See you in 5 days

OK, so today is the first of two short breaks that I am going to have to take from the blog in the next few weeks. Today I have to go away with work, a trip that will keep me away till Friday. I've not been able to get any firm guarantees about internet access at the place where I'm going, so rather than second guess, I thought I'd just put the blog on hold until I'm back, so the next post on here will be this coming Saturday. I will be taking my laptop with me though, so if there is internet access, then I will at least be able to check emails and things like that, so if you need to get in touch, please do. The company/interaction will be greatly appreciated.

And just for the record, the second short break that I might be taking from the blog will be in a few couple of weeks when I head to Paris for a short trip. With that trip, I might still be posting short entries, but I'll see. I'll know closer to the time and let you know. Anyways, I'll leave you to it for now. See you on Saturday. Take care.

TM x

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE THERE'S SOMEONE ELSE
IN HIS HOUSE
IT'S HIS RELATIVE
BUT HE'S IN A DIFFERENT ROOM

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE THE HOST OF A TV COOKERY SHOW
JUST MADE A JOKE THAT HE TOOK
AS BEING PRIVATE
BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE HE TALKED OVER SOMEONE
THAT HE THOUGHT WAS IMPRESSED
BY HIS ADVICE

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE HE'S NEVER READ THIS

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE HE STARED THROUGH
NET CURTAINS AT A WOMAN
UNLOADING POLYTHENE BAGS
FROM HER CAR

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE HE KNOWS
ONE THOUSAND MORE HIDING PLACES

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE NOONE ELSE KNOWS ABOUT
HIS END IN SIGHT

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY
BECAUSE HE MANAGED TO KEEP SOMEONE
IN CONVERSATION
FOR A QUARTER OF AN HOUR

HE THINKS HE'S LESS LONELY TODAY

Entry for Self-Portrait Day

“He looks different.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure – he’s changed since I last saw him.”
“Age?”
“NO. It’s not that.”
“What? I didn’t mean ... I’m sorry ... I’m not following.”
“Sorry. But I just mean ... ”
“His eyes?”
“No. That’s too ... simplistic? People make too much of eyes. Eyes have never told me anything. They scowl, cry, zone out, sparkle. I know that sounds a lot, but it’s not that much considering what ... they could do more, is what I’m saying. I guess I’m more interested in whatever something doesn’t tell me.”
“...”
“I know he’s older now. Not much.”
“He’s nine. Almost ten.”
“I want to die.”
“Listen – do you want me to give you a minute? Go and get some air. Cigarette?”
“Ha.”
“How long have you ... ?”
“An hour. It sounds ridiculous, I know.”
“No. Don’t be so ...”
“Harsh? If I hear one more person tell me ... Listen – nobody can tell me what to do because nobody else has to do it. Nobody else has to think about it in this way and nobody will have to live thinking about it afterwards.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I’m not.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“...”
“Are you just going to stand there?”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Well you can’t just stand there, not if you expect me to ... you know?”
“You want some privacy?”
“I don’t know. I’ve said that.”
“You haven’t.”
“I have.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“I said it.”
“I’m not sure – I wouldn’t feel right just leaving you to – ”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you think I’ll do?”
“I don’t mean that. I just. It’s difficult.”
“You don’t need to tell me that.”
“Well I’m not leaving you. I can’t.”
“You’re too scared of other people. I can tell you that now.”
“This is getting stupid. I’m not here as an obstacle.”
“You’re nothing but here.”
“Everything but anywhere else?”
“Do I look like I’m in the mood to joke?”
“You don’t look like anything.”

Likes and dislikes

Likes: Being objectified, being talked down to, being simplified, being reduced, being tied up, being raped, being spat on, being beaten, being cut, being killed.


Likes feeling: Worthless, nothing, sexy, dead.


Favourite names: Queer, puff, fag, dick sucker, cocksucker, pussy boy, fudgepacker, pillow biter, shit licker, cunt, gay cunt.

Any other notes: N/A

I can always rely on Sparks

TX

You said about how
We’re always telling each other how beautiful someone was
Somewhere we were
I miss the days when we were actually in the same place
Seeing them at the same time
Rather than you telling me about yours
And me telling you about mine
When I say the days
I guess it’s just that
Just days
Just a couple of them
But that doesn’t diminish a thing
A period in life is still that
No matter how long
You understand about the destroyers
I know they want to kill you too
We sometimes talk about
Whether or not they know
Whether or not they’re aware
A lot of the time we say
That they don’t
And I guess that makes sense
But somehow I think they must
Some of them must know
How could they miss the ... ?
You know?

Torbjörn Vejvi

Based in Los Angeles, Torbjörn Vejvi is a Swedish-born sculptor whose minimalist structures encourage the viewer to investigate and extract immaterial meanings of intimacy, memory, and emotion out of the simple material objects he uses to create them. As Vejvi has stated about his work, “There is no confusion about how the sculpture is held together or constructed, how it is done. You can see the metal brackets and the wooden support. Yet the mystery exists, elsewhere."

4 iced tea recipes

I'm pretty sure that iced tea is my favourite drink in the world. Here are some recipes that I'm going to be trying out.


Apple Honey Iced Tea

Ingredients:
3 cups water, boiling
4 tea bags
1/3 cup honey
3 cups apple juice

Preparation:

Steep tea bags in hot water for 5 minutes. Strain out tea bags, and stir in honey and juice. Mix until honey is dissolved. Chill and serve over ice.


Raspberry Iced Tea

Ingredients:
2 cups tea
2 cups raspberry juice
1/4 cup honey

Preparation:
Mix raspberry juice, tea and honey. Whisk until honey is dissolved. Serve cold over ice. You can substitute cranberry juice, instead of raspberry for a different taste.


Thai Iced Tea

Ingredients:
6 cups water
8 tea bags, black
1 cup evaporated milk
4 tbs sugar
4 tsp cinnamon
4 tsp cardamom
Ice, crushed

Preparation:
Boil the water and steep tea bags with cardamom for 5 minutes. Strain out teabags and let cool. Put ice into 4 glasses, and add tea. Leave about a quarter of the glass empty. To each glass add, 1 tbs sugar, 1 tsp cinnamon and 1/4 cup of milk.


Spiced Maple Iced Tea

Ingredients:
6 tbs green tea
1 tbs anise, powdered
1/4 cup maple syrup
Lemon slices for garnish

Preparation:
Steep tea in 6 cups of hot (not quite boiling) water. Strain out tea, and add anise and maple syrup. Stir until syrup is dissolved and blended. Let cool and serve over ice, with a slice of lemon.

Sweating

The guy in front of me whose neck bulges and hangs over the back of his faded collar turns his head to try and make eye contact with someone. He can’t because he’s wearing sunglasses. But he wants to look at someone and shake his head. It’s because the bus almost crashed. A car pulled out recklessly. The bus hit the brakes. Screeched. Stopped. Didn’t crash. The man in front just wants to have some kind of interaction with somebody, shake his head and indicate that he recognizes how stupid the driver of the silver car was. A minute ago he was turning his head to look at the skinny legs of a thirteen year old girl. I make sure to pretend I’m busy looking out of the window, which I partly am. I’m sweating because I’m uncomfortable and the heavy coat I’m wearing, that was suitable this morning when it was cold but is not now it is hot itches against my torso. My jumper is stuck to my skin. My trousers have been chasing and my legs feel sore, especially where the sweat on my thighs has irritated the scabbed over streaks where I lacerated myself starting at the point just before where my scrotum starts round to the peak of my ass. It feels like I might be bleeding a little bit too, weeping, sore. It’s hard to tell, and I don’t know if blood and sweat particularly feel that different but it’s just a hunch and I usually trust myself which sounds strange when I think it out loud.

Nicholas

That’s where he fell
About there anyway
I can’t see the exact spot
Without craning my neck
Which I’m not going to do
Because you never know
Who’s watching
I don’t want a full conversation
With anyone who sees me gawping
Because I didn’t know him that well
Someone moved the flowers
Wonder who has that job
A couple of weeks?
Maybe till they start to fade?
Whatever
His are gone
I remember his sister’s face
Was pretty much the same as his
I don’t know what I’ll do if I see her
She wouldn’t recognize me
But maybe she could tell that I know who
She is
I’m no good with hiding
And she wouldn’t know that
I would like to

Eau De Noix Coco

Black Dice record
A can of Eau De Noix Coco
Which I think I originally started buying
Just because I liked the busy design on the can
And I think is still half of the reason why
I continue
To buy it
The man who looks like he outgrew his cuteness
Waves to someone
First time I've ever seen him do that
I can imagine a girlfriend for him
Just plain, some would like
The pulp's in my teeth
Acidic burp
More like bad breath
Hearing from someone I want to care about
Hearing from someone I want to care about me

I saw you today

he's done that before
seen it at least
i watched how his body moved
it was in the shoulders

Prickly

when he held my hand
the dry old skin of his
prickled against my palm
i told him to shave
and he said that he had
i told him that he hadn't
done a good job
he told me he had
started talking about
some day when he
couldn't do anything
i remembered
because i did everything
told me something
that he didn't mean
which i still can't
work out if he did or not
but i need to get away
i need to be somewhere
else
i feel like somebody elses
hands are doing all of this
like i've been sitting on mine
and now they're tingling
like they belong to another
stranger
latest in a longer line than
i can care to count

New ideas 120

Things would be so perfect if no one ever said anything ever again. The way things are at this precise second in time, this exact moment –t-h-i-s-s-s-s-e-x-a-c-c-ccccccccccccccccc-t – momennnnn/t – I wish I could keep things like this forever. It’s gone.

So the music feels like rain made out of plastic. Stuff falling, but not real – or real – but designed – made to feel like something it’s not.

I want to show Luke Craig’s photographs. I want to try and explain how I feel so lost and I really feel like I’m going insane because I’m so lonely and I’m so afraid at how I feel so stupid that I don’t understand anything about myself. I want to be able to tell him why there has to be a cartoon on my profile and not a real picture of myself. I want to ask Luke if he noticed the dead bird, and what he thought about it and whether or not he’s thought about it as much as I have. I want to ask Luke if he got the same email as me, and whether or not he thought it was funny or if he wished the ending hadn’t been a joke because what came before seemed so ... the right words haven’t ... s/t/r/e/t/c/h/e/d/?

Words are doing bad impressions.

Routine findings

Grey

It's easy to tell when you're changing yourself
And easy to work out which particular person it's for this time
I suppose I need to know more about my own time
I know that other people can agree
Maybe someone else sees that the way I see theirs
None of this is vital (apart from the obvious, you know)
I can't tell you another thing about me
Until I've convinced myself that
You want to know for me

New ideas 119

Memories/swallowing is ... still crazy/really fast slow motion/.

We move into the front room. I think about this being the room where things started. I’m glad the TV isn’t on. Is there music? No. Luke rattles round in a pile of CDs that must have fallen over. They’re on the floor. I sit and watch him and hope that he’ll come back to me when he’s done.

The CD cases clicking together sound like someone tapping on bone.

Luke chooses some music. The cover is a black and white photo of a rundown looking building in a city. It looks like it’s half way through falling down or being demolished. It’s kinda blank. It looks cheaply made to, or just like people might have paid a lot of money for the CD to look like it was cheaply done. Art is weird.

When the music starts my spine fizzes. S/t/r/e/t/c/h some more. Computer music. Some songs made on a laptop, but from the way Luke is squinting, like he’s trying to see the notes coming out of the speakers, I can tell it must be more than just mechanical.

I <3 The Pains of Being Pure at Heart

The competition winner

He scratched the back of his head, leaving a pawish imprint in a tuft of unwashed hair in the small patch that he still had some. He tried to look unfussed as the lady behind the glass screen explained how through no fault of his own there had been some kind of mixup – a clerical error or a misprint (it was hard to make out, because her voice was drowned out by a screaming child waiting at the back of the queue for some refreshments); the short of it was that he would not be able to see the musical that he thought he had won tickets for – not that night anyway – something would hopefully be arranged for a future show, he was informed.

“Oh,” slight pause. Consideration. Rush to end consideration, to avoid seeming too ... “Oh ok fine no problem. I’ll just go home.” He added a laugh that must have made the woman feel uncomfortable. He marched out with a blank smile. He took the pay and display sticker from his car windscreen. He’d paid for 3 hours five minutes previously.

This was ok.

Things would be ok.

Things hadn’t felt ok for a long time.

The competition winner drove back home.

There's sadness in there, too

I guess these pictures won't mean much to anyone, but they've been kinda interesting to me for a couple of reasons regarding certain ideas in my novel in progress. So I thought I may as well stick them on here. Make of them what you will, if anything.

It's exactly 6 months ago today that my mother died. It actually happened on a Wednesday, but it was the 10th of September and today is the 10th of March so I guess that's it. It's odd. In some ways it feels like the last half year has flown by so fast that I can't believe it, but in others it feels like the last half dozen months have been so dense and relentless that I dunno - it feels like this has been happening forever.

Part of me feels like writing this is irrelevant, because my mother's death still hasn't sunk in. I've barely cried, barely felt anything a lot of the time other than worn out, lost, numb. But I do feel convinced that writing will ultimately help me, and I don't know what else to do. It's worth trying to write things out of myself than not, you know?

Things aren't going so great. It seems that rather than getting better with time, things are just getting further away. The last two months have been especially hard. I feel distant, and I feel confused. I'm pretty sure that I need to get back on some kind of medication because I can tell that at the moment I feel like I'm probably rapidly running out of coping mechanisms or techniques to keep myself going.

I feel really lonely nearly all the time at the moment. I feel really guilty writing that, because I have a handful of friends who have made so much effort recently, being there for me, offering to listen, being there to call when I've needed to, ringing up just to see how I've been doing (in other ways I've noticed that other people have become more distant from me, but I guess it's probably an awkward situation for them too). When I say that I feel lonely then that isn't at all to appear ungrateful, because I know that I won't forget the support that people have given me during this time, and it isn't to say that that hasn't helped. People have helped perhaps more than I can humanly convey to them. But I dunno, I guess because it feels like my grieving hasn't had time to develop fully due to ongoing stress with various things at home (that I've spoke about here before and don't have the energy to go into further today), and that's perhaps the cause of the loneliness. Also, I think that it's exacerbated by the fact that I can really sense myself running out of steam, running out of ideas to keep myself going. I dunno. I KNOW that with time things will get better, I KNOW emotions are different for everyone and I just have to hold out till they're ready to do what they wanna do. Maybe I'm being impatient. I dunno, I just want things to hurry up because at the moment, I'm not enjoying things that I used to or things that I usually would.

I dunno. Like I say, I don't know if writing any of this down does help. But I'd rather try than not. So that's me right now.

Anyways. Take good care.

TM
xxx

Screwy

There’s a boy in the back
with the same problem
so I turned all of the lights off
and hoped he’d just fall asleep.
That’d give me more time.
More time to ... I dunno,
waste, fuck myself up, ruin
something else.
I keep getting
interrupted
by repetition.

Telephone makes him screwy.
So there's gotta be two muffled voices.
I'd have hoped for just one,
But he's gotta learn where his stubbornness
is gonna get him.

That thing about afternoon again,
that's part of the repetition I was
talking about. Someone said it before me
but that's fine because I know I never
understood their version.

I'm waiting for you
to tell me that you
understand.

New ideas 118

“I heard the door before – did you go somewhere?”
“I think Alex took me outside ... but I don’t know.”

It can’t matter much because Luke doesn’t say anything. His eyes have this look that says things that I probably won’t ever be able to explain. Maybe eyes are the same as words. Luke looks around the room. He shivers. It makes me feel cold. I want to know what the right thing to do is. Luke seems lost in something that I must be seeing differently. I think about the email I sent to Craig and worry about whether he read it. I think about where the computer is in all of this.

My hand feels warm. Luke’s holding it. One of our hands is clammy. I ask how he’s feeling because I feel like I need to say something and then feel like it was the most pointless question I could have asked. Luke looks down and doesn’t say anything. I hope it’s because he forgot the question.

“I’m cold.” Luke stands up taking me with him. We both stretch our arms. Luke’s arms are one of his best physical features. I’ve always liked watching people stretch. One of the first times I realised that I might have been ... whatever the fuck I am ... was when I saw some boy in P.E. doing a handstand against the wall. The school P.E. kit was red shorts and white t-shirt. His feet kicked against the wall and his t-shirt hung upside down so anyone in the class who was looking would have seen his body. It was all stretched out – his stomach and his chest. I think one of the girls made a joke about him looking boney or something ... but I couldn’t stop thinking about him for ... ever? I like how Luke looks when his arms are stretched.

miss

I have so many ideas.

Many ideas about lots of important things.

Important things that mean absolutely nothing.

A nothing that is so empty that it’s lack of importance is overpowering.

So overpowering that its might is barely recognizable.

So unrecognizable that it’s instantly identifiable as something that holds no value whatsoever.

This nothing is hardly there.

So barely there that it isn’t even nothing.

It is something.

there's a girl on the side of buses
a big picture of her
something to do with some
famous kids entertainment company
don't know her name
she's laughing like she can't believe that people are actually taking this shit seriously
by which i and she mean her
the night before the photo she was probably being buttfucked and shrieking about how unreal everything was and is
yeah you can tell
stare at the eyes
it's not celebratory
she's kinda daring people to believe
yeah
go on stupid

Green paint

There's been some kind of argument.
I was with a friend.
I looked at the radiator and noticed where
the green paint had started to give up.
My friend looked at ... something else -
the wood floors? Could've been.
I was half expecting a fist to land on one
side of my face.
I didn't deserve it but it wouldn't
have felt
so out of place.
I think one of us made a joke about it
afterwards.
You have no idea how unfunny it was.

I just fancied posting some pictures of Emile Hirsch (as Cleve Jones) in MILK

Abstracted

The thing that immediately jumped out at me was the staggering economy of the sentences. They’re clipped perfectly, it’s kinda breathtaking at points. And the idea of using Notes is inspired/inspiring; it gives the narrative this constricting yet thoroughly propelling force – like you’re giving the reader a Chinese Burn or something. The endless notes piling up on each other has this cumulative effect that’s really claustrophobic, it ways the reader down. I had this image of soggy papier mache walls caving in, heh.

MILK

I just got back from seeing Gus Van Sant's MILK. Absoloutely wonderful film. I cried in the cinema. I might write little something more about it later in the week but at the moment I haven't got anything more than gushing, tears, and lots of "wow's". Go and see it.

Trailer:

Sean Penn wins Oscar:



Dustin Lance Black wins Oscar:



Sean Penn interview:



TM x

New ideas 117

“Haha – say again, sorry. I’m fucked.” Makes me remember.
“Oh yeah,”
“Haha.”
“I thought that Luke was really starting to look like you?”
“Luke’s in the bathroom?”
“God – heh,” I start worrying about how long it’s been since I saw Luke.
“You mean tonight?” Preoccupied now.
“He’s in the bathroom tonight, yeah.”
“I mean our faces.”
“Oh, yeah. No. Not tonight. I meant before. I hadn’t seen you in a while ...”
“...”
“And your faces. I thought you’d swapped. Which I know is stupid. I’ve seen both of you tonight and I know I was just being stupid.”
“You’re fucked.”
“Yeah.”
“No. I mean tonight.”
“I haven’t see you for a while.”
“I know. Man.”
“I want to see Luke.”

I stand up which means the room does too. I stand up again and this time it works better. Anything outside of what I can see needs to stop. Alex has disappeared, he’s probably crawling somewhere. I put my hand on the wall of the corridor that links the rooms in the flat, and reach out my other hand to even things out. The bathroom door is unlocked so I go in. Luke’s kneeling on the floor wobbling. He’s unsteady, which added to my vision right now makes him look a little bit like a flame or how hot air makes things look blurry like waves.

For a few seconds Luke doesn’t realise I’m there but then he catches me in a mirror that’s leant up against a dirty radiator. It makes him jump which does the same to me. He turns round and I kneel down with him. He’s been crying. I wonder if he knows I can’t help him.