a.funnytimeofyear.com

It’s been typed letters all round as of late! Beautiful things, typewriters..

I had the pleasure of seeing this the other day (not for the faint hearted. Don’t ask why I always photograph such things!)

All I want to do today is lay in bed with you…

• Thinking about deferring my third year. That is if I don’t fail this one, which is looking like how it may finish right now…
• Got an interview tomorrow to work in a bar. Am frighteningly nervous.
• Much shouting today. Much crying. Great makeup sex, .. indecisions.
• Cravings. Satiated.

So I got another bunch of flowers from B. Boy which are obviously synonymous with guilt. I don’t know whose advice to take anymore, all I am doing is following my heart and if that hurts me so greatly, I may just lose faith in that. All I see solace in right now is the bottle of wine that’s helping me write the worst essay of my entire academic career.

I think that in these thoughts I have created a partition between reality and fantasy. A thin membrane that separates truth from the desired, what I have and what I need.

His eyes are low, pointing at the unclean carpet. Waves of silence wash over us, painful as we crash under their weight, slammed with such force into a bed of disquiet. It continues without time, a sense of emtpiness and failure between us. Just go, I say, if you’re not going to talk then just leave. And the silence grows louder, the blood throbbing in my ears. Beth Orton’s “Sweetest Decline” begins and I lean back into the open window, cold air rapidly rushing along my shoulders, my prickly spine. I tilt my head back into the wind, the cool air sucking into my lungs as my eyes close and memories beat under my eyelids, a dove that flutters in pink. I lose myself everytime in what it is and what it was. I lose myself in these memories of us. But our memories are negotiated with time, the need to forget and deny truth. Memories of us that serve to rationalise, to maintain power over fiction and truth. These memories are disbelief… in reality… but which would you rather believe?

The sea, its shimmering surface is an anchor to for my soul and every moment that passes through me. On my birthday I stood on a stump rooted into the sand, the water washing around its base. Watching the sun refract off of the murky waters. I let the water splash up over my shoes. I have never experienced such a sense of peace as when I am staring into this ocean. I watch her grow in the night, with you staring up at the moon. Your feet on the tough stones beneath, your body a silhouette against the beautiful darkness that was the sky that night. I watch you walk down to the water’s edge, a bare shape of blackness that moves fluid against the night air. Cold and restless we fade into each other, the water a soundtrack to our movements, our indefinite existence.

These memories are disbelief… in reality.. but which would you rather believe?

• Flowers are guilt gifts.
• Must stop drinking to the point where I can’t remember my own name.
• Must actually do some uni work and attend some classes for once.
• Must get happy!

I love living with beautiful people. Thank you.

Just been thinking about my dad for a while tonight & this image reminds me of him..