewellery or a chocolate donut.

Tuesday, September 3



George, George, say I'ms sorry, say I'm sorry. George, say I'ms sorry, apologise (or we go)
what did you do last night? I put a hammer up my ass (and did a little dance)
I can't do looseness
and I can't do closeness
oh yeah, I see what you mean, totally profound.

ok one more time less hysterically

why does rage have to be contextualised? Even for women, by women? 

what I hate most in my life is someone that pretends they are enjoying themselves 

I missed you, you work too much
I want to meet your needs but I don't want to meet mine. Oh hello how are you?
I want to meet your needs but I want to meet mine.

Not sure what it means to meet in the middle.
Isn't the middle a cliff?

All I asked for was two nights a week off.
What kind of love is this?
How was that?
Yeah, that was amazing. Was it? Yeah, amazing.
Really? Yeah, amazing, especially when like the people held hands and pressed their faces against the wall yeah, that was amazing Yeah.

Did you like that bit where everyone started humming and that woman took off her cocks and started sucking on her toes? Yeah, that was nice.

You didn't think it was, like, profound?
No, I wouldn't say profound, why not? CauseI don't know when was the last time she had a shower.
Why does that matter? Maybe it doesn't matter, buy actually her toes were yellow. Maybe that's just the colour of her toes. No, I am pretty sure it's not.

How do you know? Cause after she sucked them, the toes became white.

Do you like, like, when people do really gentle, nice things for each other? No, I fucking hate that.

Do you like when contemporary dancers have this, like, empty look in their eyes, like they are looking and not looking at the same time?
Or when they open their mouth slightly and sort of smile without actually being happy? What do you make of that? That's just contemporary dance.
Do you like when dancers pair their pyjamas with a really nice t-shirt and call that a costume?
Someone is dying and I'm asking them who is their favourite actor so that they remain alive.



All these men never shutting up all these business men never shutting up doing business
on the go over the phone, never shutting up

I'm such a business man, doing business, I'm such an incredible business man, doing business
I'm so sorry I hear it didn't work out with that company

This is my friend Connie. This is my dear friend Connie. Connie is a pervert. He's been looking at me blatantly from the moment I walked in.

Connie will probably go for a Turkish after this. You know, the really dirty kind.

Don't stick your tongue out
Because I want to chop it off.
How would you do that?
With a machete.
I think you should do it with a loan mower.
verge of misogyny
all the things I can fuck

what becomes of a sound

not to avoid pain but to go deeper into it and understand it

is it weird that your mum looks more asian than mine?

oh, my armpits are warm
The adults are here
but the one is half drunk
and the other a goat

I've got small tits
and long hair
and I've got a rabbit that's
all I've got...≥≥≥.






if I wasn't me, would I hate me?

How to engage with something so difficult it leaves you speechless. Does your piece have production values? No, but it has values.

opening up in all places

opening everywhere











Would I be happier if I cam here every morning? Surrounded by the Youngs and the oldies and the vape users?

Would I be happier if you texted me every morning that you loved me? Remember you used to do that thing long time ago, then you became a girl.

My hollow stomach cannot stop thinking of you. But it is not you I am thinking it is someone else. It is someone with a good English accent and a perfect phone manner. Someone that knows how to cross their legs and eat a pain au chocolat and graduate from school next year.

My foot is broken but mostly I am worried about my heart. Cause this is too much pressure to bear, too much pressure to worry that it has to be dramatic or forceful all of the time.

They gynaecologist suggested that I do not have polycystic ovaries anymore. Where are my cysts? Have they abandoned me?

Have they gone gone gone with not return? I feel left alone and I cannot say anything to complain cause apparently that's a good thing.

Fuck the storytelling. Fuck the funny storytelling. I just don't want to feel reliable anymore. I don't want to feel reliable. I want to roam around like a bitch, a big bitch in the streets and carry my left foot with me Aron Aron
I want to grow in a different hole away from here

there we go, here we go

here is the problem of this emptiness

is that really a problem?, no, it's more of an enigma

is it like an enigmatic problem where your mother dies in the second episode and you move into a fish tank?

other ways of living, growing, making love

I'm farting too much

what is the problem with this place?


Some people hate their holes some people want to get rid of them some people want more holes
Two beans on credit
I don't want to get pregnant
so I'm growing
a nest on my head
it helps me because
my nest is coming
everywhere with me
it's another hole



My baby only has
one leg one
belly button
one pair of shoes -
it's not a baby it's
a root
it's a root that
probably won't grow

Saturday, August 31

service is unavailable atm
explode or open up slowly

it doesn't always have to be forceful or dramatic

so forceful and dramatic otherwise it doesn't count

my eyes are wide open I stare at Luke

I'm interrogating you and I call you bitch sometimes

I exist and I don't have to prove that

I matter regardless
Today I ate nothing. There is nothing in the world I want more than chips. What's wrong with what I want? I don't know, it's all bullshit. It's all big round bullshit. A list of things that make me feel shame/ small and big, doesn't matter/ like a school performance.

no real sense of self-wroth

absolutely precarious and forever unsettling


 a beaten up child
because of the poop?
because of the poop

still hurting everywhere

this is my conditioning, that I self-sacrifice and that is a form of control
that I found one more reason to not like myself

if I were a dog, I would put myself down. no more hoovering. no more hoovering. how do I make this  work last? just practice, just practice.

I'm cushioning I'm cushioning pulling inwards layer myself up for disaster a wild dog attacks me trying to protect my skin my legs trying not to be beaten. Always attempting something.

I'm going inwards, retreating, closing down, in order to reboot, recharge, feel hopeful again

explode or open up slowly
Did you have a Pap test?
No, I showed it to a doctor friend.
Did you make an appointment?
No, through WhatsApp.

Did you get an STI test?
No, I showed it to a doctor friend.
Did you make an appointment?
No, through WhatsApp.

Just don't text me on WhatsApp. 

Somehow on the edge of the field,
I find myself.
She seems nice enough if not a bit rough on the edges. 

I'm bad, even when I'm shitty. Even when I'm bad. 

I matter even when I don't matter. I'm ready. For all of it. Just don't overtax me on WhatsApp. 
She waves hello even when I know she doesn't totally mean it. But she is polite enough and doesn't mention that Chris is in the ICU. She wants to protect my feelings. She wants me to be ok. But I am ok. It's ok. Move on.

Να μη φοβαμαι να μπω να βγω στο κρυο το νερο. Να ειμαι εγω. Χωρις νερο δε μεγαλωνει το φυτο.
θες να με παντρευτεις? Εγω θελω πολυ. Εκτος κι αν δεν μπορω να παντρευτω 4 ατομα μαζι. Θυμασαι τοτε που ο Γουορεν ηρθε να σε βρει σε μια εξοχη και ηταν πολυ χανγκοβερ και του πληρωσες το μεσημεριανο? Θυμασαι που κανατε σεξ και ηταν χαλια? Αυτο ηταν το Σεπτεμβρη. Αλλο ενα χρονο μεινατε μαζι και δεν σε πηδουσε καθολου. Χαλια πραγματα.

will you marry me? I want very much. Unless I can marry 4 people together. Do you remember when Warren came to find you in a countryside and you were a lot of hangovers and you paid him lunch? Do you remember having sex and being a rug? That was in September. Another year you went down together and didn't jump at all. Carpet things.

Lost and tired
I am closing down

I'll let go off everything
but not your dick

I am prepared to let go off everything
apart from your dick

gather all of me together

let someone be pulled silently by the loop

things that don't serve me that I have been carrying around all my life

                           I EXIST  I EXIST
                           I EXIST  I EXIST





I've notices you are writing a lot. Yeah, my practice is writing. What do you want most? That feeling that someone loves me. And what if that someone was you? Would that be ok?
Yeah, I think so.
where do you want to be loved?
in Norfolk.

what's the most loving thing anyone can do for you?
remember my fears, hold my hand through the woods, tell me it's ok, allow me to be myself
do you do these things for you?
no, not all of them.

you can only see things when you see them.
what do you want to ask warren?
Just killed a red spider. Her blood is everywhere. On the sink, in my notebook, on my hands, on the kitchen sink. Someone told me he loves me. It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me. It wasn't me in the fiord or the boat to Macau.

Breaking down and breaking through.

allow things to settle in in the subconscious and seeing what the subconscious has to offer. Digestive process.

How are you processing stuff? Through taking, making, writing. Is it nice to switch off your phone? Yeah, really nice. Are these sanitary towels comfortable? Yeah, but a bit thick. Do you want a yoni massage? Yes, but I don't want to fall in love with the instructor.
This lovely man - this beautiful, ginger, loving, gentle man fancies me. He holds me so gently from the back through my waist. He asks m if anything needs to be done.
Do you want a yoni massage?
Yeah, but I don't want to pay for it.
What do you want to ask Warren?
Was it the right thing to leave me?
Yes, for that time, it was.
Do you regret? No, but I am sometimes in pain.
Why are you thinking about him now?
Cause he pops up in my material as this loving figure here and there. Cause I loved him. Cause I thought I'd send my life with him and be his son's mother.
Did you really though?
Dunno. But it sounds nice.
Is this a real dialogue?
No, it's just you talking to yourself.
Why did you come with me?
Cause I wanted to.
But then you used it as a tool against me.
I am sorry I was upset.
What do you want most right now?
To accept myself.
How are you going to do that?
I 'm doing it already.

Saturday, June 8

I went to Melinda’s wedding today. Onur came with me. We spoke to people we had never met and pretended to say cheers in Hungarian. I cried a little when they promised to love and to care for each other forever. What does that forever mean? What is it about it that makes people stick to each other through thick and thin? Is it the fear of solitude? Or the desire to belong? I saw an old friend in the wedding. He said so many nice things about me. I had nothing nice to say about him. I thought he was not very nice until today. He told me he needed to get phased in order to express his emotions and he was clearly pissed then. He revealed his is a senior engineer something something but that that was not him. He wasn’t senior anything. You are senior to me. I wanted to say. A senior dick. No, that’s too harsh for someone that shows vulnerability. Besides, Onur says I shouldn’t be judgemental. Walked to the station through the corn fields, it was lovely. Now heading home with my open heart and being grateful for my warm salad with eggplant and tomatoes I’ll be having imminently. 

Epsom Downs

What did you say? Epsom Downs. You ve been struggling with ups and downs? No, I’m going to Epsom Downs. 

Wednesday, November 7

All these eels

My body is full of them they are coming out now

Had some brilliant sex and now smoke and shower. 
I have eels instead of skin.
Don’t worry about the interdental. It will kill you in the end anyhow. Tonight we are celebrating your first US client! 
Ugly children and everything is mine.

Tuesday, November 6

Finally a moment of silence to poo. Pushing through my sphincter there is a surprise brewing. It’s bold and brown and beautiful. It’s not a poo poo, it’s my future, adorned like I’ve never imagined it before.

I still have some chilli pepper in my nose, but no nose elll dictate the way I live right here right now. I’m invincible, I’m free.

But I told you my hands are bare I told you there is nothing in my hands there is nothing

aman pia
aman pia den se antexw
aman pia den se antexw allo
aman pia pote epitelous tha katalabeis poso poly mou areses palia
aman pia pote epitelous tha katalabeis oti egw den eimai gia sena
aman pote pia tha katalabeis
a mess
a mystery
a moment
a moment in time
a moment in time when I have no words
a moment in time when I have too many words
a moment in time
a misunderstanding
a mumble
a mumble
I mumble
I mumble
you mumble I mumble
amal e a
ama l e a
ama aaaa
happy birthday
I have two blue eyes and three green purple red kisses for you. One of them is dipped in blood, the other in the area, the third is made of grass. You eat the first one, you pull me close, you feed me the grass. Shut up. Shut up. I cannot take any more happiness.
Ok, so we dressed up.
Now, just to let you know this is all from the past. I have been reading a book and thought I will write some of these things down. If it bothers you, let me know and I will stop (or discuss with you how I can do this without bothering you). But, just so that you know, I want YOU.

It was this performance at the Foundry, this durational three-day four-hour performance and the day before someone put me inside a shopping trolley; I was there wearing a black vintage swimming suit with little diamonds on top (the one I was wearing when we went for spa on my birthday) and I was inside the shopping trolley. This was a performance with lots of random people in a group doing random things, with televisions and cables and stuff - kind of improvising. I always wondered why people stayed; it wasn't that interesting or intriguing, it was just people doing stuff with stuff, cables and stuff. So I was in the shopping trolley the day before and I threw a towel to my friend Maria who was a fan and followed all of the crazy work I was doing those days, and she, competent and loyal audience member, interacted with me. She pulled me. And I fell, with the shopping trolley, and the shopping trolley fell onto my knee. And it really hurt.

So, the next day of the durational performance I could not walk, but I was not convinced I should not do my bit. So I did. I was there, wearing that purple dress I bought to fuck Antoine's young brother in South of France that summer, when I was feeling desperate and lonely and I had not even met him but I told Antoine on the phone before I had met his brother that I would fuck him.  I was wearing the purple summer dress and two red clip-on earrings and I was standing there. Stillness seemed to be kind of important for me back then. I was just standing and looking ahead, towards three young boys that sounded Spanish. At some point, I took of my earring and threw it on the floor in front of their feet and pointed at it. One of them, the brave one, picked it up and gave it to me. And I grabbed his hand, really tight, a moment before he was going to let go. And I held it there for four hours. I actually held his hand for less, but I then went on to touch his arm and shoulder and shoulder blade and back and I got to hold him closer and closer, very very close, no speaking. For four hours. The rest of the three boys were still there, looking. After the durational performance was over, my friend Paron whistled at me: 'I think you've got a date'. So, I picked up my stuff and went upstairs into the bar. I saw that boy and he spoke to me for the first time. Hello, I am Jose. And I was stunned. His voice was so high pitched and so different than I had expected. While I was holding him, I had all sort of fantasies. I thought how romantic if this is the boy I would actually end up with and I had met in such awesome way. How romantic it would be to end up with him and to have met him like this, in the basement of some weird bar in the middle of Hoxton. But I didn't. I didn't end up with him, I didn't like him, I didn't even want to chat with him. I still fucked him, but only once and only half-heartedly. I wanted to give it a shot just in case.

The other one, what's his name, I met in the coffee shop I used to work in. What's his name. I was not too keen, he looked like my dad but with a bigger belly. He tried to lure me with many different propositions, something about the moon in a text message, which didn't work, something about buying me dinner, which didn't work. When he spoke, vowels always seemed to make his mouth very round, very very round and kind of ugly, protruding, very ugly and wet and kind of protruding. Ok, so he said something about an underground house party in some kind of squat and that did it. He was a bit annoyed by that point, so he added: is that good enough for you. We did go to the party and I was more interested in the Russian blond girl than in him. But then the lights went down, the ceiling was low, the party almost over and therefore I decided to sit on his lap. And it was nice, kind of like sitting on my dad's lap nice. And then we went to his house and he tried to fuck me but I refused to take off my tights, so he kind of fucked me on top of the tights and then we had some tuna. (I remember we also went to some film exhibition at some gallery in the East and he gave me some advice on my career as an artist and I was wearing a black jumpsuit with some silver details. The advice didn't really seem to matter at the time, I was just happy being there, in a gallery, in East London, wearing my black jumpsuit).
I've been dreaming all night about cheese, my flatmate ate the cheese and I was really upset. And then I saw mother and D fucking against the window. 

Sunday, December 31

how to wear the dotty shirt tonight with a fur and all
the moment I write something I have to give it a place, to give it life, is this going to work, how is this going to sound in this context and that context, maybe I should go to wales.
no need to worry, darling, just try to take your finger out of your asshole and stick it in your ear. how's things recently, oh, you know here and there, and further away.
I want to do nothing, only watch the good wife, the only thing that keeps me going, gets me going. So tired of worrying about stuff.
No, I don't recognise myself. I am scared like shit and things take their course, they just evaporate leaving nothing behind.
12 months inside nothingness is the best way to describe the last 12 months. LIke no need to pick up the phone or make eggs or even get out of bed, just spill the tea on the sheets and let it dry, put your gown on top of it, so that you don't feel it in the night, like you pissed yourself and just left it there to seep through for eternity. Why is this so fucking hard lately, cause everything means something else, everything needs to be something, to represent something, everything is something else, i have found writing so hard, cause the moment I write, I think is this fucking good enough is this fucking good enough for fucks sake, I do not want to think, I do not want to think anymore, LOBOTOMY, yes, I just want to be, to do, to exist. It is just head lice.

Tuesday, May 2

Why is your thing bleeding? Cause I helped a guy pull his phone out of a hole.

Friday, September 30

Call back in 15. Proof of address needed.
Don't mess with meatballs. Goodbye
No, goodbye.
Some food. Goodbye.
Nothing to share. 
Some food is enough for everyone.
Meatballs is the answer to fucking depression. Fuck grammar. 

Monday, September 12

Ok I can smell bad breath but no one else is around.
Can you smell dead mouse? I think I can smell dead mouse under my bed. G. was here last night but I forgot to ask him to smell. I mean surely he would tell me if he had smelled dead mouse. But what would he say, your new flat which you struggled so much to get cause they wanted quarantor and they wouldn't believe you have a euro account and they  made you download statement after statement worth of all the statements of the world and walk around d all the fucking Barclays of the world smells of dead mouse? I'd rather die.
So I have this friend, Eban, who used to go out with Blo. When they travelled to Aribona for a month, he said they had sex without a condom. I'm very particular about contraception and I never forgive my friends who do that. Anyway, in his defense he said he could never be prepared cause he never knew when it was going to happen cause every time it seemed to him like the first date, like going on a first date again with the same person. Like starting from scratch all the flirting and stuff, asking the same questions. Well, this is how I feel about myself all the fucking time. When I move from one flat to the next, when I get a new boyfriend. When I change jobs, or towns, or countries. I have to start from scratch again, to get to know myself. What music do I like what I want for breakfast. What's your name? Eibini, oh mine is Eibini too, how old are you, 35, oh me too 35, do you like prawns, not sure give me a day.
So why did you text that boy last night. Cause I felt like it. And why did you feel like it. Cause I wanted to hear from him. And why did you want to hear from him. Cause I wanted him to text me back and acknowledge my existence. And why did you want him to acknowledge your existence, why not acknowledge your existence yourself. Cause mine doesn't count, cause I can never acknowledge my existence, cause other people are only able to confirm I exist. Cause once they do, I feel like a person again, in the world, you know. And I feel worthy of something. Worthy of confirming my existence. I'll never read an introspection article never again.

Sunday, September 11

So my doctor said: freeze your eggs now, and that was 3 months ago. And now, 3 months later, I consider whether I should freeze my eggs. But if he said now and now is 3 months later, does that mean that now I can no longer freeze my eggs? So I'm going to have a cup of tea and a fag and consider what I'm supposed to do now. 

Monday, September 5

It's the fucking Internet to soon as I got it I got cold and miserable and slept badly. Bloody hell! And been checking my emails non stop and been doing no work whatsover. Good right. 

Sunday, September 4

I'm in my old tub and I have filled it with hate oil. The shop didn't have any other kind, so I got hair oil. Cause soap makes my vag hurt and its out of the question. B. sent me an email which made me feel alive again. Yeah. I am the most resilient person I know. Fuck you and don't tell me to develop resilience. I've changed three flats in nine months and three jobs in four years. And had to end a really really tricky thing too. So I'm in the tub and I really want to smoke. But my throat is hurting and I've just had a throat tea. I'm finishing my book, I've made it, and I'm closer to who I want to be in years. So fuck you. I'm resilient enough, resilient for the things I want to be resilient for. I remember B. too. How he makes me feel that this is exactly where I need to be, and who with. I only have one picture with him under the tent, it was when he couldn't stay over and my heart broke. But I have the picture and he looks his prettiest holding a beer and smiling with dimples. So I'll comb my vag with argan oil and go and write to him. I didn't finally take the marjoram from manor house. It was too chunky and I didn't have a pot, plus it was a bit dry on the side. I can care for myself and my plants and no one else for a while. And if anyone has to say anything about self promotion then come and say it fuckers. Hope my employers do not read this crap. Cause I'm exactly where I need to be, inwards, onwards and smoking. And staying inwards and onwards, and making decisions and taking to myself and figuring out things on my own. I'll try to continue like this and maybe I won't have to fight with feeling all over the fucking place again. But I hate being careful. Careful, be careful, be careful, yeah, be careful. I'm just careful for myself, so that I don't get run over or out of breath. That's it. Don't get run over or out of breath. I love your asthma. Pay your fine and go home. 

Thursday, September 1

I rented out a studio flat and in the middle of the night the agent arrived and lifted the blinds. And I could see that there was an extra room in my studio flat, only if belonged to someone else. There was a bank bed and a toilet in there, but we'd have to share the main entrance, which sucked. And I specifically asked before renting: what are these blinds. What are these blinds. But no one cares to answer.

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


I never told you my little story

I never told you


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


I never told you my little story

I never told you


I can bark at night

I can bark at night (woof woof)

I can bark at night


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


Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

No, no,

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three


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.

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

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.

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