a gentle, epiphany

my love, i have made a discovery,
while i was sleeping, it was,
it was a gentle, epiphany, while i was
stuck in a dream.
i can remember you, softly, your soft eyes, your prickles,
your soft wrist, your hard lips, cracked, beautiful.
and when i opened my eyes, there was a swan,
and when i opened the swan, there was a crow,
and when i opened the crow, there was a river,
and when i opened the river, there was a pebble, still.
and when i opened the pebble, there was i, and when i opened i,
there was you.
I found inside of i, inside of a pebble, inside of a river, inside of a crow,
inside of a swan, a you.
it's sad because when i opened the you, i didn't find a me.
i found the swan again.

mother of pearl 2

my life is very much like a river. i'm like the rocks, i think; the pebbles. i'm just resting on the river bed, maybe i wriggle abit with the tide, or if a crab comes under me, but i'm pretty much stationery and the water just swooshes on past. the water is life and i'm the pebbles; i just sit in the middle of life and let it all swoosh past. it's sad sometimes.

i can remember myself as a young girl, i used to long for the day when i was grown and could rent my own porn from the video shop. it was a reason to live back then. i should add it to my current (frugal) list of reasons to live, being that i still haven't rented my own porn from the video shop. only 'rude' arthouse films.

mother of pearl 2.

resignation

i have been writing my letter of resignation to peeping tom; it's a putrid activity. my ear is sore, it might be blood coming out, but since i can't see round there, i can't say for sure. it's reminding me of ivor cutler, and he's reminding me of the boy down the street (who likes politics) (who i used to love).

when i ate the pawpaw earlier, and i was scraping out the seeds, i thought they were like little sperm. or massive ball-shaped sperm. they were really pleasant inside my mouth.

to be sure, i won't give tom the resignation. but to be sure, drafting a resignation is as good as resigning.

resigning from romance. it's putrid. i'd rather sieve my own vomit.

i figure tom just likes to fall in love with my ghost. he talks to my ghost. he told me. he talks to my ghost and he doesn't talk to me. he seems to think we can live off of the idea of eachother. he's an idiot.

i had breakfast with my lesbian aunt and she said she's mourning the loss of the penis. i told her she could have a penis too. she said she might give boys another try.

mother of pearl.

the criminal

i think tom's going to africa. i think he says it to hurt me. he might be ashamed of himself if he had any real emotive capabilities except greed/sloth/lust. my love is something i cannot easily contain. it was anais who said it. but it is true. i wrote all of this on a grid, wanting to make of the grid a jail and put tom in there to repent.

to make of love a euphemism. it makes of you a pet. my pet. you can do anything you want. including crimes. it strikes me that your self worth might depend on the annihilation of others.

do you see how vulnerable i am? do you see how careful you must be tom?

your neglect makes me write cruel things. i hate you for that.

on another note, as soon as i get the sand between my buttocks i'll be home, it'll be like reincarnation.

crane orgy

while i am gone, i suspect that the cranes are making love on the kitchen bench. they're all in a deep bowl, a deep bowl of crane orgy, but i don't know how they manage, insofar as they are all made from paper, and all sexless.

bless'd beads (courtesy peeping tom)

the upholsterer's pin was rather a premonition, alarmingly, though it wasn't me. peeping tom is vulnerable now, and so am i. it's quite delicious/terrifying.

i used to have this friend name of norman. he was a real old fellow and when he felt his time was coming he all of a sudden needed piano lessons, so i gave them him. we put some postits on the keys but often he was too frail to play. and in the end he died, but he was playing hands together by then, bless him. when i tell this to peeping tom he cries and i suck the beads off of his cheeks. i could suck peeping tom's beads all day.

i sincerely hope he isn't plotting my assassination. there's always that fear isn't there.

the fucker (i love)

damn. bold? damn. today i have broken all of the rules; threw tantrum, ate choc-coated maccas, did no homework, said too many apologies.

in my mind i am stronger than this. peeping tom didn't notice how sound a sibling i was. all he did was eat two-minute noodles in front of the anime. i just want the opportunity to say 'flick off' to peeping tom, 'flick off, you fucker'.

if i had an upholsterer's pin i'd pierce his forskin.

despite all his redundancy i actually love him.

the trouble is that there's a black hole in my heart. it's full of tar or caffeine or squid ink or pen ink or black sauce. it's essentially toxic, the hole. it's right where my gearbox is. i wish peeping tom was mechanic, while he fixes my black hole/mental illness, i'd pinch his screwdrivers, the fucker. or i'd pinch his toosh.