Harridano.

Vincent Malloy is seven years old
He's always polite and does what he's told
For a boy his age, he's considerate and nice
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price

He doesn't mind living with his sister, dogs and cats
But he'd rather share a home with spiders and bats
There he could reflect on the horrors he's invented
And wander dark hallways, alone and tormented.

Today Reminds Me of Katy Perry

And no, it's not the whole: SUPRISE, I'M ACTUALLY A LESBIAN.
That really isn't going to happen any time soon. Her one of the boys album really has some rather depressing material on it. I cried in the film clip of 'Thinking of You'. That one was tricky, but beautiful. I guess today has been a day of coming to terms with things.

For starters, it was the suspended animation in which my friends profile resides. I expect him to come on, and say LOL JOKES I'm fine. But, it's been the same since April. He still 'lives' in Calabasas, California, and is still doing his degree. I know it's not true, but it just stays there, unchanged. It's like this frozen reminder.

And then their was the lady. Who passed away. It made me think of how much time we really have, and whether it's all proportionate. Which it isn't.



'Open me up,' he said to the surgeon, 'and tell me what is written on my bones.'

Lady.

They will sing for you tomorrow. In a big cold building, filled with pews and unease. My mother and brother will cry for you, and your son will watch the corner, his eyes never straying and a face of stone. Tomorrow they will toast for their love of you. Lady, tomorrow they will pray for the peace of you. That you sleep easy in both the winter and the summer, below the ground. Tomorrow there will be no dancing. Tomorrow, I'll think of your son with admiration and sorrow. He will make you proud, down here. Tomorrow, I'll observe your daughter, and wish that she knew you well enough. Tomorrow, her glasses will enlarge that which should not be. Her tears were not supposed to be, and you are supposed to be.

Tomorrow I will think of your husband. His quiet nature, perfect English mannerisms and narrow smile. They will be hidden. I hope that he may smile some time in the future. I hope that he will learn to be happy.

I'll pray for you, Lady. For your quiet ascent. But mostly I'll pray for your family. Your husband and your children. I see them suffer, Lady. While you have peace.


Peace you keep, Lady.
Peace you keep.

June on the West Coast.

My heart has thawed and continues to beat.

You make me pure, You make me pure, Oh I long to be with you! You make me pure, You make me pure, Oh I long to be with you!

Need.

I need a dollar dollar, dollar is what I need.

Today, I've been considering. Needs from want. It's like I'm trying to sort out this cluttered room, that has too many books. Not all the topics I like, but they are necessary. The ones I do like come in series. Some, I haven't started yet. It's the fact that I don't know whether they will turn out to have sequels and leave me hanging. Or if they just turn out to be the one, single volume. Brilliant read, beautiful language, good binding, stuff that changes you. Something that you will go back and read again and again and again.

There is this one. It's on the top shelf. I was born short, God most likely planned it for the shits and giggles.

Goodnight

I have lost my blanket. It's cold tonight. My socks are worn, and a little too small for me. But if I get new ones, I'm scared they won't fit. That I'll look silly.

And I've stored away all my summer clothing. I'm not looking at it right now. Sometimes I pull it from the shelf and inspect it. See if it's all there. Check whether it's changed. To see whether I can let it go, or whether I need to wear it under my piles of jackets and jumpers.

goodnight irene, irene goodnight, i'll see you in my dreams

A long long time ago

I used to think of someone a lot.
They messaged me today. Thinking of me from very far away.

That leaves me feeling rather content. Tonight is a good night. A very good night.

Among the fields of barley. #102

Will you be my love? Will you stay with me? Among the fields of barley? And you can tell the sun, in his jealous sky, when we walked in fields of gold.

I'm attempting to think back. Nothing, Nothing. It must be here somewhere. The memory. I've misplaced it. And the high modality of my sentence structure must give you a sense of its urgency. I may be lying. It's really not all that urgent. It's just leaving a heavy cloud over days. And I'd prefer some sunshine before my skin turns a sallow shade, and I become paler than I already am.

This sentence structure. It's. Quite erratic. Truncated almost. Elliptical. You know, I lined up two images. One that I held in my hand, and one that was held securely by my desktop screen. In those photos, we have aged dramatically. I was taller. Your face was more squashy. You smiled steadily and knew your place. I dreamt of becoming a famous musician and living in a trailer.

I'm trying to remember a day where I knew exactly what was going on in your head. When I fully understood you. A day where we ran from everything, and talked of nothing but kings and gold. I can't think of one. I want to say that you know me well, but it'd be lying.

I've written on the fogged windows of the bus to you. There are songs, and there are empty spaces. Mathematics General lapses into daydreams.

<3

Songbird

And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score, and I love you, I love you, I love you.. like never before.

That Rumours album had it down pat.
My room is quiet apart from the too loud tapping of my keyboard and the rumble of my Compaq's gears. My house is quiet apart from the flipping of light switches and the rustle of bed covers. I wish there was a way that I could emphasise the stillness of everything in this room.

I wish there was a way to convey the longing that I have for closing my eyes and having no weight on my shoulders. Nothing to tense my stomach, or read in the closed darkness after it's imprinted its image deeply in my eyes. Nothing to dream about, nothing to write about, nothing at all to even think.

Today, when I was reading there was a poem that really struck me.

written in pencil in the sealed railway car

here in this carload
i am eve
with abel my son
if you see my older son
cain son of adam
tell him that i


the final, unfinished sentence. the hanging ambiguity. it's sad. solemn. truthful. and the depth of the biblical allusion creates a whole new level of connection. to me, i feel connected with an awkward side. i feel that i have no right to feel connected. an Aryan refusal; a slight lapse toward guilt.

currently i am filled.
and so is my subconscious.

My Sweetheart, The Drunk.

This album has been playing in my bedroom for a very long time. Jeff Buckley seems to have felt everything to another level, in my opinion. That slight quiver on the end of a note can hang in your heart till it makes you feel tired.

I'm home. I've moved on, completely out of my safety zones. School is drawing to a close, and my scouting is dwindling. My last ever scout camp has just finished. 13 years of belonging to this.. security network, a guaranteed acceptance and happiness.. and it's just slowly flitting out to a anti-climactic curtain draw. I'm still meeting new people, but don't have time for them to meet me. This is all making me feel rather nervous.

I don't want to be old.

And after 6 days of being away from home and school, I feel relaxed, yet scared that I've lost too much time. I'm going to have to apply myself to my school work. Ridiculous amounts of stuff to do.

I'm also trying to put the pieces together in my head. I know you're clever. I know that you must have gotten it by now. But I really don't want to embarrass myself. Keep giving me hints.

That's what is in my head right now.

gearins.

parked out the gearin hotel.
sail off with a fire and smoke sail.
restin' easy tonight...
in the heat of december.

Drunkenness.

Drunkenness leads to a whole load of secret telling and dirty dancing. Ellie told me that she couldn't love me, because she loved men. Good for you darling, me too. Audrey thought she was Chris Lilly. That was also rather amusing.

But sometimes you don't know whether people mean things that they say. A hug can mean so much more, or so much less, you know? People say things that they don't intend on saying. I learnt a lot about myself from others. Stuff I hadn't even realised. Liam is good at hitting the nail on the head when he's drunk, even if he is a little (make it a lot) weak-kneed.

I was suprised.

Happy.
Anxious.
Sad.

Wondering

I wonder if someone will ever know how many freckles I have. Or if they'll notice that I tie my shoelaces differently. I wonder if someone knows my shoe size, and the story that my dad loves to tell me. I wonder whether they know what I saw in a tent when I was 10, or on a cliff when I was 12, or what happened to a friend of mine when I was 17. I wonder if they'll know all my secrets. And know my really inward fears.
I wonder if they know what my favourite colour is.
And who I think is the best junior league baseball team in the world.
I wonder if they know my favourite song lyrics, or how to tie me down.
Straighten me out.