Sunday: The day before the day before. I don’t know why but the new year always fills me with hope; the days leading up to it, however, feel like the apex. Here is a list of my fears, real or imagined.
- That all the things that have gone wrong for me this year are fundamentally my fault, in a way I cannot comprehend or acknowledge.
- That people betray me because either a) I have an unpleasant character, one which I cannot control and am not aware of except through the reactions of others or b) I am drawn to betrayers – those who lie, who break promises, who are so single-minded in life that there is nothing they wouldn’t twist.
- That my best friends are among the worst examples of these people, that those (very few) that I trust the most are the ones I should trust the least, as their lies (even the slightest) hurt deeper and longer than those of others.
- That my capacity for love and devotion will again either fire off at the wrong target, or else, at the right target, who by that time is either a) no longer available, b) not interested, or c) just wants to be friends – which is the worst, because with no doubt at all I am certain that those are the ones we could stay with for life.
- That the reason I tend to get that sort of reaction is because I really am as unattractive as I feel.
- That I will discover that as good as I try to be with my work, I am either simply not good enough, or haven’t got good at the right moments, and so missed opportunities that would have me much further along than I am.
- That I will discover that I am good enough, but not be able to translate that into a meaningful tool for life – not getting paid work, getting low-paid work for bad clients that I am unable to turn down.
- That I will not be able to complete my current work commitments because of a lack of resources.
- That my housing situation will deteriorate, so that I am either left homeless, on my father’s floor, or in a council hostel, stuck with a job I can’t stand, etc.
- That my friends who have done me countless favours will decide it was all a big mistake, and I’ll be resented for not being able to do so much back for them.
- That I will be unable to change my life in any way.
Lesser fears:
- A lesser fear, but nonetheless; that the repeated blows I have taken, emotionally, will make me unable to enjoy life, to reap the rewards I might have. I feel myself going that way sometimes; it would be the worst thing in life to be governed by these fears rather than by hope.
- That circumstance will make me a worse person – I try to be a good person now, but sometimes I find myself wondering if I’d have more success if I wasn’t.
- That I don’t make any new friends this next year.
- That I become the scapegoat in my house for anything that goes wrong.
- That I lose touch with one particular person, though I haven’t met her yet.
- That I lose touch with one other particular person, though I haven’t seen her for a while.
- That my oldest friends become boring.
- That my oldest friends get bored with me.
- That my father becomes so emotionally decrepit that he calls every day to complain about things that happened fifteen years ago.
- That I become more and more like my father.
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
Mortal Kombat
Wednesday: Ah.. some catch-up, but really not so much has been happening. It's that Chrimbo time of year, and the past week or so has seen me recovering from Illness with occasional trips out (After-School Club gets an honourable mention) and extended periods of skintness and discommunication. The chrism day itself was spent in the company of Nightingales, who made me welcome and warm, and who served lovely grub and outstanding apple punch.. my mind has been ticking over for some way to repay the kindness of strangers, but right now I feel incapable of helping people or doing much right. It's that time of year - christmas always reminds me of who I'm not with, and the scars from last christmas run deep. But there has been one bright, shining light this winter, and that is the return of my phoenix, and so I will write about her, because she has made the dark evenings blaze in my mind and in hope - although I've only seen her once so far.
What do I know of love? For me love has scars on her fore-arm and a fresh one on her knee. I trust love in all things except to look after herself, but that is ok. She collects scars along with birds and animals, things for her to play with that remind her of flight and its dangers. Love looks best in furs. Love has a fur blanket that she can't find but I think of her wrapped in it when I think of her in her natural state. At peace her body is chemically enhanced, and I try to meet her there, become love, feel a bond which is sweaty and clings as if to let go would be to fall through the air. Her wings hold me up.
Love is a bird who cages herself with men and situations. To see her with another is to watch her suffer - she feels as though she should be able to do the normal things, although she tries her hardest to do them with unnormal people, failing through judgement impaired by the division between hope and imagination and reality. Love sends herself away to learn about loneliness missing that her loneliness follows her around - she needs a phoenix to love but makes do with vultures, ravens, bowerbirds who impress with their trinket-lives and gilded dreams but fail to see her they burn her. Each time she rises from the ashes of herself more beautiful and covered with soot. Underneath the soot new sparks kindle the embers.
Love builds a cage of distance, her flight slow-motion shooting stars towards where the sun rises - she outshines it with cold flame - the sun burns her and distance dims her light reflected but shines twice as bright twice as cold inside. Love stumbles and mountains step aside to avoid being crushed. Love coughs and thunder covers its ears to avoid being deafened. Love smiles and people die of broken hearts. Love bites my fingers when I put them in her mouth, I bite her neck and shoulders and she squirms - too much pleasure.
Love is love is love. It's not physical, or often, not verbal, or often, out of reach. Love has a whole life where she dresses up as human, speaks in human tongues, does human things with human people who blinded by beauty see not the flames beneath her wings. My heart beating by her side says more than these words or the words I speak: she says she hates to hear a heart beating, thinking that it will stop, but mine beats twice as loud for her.
What do I know of love? For me love has scars on her fore-arm and a fresh one on her knee. I trust love in all things except to look after herself, but that is ok. She collects scars along with birds and animals, things for her to play with that remind her of flight and its dangers. Love looks best in furs. Love has a fur blanket that she can't find but I think of her wrapped in it when I think of her in her natural state. At peace her body is chemically enhanced, and I try to meet her there, become love, feel a bond which is sweaty and clings as if to let go would be to fall through the air. Her wings hold me up.
Love is a bird who cages herself with men and situations. To see her with another is to watch her suffer - she feels as though she should be able to do the normal things, although she tries her hardest to do them with unnormal people, failing through judgement impaired by the division between hope and imagination and reality. Love sends herself away to learn about loneliness missing that her loneliness follows her around - she needs a phoenix to love but makes do with vultures, ravens, bowerbirds who impress with their trinket-lives and gilded dreams but fail to see her they burn her. Each time she rises from the ashes of herself more beautiful and covered with soot. Underneath the soot new sparks kindle the embers.
Love builds a cage of distance, her flight slow-motion shooting stars towards where the sun rises - she outshines it with cold flame - the sun burns her and distance dims her light reflected but shines twice as bright twice as cold inside. Love stumbles and mountains step aside to avoid being crushed. Love coughs and thunder covers its ears to avoid being deafened. Love smiles and people die of broken hearts. Love bites my fingers when I put them in her mouth, I bite her neck and shoulders and she squirms - too much pleasure.
Love is love is love. It's not physical, or often, not verbal, or often, out of reach. Love has a whole life where she dresses up as human, speaks in human tongues, does human things with human people who blinded by beauty see not the flames beneath her wings. My heart beating by her side says more than these words or the words I speak: she says she hates to hear a heart beating, thinking that it will stop, but mine beats twice as loud for her.
Thursday, 13 December 2007
Treasure Island Dizzy
Saturday: Wandered down to Grind-A-Go-Go where I was to meet a writer I work with; on the way bumped into two young ladies of the comedic persuasion, who were on the door of a goth club night they run (I think) called Black Plastic. Much fun was had, as mighty amounts of cleavage were on display, and they were jolly. After an hour went to Grind-A-Go-Go, which I maintain is one of the best club nights in London; spoke to one of the promoters there who was both fantastically tall and very friendly. The evening was a good one, but as the night wore on emotions became frayed, and I had rather too much to drink. I'm not sure how that happened.
Sunday: First lecool end-of-year drinks, where I felt both sore from the night before, and a bit wretched hearing about other people's dates. Then off to Dice Club, which was good, not as busy as last time but I'd put that down to the weather. Still has the best-dressed women in town in there, and the noise from the stage was good. Got some decent pix, but come 11 O'clock felt quite under the weather and scarpered, putting said queasiness down to the heavy night before.
Monday: Went to a Noah And The Whale gig, which I was kindly invited to by my lovely neighbour - have to admit I spent a great deal of time craning my neck around to see if other people I expected to be there were.. not sure if I liked the music more or her reaction to it afterwards, she was positively bouncing in the tube station afterwards. Got home with a tingling in my ears and eyes - had been warned that I might expect the flu from a friend who'd recently had a dose.
Tuesday - Thursday: Basically collapsed into a state of incapacity, wracked by aches along the length of my back, and legs, and soreness in my ears and eyes and all down my throat, and my lungs, and coughing fits that hurt like crazy, and a strange texture seemed to come over my skin, which felt rough and dry. No matter how much I drank, my mouth would be dry within minutes. My body would veer between extreme cold and extreme heat - one night I lay in bed with the window wide open and the sheets thrown back, and sweated as hard as I could; the next I was sitting by the radiator, wrapped in clothes and blankets, shivvering. I ate nearly nothing for three days, the prospect of food entering my body filling me with nausea. The amount of water I drank left me with a round, hollow belly, which sloshed as I rolled from side to side. Thursday morning I staggered down to the bathroom and into the bath, and ran it as cold as possible. After half an hour it was too hot, and I was sweating again. I put my head under the water and when I came up again the water was yellow. I let the water out and stood there in the cold air of the room, and tapped my belly, which made a hollow noise; when I looked around the room, it was like looking through a kaleidoscope of blue and yellow glass. My skin felt alien; I had to grip the side of the bath with all my might to clamber our, and stood there panting once I was out. Off to the hospital with me.. diagnosis, infection in my eyes, throat and chest, severe infection in my left ear, can stay overnight on a drip if I want (needlephobe in me was still wide-awake and stone-cold sober, screaming HELL NO before the doctor had even asked the question) and then off home, shivering one minute and sweating the next, with a course of antibiotics to last me a week. So I can drink over Christmas, and that surely is the most important thing. It made me think how much more bearable it would be to have someone to help me look after myself in my life, or even just hold my hand when things get this tough. Perhaps; maybe I'm just lonely, but most likely I'm just terrified of getting hurt as I have been so recently so badly. For now I have to cope with the withdrawal of the fever by myself; in its wake it leaves stiffness, nosebleeds and a tired, bruised, worn-out feeling. On the plus side, I've almost certainly got a photo story coming up in Die Presse, the Austrian equivalent to The Times, courtesy of the awesome miss Vianney.. we will see.
Sunday: First lecool end-of-year drinks, where I felt both sore from the night before, and a bit wretched hearing about other people's dates. Then off to Dice Club, which was good, not as busy as last time but I'd put that down to the weather. Still has the best-dressed women in town in there, and the noise from the stage was good. Got some decent pix, but come 11 O'clock felt quite under the weather and scarpered, putting said queasiness down to the heavy night before.
Monday: Went to a Noah And The Whale gig, which I was kindly invited to by my lovely neighbour - have to admit I spent a great deal of time craning my neck around to see if other people I expected to be there were.. not sure if I liked the music more or her reaction to it afterwards, she was positively bouncing in the tube station afterwards. Got home with a tingling in my ears and eyes - had been warned that I might expect the flu from a friend who'd recently had a dose.
Tuesday - Thursday: Basically collapsed into a state of incapacity, wracked by aches along the length of my back, and legs, and soreness in my ears and eyes and all down my throat, and my lungs, and coughing fits that hurt like crazy, and a strange texture seemed to come over my skin, which felt rough and dry. No matter how much I drank, my mouth would be dry within minutes. My body would veer between extreme cold and extreme heat - one night I lay in bed with the window wide open and the sheets thrown back, and sweated as hard as I could; the next I was sitting by the radiator, wrapped in clothes and blankets, shivvering. I ate nearly nothing for three days, the prospect of food entering my body filling me with nausea. The amount of water I drank left me with a round, hollow belly, which sloshed as I rolled from side to side. Thursday morning I staggered down to the bathroom and into the bath, and ran it as cold as possible. After half an hour it was too hot, and I was sweating again. I put my head under the water and when I came up again the water was yellow. I let the water out and stood there in the cold air of the room, and tapped my belly, which made a hollow noise; when I looked around the room, it was like looking through a kaleidoscope of blue and yellow glass. My skin felt alien; I had to grip the side of the bath with all my might to clamber our, and stood there panting once I was out. Off to the hospital with me.. diagnosis, infection in my eyes, throat and chest, severe infection in my left ear, can stay overnight on a drip if I want (needlephobe in me was still wide-awake and stone-cold sober, screaming HELL NO before the doctor had even asked the question) and then off home, shivering one minute and sweating the next, with a course of antibiotics to last me a week. So I can drink over Christmas, and that surely is the most important thing. It made me think how much more bearable it would be to have someone to help me look after myself in my life, or even just hold my hand when things get this tough. Perhaps; maybe I'm just lonely, but most likely I'm just terrified of getting hurt as I have been so recently so badly. For now I have to cope with the withdrawal of the fever by myself; in its wake it leaves stiffness, nosebleeds and a tired, bruised, worn-out feeling. On the plus side, I've almost certainly got a photo story coming up in Die Presse, the Austrian equivalent to The Times, courtesy of the awesome miss Vianney.. we will see.
Friday, 7 December 2007
Spy Hunter
Friday: Texas Chainsaw Horror Show, another free ticket from Tammy. It was the first proper goth night I've been to; I wore all-black, but needn't have - plenty of the crowd were jeans'n't-shirt, but also plenty had made a huge effort. Girls to make your eyes bulge, seriously. There was a stage act, the horror show, and while the set was nice, the performances were less than spectacular. It was like a panto for goths with learning difficulties. Also, as most of the crowd were there for the bands, there wasn't much sympathy. Of the bands themself, Queen Adreena were tolerable, putting in a wild stage-bashing performance; The Damned.. welll... I hadn't listen before and I left early, wandering up to the Heath to enjoy the view and a smoke.
Sunday: Went for a drink with Joe Coles, one of my oldest and best friends. It was good to catch up with him; we met up by Broadway Market and ended up having a few pints and playing that game where you write the name of someone on a piece of paper and you have to guess who you are. I stumped him with himself..
Thursday: A day of shooting. The real highlights were in the evening. First, we went to Vyner street. It being the first Thursday of the month, all the galleries there seem to have their opening night. Not being in any way shape or form a part of the art world, I didn't know about this, but it really is a fantastic way to spend an evening, wandering from gallery to gallery, picking up the free drinks along the way. All the galleries I went into had something interesting, and all were well looking after spaces. There was a fair sized crowd loitering by the time we left to go to the Futurist Dining Society. This is on Cheshire Street, where all the shops are open late for their street Christmas party. The Futurist Dining Society is hosted by an architect who designs castles. The guest are all in similar positions of employment, as far as I can tell. The concept behind the society is to make the gourmet food of tomorrow, today. Every time there is a theme. The starter is snails in Go-Faster sauce. The sauce is fantastic, and the dish is well presented, but I can't help but think they should be a little saltier. The main course is something they have called carp carpaggio. It is raw carp and salmon served in some sort of oil and lemon juice; we are informed that carp was the first fish used in sushi. To me it tastes like how ponds smell; the salmon is a bit better. The desert is some sort of warmish savoury sorbet. But the drinks were free..
Sunday: Went for a drink with Joe Coles, one of my oldest and best friends. It was good to catch up with him; we met up by Broadway Market and ended up having a few pints and playing that game where you write the name of someone on a piece of paper and you have to guess who you are. I stumped him with himself..
Thursday: A day of shooting. The real highlights were in the evening. First, we went to Vyner street. It being the first Thursday of the month, all the galleries there seem to have their opening night. Not being in any way shape or form a part of the art world, I didn't know about this, but it really is a fantastic way to spend an evening, wandering from gallery to gallery, picking up the free drinks along the way. All the galleries I went into had something interesting, and all were well looking after spaces. There was a fair sized crowd loitering by the time we left to go to the Futurist Dining Society. This is on Cheshire Street, where all the shops are open late for their street Christmas party. The Futurist Dining Society is hosted by an architect who designs castles. The guest are all in similar positions of employment, as far as I can tell. The concept behind the society is to make the gourmet food of tomorrow, today. Every time there is a theme. The starter is snails in Go-Faster sauce. The sauce is fantastic, and the dish is well presented, but I can't help but think they should be a little saltier. The main course is something they have called carp carpaggio. It is raw carp and salmon served in some sort of oil and lemon juice; we are informed that carp was the first fish used in sushi. To me it tastes like how ponds smell; the salmon is a bit better. The desert is some sort of warmish savoury sorbet. But the drinks were free..
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