2.51am Saturday 02/04/11

It's important at the beginning to point out that I am uncharectoristivly melancholic this evening. I've been out with friends and went through the motions of having fun. Dressed in a dress too short, shooters, mixing drinks, dexies and dancing raunchy. But there is a sense of failure in me that I can't shake.

Career wise I am fortunate. A wonderful job. Good pay. A future with stability for the first time in this life. I am mostly good at it and the rest I'm effective at deploying my patented brand of manipulative bullshit to confuse all. Including even myself.

So why failure? Failure at attraction is my present concern. I lay naked in my bed. Brutal examination of my body would identify the descriptive 'overweight'. But even typing this word I become defensive. Fackund perhaps. Rubenesque even. But right now I feel brutal. And fat.

I've built a wall of ego around my body. I don't know why it deserves it but I punish it. Like a cruel master jealous of it's potential I break it down. Excess food, alcohol, cigarettes and even sometimes some drugs. Not enough sleep. Too much pressure. It fights back at me by being fat. Beautiful; but fat.

I have no desire too fix my body through health acts. Weight loss through diet and exercise seems so pointless and futile and... Inconvenient...

But now it's effecting the ego. The ego says we are strong, independent and stunningly beautiful. It remembers all the compliments. Lavishes in them. And in turn, spurns all critique.

But it's there, beneath, and not particularly deep but incredibly secret.

I loathe.

I am alone.

Who would chose this body for a lover when there is such a bounty of the nubile on the market. I used to be young. I used to be wise beyond my years and sharp of wit. Now I fear becoming mature and those around me are sharper, more impressive and undeniably more intelligent.

I loathe them and I fear for myself. They too are beautiful. Who will ever enjoy this body and care for it so that I might care for theirs?

I see no future for me. I know exactly who I am. And I lack all forms of motivation and drive. I am unable to know who I want to be. I tired of being the adored friend. I miss being the tantalizing lover. The exquisite delicacy to serve up with bounty.

I want to crash into some one. And have them delve into my soul. To come up sated. To be enriched. But the body. Is both weapon and enemy.

Getting older

It's happened. I

Cities make me ugly

I work in a city. I work 9 to 5 Monday to Friday. I walk to the train station and I catch a train to the city and then I join the countless others in the march. The eyes down, grey and black clad march of the clones that filters us past the homeless, the young and the travellers and into our multi story concrete and glass cells.

I jam my earphones into my ears and try desperately to listen to my audiobook or my music as the sounds of busses, construction and beaurocracy impose on me.

I close off my senses as I am assaulted by perfumes and body odours. My space is invaded as we cram tightly into the carriage or as we march the streets and make unwelcome accidental contact in a desperate bid to hasten to our destination.

There's women in high fashion. I feel poorly dressed, overweight, undergroomed and overwhelmed.

Here I am one of many, feeble in my non conformity. Ugly, afraid and shallow.

I loathe what this city does to me. I loathe the mirror it holds to me.

Just 3 more days.

When does it happen?

When does it happen? One day you're young, full of potential and dreams, sassy, smart, pretty and the world is your oyster. And slowly over time you compromise a bit of you here a bit of you there, you adapt to the world around you, grow, develop 'evolve'. And then you look back, and all of a sudeen you're fat, boring, uneducated, uninteresting, jaded miserable bitch who doesn't even like herself let alone justifying true friendship with another human - love seems such a foreign distant experience that its basically just a joke. A sick fucked up joke that someone played on you and your only now starting to understand.

I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing.

When does it happen? That the lights inside fade and you become nothing but a series of compromises? A million short sighted attempts to be happy played out to be nothing but shallow emptiness and longing.

I don't even know what I want any more, how i want my life to be, who I wish I was. I know its not this, but can't imagine it being any other way.

I can't think of a single reason to continue doing it. I just do. Because no matter how many glorious ways I can think of to end it, they all seem nothing but cheap cliche.

It takes blood and guts to be this way, but I'm still just a cliche.

No answer forthcomming

Insurmountable heights
wakeful nights
Starry eyed lament
interwined with rapturous intent
Carnal dreaming her insulted heart screaming

Beatnick poetry

Ok so my last post was rather drunken and pathetically melodramatic.

Heres a chance at another slightly less embarassing one:

So last night I'm in a fantastically funky restaurant with a group of well loved friends and a pretty descent Jazz band started up.

My friend commented that it was all very beatnick and that in the 60's stoners used to stand up at places like this and recite spoken word poetry to the crowd.

So, emboldened by red wine and good company I had a go at composing my own. Here it follows:

Undulating through a dicotinous notion of freedom
perpetual momentum towards an unanswerable destination
light, lighten softly encountering each revelation
Chose wisely the path and traverse without knowledge
quest begun, no end until another begins.
cyclic dreaming, rotary feeling,
unconcious understanding of a wheel.

Wine loosens the mind

Dear Man,

I am writing to today the truth that I am unable to state. The honesty I hide behind layers of bravado and ego and pride. The honest truth that I have shielded my own self from knowing. the connection with my soul that I have hidden not only from you but from my own concious self

I care about you deeply.

I don't know what that means or how it comes across but I want you as a part of my life and have ever since I met you. I hide behind the concept that I am truelly independant in my youth and freedom. I have told my self in mantra that I am nothing if not alone. That I need no one.

And in some ways it is true. I don't 'need' you I will survive with or without you. But I want to be with you and I want you to want to be with me.

You make my heart beat faster, my pulse race and the blood rush to my core. I desire you, care for you and most of all respect you.

I have offered you my body in the most crass of ways and the fact that you turned me away ssimply confirms that my feelings are rightly placed.

I don't want to change you, I just want you to want to hold me in your arms and comfort me.

You may not feel this way about me, and this honesty may disrpt any chance we have of being 'just frends'. I care not for sex. Though it would be a lovelly sharing between us again, I feel that I would be better off for simply having you in my life.

If only I coukld tell you this in truth. For now I will pretend and play the game that makes me so sad inside and so cowardly of heart.

Not with love but with adoration and respect,

Woman.