Tres Parisienne

It's a cold over-cast morning. It's not the kind of day that inspires you to do anything, as the sky is aching with rain and drear. It's a day to curl up in bed, pull the covers over your head and press your nose into someone's chest. My someone is sleeping on the other side of the river and it feels like such a vast expanse when everything is so grey. In the idyllic fields of my mind, I am in the little flat in France baking bread and cookies, drinking wine and closing the blinds as the sunlight pools on the warm wooden floor. There are hanging baskets with vines spilling over, consuming the balcony rails. I can't help it, I'm a hopeless romantic stuck in miserable England and my dreams are simple.

I was starting to wonder if the long string of overdoses has any correlation to the time of year. Everyone knows all the worst things happen in winter, and are worsened by memories of weather. I want to believe that all I need is a little sunshine to feel good about. But between you and me, I get more miserable in summer just to be contrary. I want to work with pastry. The weather is perfect - absolutely fucking freezing. Butter loves winter. Khloe loves butter.

You know what I really want for Christmas? Le Creuset pans. A heavy knife with a beautiful balance to it. A sharpening stone. Little tartine rings. And of course, some decent whiskey. Perhaps my favourite Spice Tree blend. I'm more expensive than I thought :) I know however, I will be inundated with bountiful free nothing. This reminds me, I should probably make some cards for the OH's mother and get her some wine. Gotta get her to love me enough to feel obliged to buy me something :D

Om Sarva Buddha Dakini Hri Mama Sakta Soha

I say, give them hell when you fall. Drop(lets),falling hard and fast and full of rage. A leaf, a page to turn.

I don't know why,

Stars are lonely rangers in the night sky.

They've been plaguing me for weeks, you know. I stopped talking a while ago because "letting it all out", as you so piously professed, didn't do a goddamn thing. And you know as well as I do I lied to them. You should hear what they say... really.

It's slipping out of my control, see. I thought I was in the driver seat. Now I'm just in for the ride as they coast me through azure plains, down, down, down into the basement. Swinging by the neck.

I think I'll be OK.

No. Maybe not.

You should see the way I taste - stormy bleached out wet spit.

Omnomnom reference.

http://smittenkitchen.com/2009/01/mushroom-bourguignon/

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/11/dinner-tonight-roasted-cauliflower-with-indian-spices-recipe.html

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/07/wild-mushroom-ragout-over-creamy-polenta-recipe.html

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/09/jerk-pork-recipe.html

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/09/provencal-olive-fougasse-recipe.html

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/03/the-nasty-bits-lamb-kidneys-fried-huo-bao-fuchsia-dunlop.html

Everything is Illuminated

http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2006/07/absinthe-cake/

http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2009/01/dave-ts-spinach-cake/

http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2005/08/long-live-the-k/

http://www.food.com/recipe/chocolate-orange-fudge-98783

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2011/02/cook-the-book-lemony-chicken-pot-pie-with-par.html

Crackling leaves?

This year I have found myself totally unaware that autumn was settling in on her amber horseback, gently trotting through apple orchards in my head. But today I woke up and smelled October, cold brisk air and warm sunlight twisted around fallen leaves. I woke up with a taste for icy park walks and baking tartines, putting cream and honey in my coffee and turning twigs into miniature sequin trees.

It's taking a long time to readjust to reality, in fact I do not think I'm doing so yet, but for the moment at least the thought is there. It's more than I can do to get up and dress myself most days. The bath could drown me and swallow me whole (and we all know the kitchen could burn down under my touch), so don't get me fucking started on life and how to do it gooder.

I think it's time to bake a tart. Tomates au riz.

Um

NO, you fucking retard. It's NOT about cheating on you and it SURE AS SHIT is not about elliot. But it's still funny as fuck XD

Fuck Fucketty Fuckery Fuck.

I'd love to tell you all now that I feel guilt. I should. I would. But baby when you stick it in me, I tell you how to get me off. Shit feels good. I feel fucking explosive, like a high borne atom thrust skyward with no hope of return. Chemicalise me and masturbate me, goddamn... everything is lucid and my heart is speeding. I wanna be a big bad cunt with lots of material and shit all to show for it.

I'm going to hurt you, mister man. I'm going to tear you apart because it gets me wet, throw you away and enjoy watching the result. Fucking hell. I LOVE being this psychotic.

But I hate waking up to the sound of screaming inside my skull at four AM.

Nah lav, fuck that shit.

I swore alot.

:)

Even though everything was silence and static, I could feel the world shaking in it's hollow sleep.

Perfect

So, we've reached another stale mate, huh...

Perfect body, perfect soul.

Purged by my element, I will... I will be ok.

Signal failure.

Renal failure.

Send for donors.


I stand, disgusted and miserable at the thing I have totally allowed myself to become and I cannot comprehend staying this way and living. Do or die. We'll see. Yeah. We will, you know how we are :)

Your lips would speak volumes if they weren't mine.

It's about to get real sick.

Sick.
Sick.
Sick.



Do not revive.


In stasis until further notice.

xxxxxxxxxx

Wide Eyed and the World

I confess, I grow quite jealous of you smothered and snoring as I sit over my first drink of the day. It was not even 5.30 when I woke up having dreamed of orange sorbets and lemon syrups, fastastical thirst-provoked dreams. You know how it is, blog. You understand my rhythm.

Something went wrong.

When did I start living off of take-aways, eating pork, downing cider and mixing my vodka with real coca cola?

I don't even like dairy. Why am I eating things I don't like?

I miss excercise.

I miss being able to spell..

Dischord, Salome, Severe Sickness

Her lips
Were doves that took light.
And hips, taut undulations
Kissing soft rotations, drew me
To her.
Sweet Salome,
What a vice.
She set
My nerves on ice in a whisper,
Until I crawled, lapped and begged her.
Just one night to bed her, show her
What a real man could do.
Sickly
Sweet Salome,
That venom bites.
It never understood my blood
But bodies intertwined
Were hers,
Not mine.
And never had I ever
Wished so hard
That on those bloody sheets,
She had laid to rest
This final deed.
Alas, my soul to Salome
Would never be.
I was left
To bleed.

Miseria

Between the people arguing, the car alarm, the drum and bass and my not-entirely-real chats, how the hell am I supposed to sleep..?

FYI ,LOVEYS, when a girl says she's hearing someone talking in her head and puts your hand over her ears, do the good thing and hug her. It doesn't make them go away but at least it dispells SOME of the paranoia. Especially if it's her boyfriend she hears whispering into her ear in the dark. Especially if it's bad things.

KAY

THANKS

BYE.

Mike *licks*

Mine is the wolf with eyes of jade,
Who covets his love of sun
In the shade of tree boughs
That breach the horizon.
He lies in the mud and howls for me.
A fool to beseech, still
He'd drown for me, and I would drown him too.
Naked, he lies in the mud
And howls, naked.
Stretching his back, it's broken, aching
He lies beaming in joy.
Mercy me, I drink his depravity.

Tomorrow

I'm dreaming of faster things, wilder and free-er than here. I'm waiting with tight breath for the last few hours to be the last few minutes, four days worth of hugging and nose pressing into shoulder to catch up on. Tomorrow I can breathe. I will dig my whole face into a pile of shirts and find my comfort - just the thought of it leads me to thinking about a warm ghost heartbeat in the phantom chest, pressed against me in memories. It's making me drool a little. The kitchen will be all mine again, and I can provide for my man, and he can cradle me.

The reality will be different. He will be lazy and high, and I will be fed up and demanding and bored. Nothing will be like fairy-tale dream Khloe wishes. Right now I'd settle for a cuddle and a movie.

Why does four days even seem so long? I can do overnight, but after a few days I turn into mopey pathetic nothing-is-good person who needs her bed and her space and her lack of space all back at once.

When I get home, I'm putting on my jammies and a clean shirt, picking some movies to watch when Mike comes back from work, taking curry out to defrost, and then... rolling up in the duvet and waiting, maybe on Xbox.

Empathy With The Axe Murderers.

I get it.

I hate the way you smack and smear mayonaisse on everything. EVERYTHING.
I hate that you season ALL my cooking before you even taste it, but never your own. Which is less salty.
I hate the sound of you eating. You slurp and munch with lips and teeth and tongue and mixed with air.
I hate your voice. I hate that crackled rasping, that crone moaning. You're so fucking irritating. I could punch your fucking bitch mouth in 'til it bleeds. I'd laugh.
I hate your lack of understanding. This is different. You're not even TRYING.
I hate the rest of them too, so don't patrol me about like I give a shit about any of those fucking cunts. They're not MY family.
Pretty sure petrol is better than blood.
I swear to gods I could rip you all the fuck apart.
No one would even suspect a thing.

Fucking Tits

Sometimes, I realise how much I talk about myself. It gets distracting, but hey, this is MY blog and I can talk about ME all I want.

Anyway.

I feel sick to my stomach today with some kind of writhing shame or guilt, disgust maybe.

Who needs almost 100 fucking porn links anyway...?


Am I that bad?











Yeah.









I am.

Alybat, Come Home Now (it'sgettingdark)

Cut cut cut yourself up, tear it into little wet pieces and spill it to the sky. The world is your oyster, so don't you forget to swallow. There's no time for teeth or punctuated silence. Just get out there and show them they're boss. Sometimes my head lets me think I'm living alone, before everyone rushes back in my head and makes frothy music and starts putting out cigarette butts in my skull. I feel more out of control then, on the cusp of independance. I eat maybe half a loaf of bread. Pasta sandwiches. A stick of butter.
Then it becomes safe again, as Alyson presses her cold red lips around my neck and whispers little petal-kissed dreams to me. She remembers and forgets, caressing my sadness with her power, reflecting control onto me. Then I don't have to think about reality, just hair dye and boys, what jewellery to wear and what perfume to change me. She coasts me through on a leathery feather boa wave. She prickles me with glitter.
Then the world bends to me.

Fucking Hell

No sooner does my puppy come home than I should start to miss those clippets of solitude. He's sick, no doubt a response to the drug's effect, and I am here to look after him and tell him to move out at the same time. I'm looking towards finding somewhere by September, assuming that all goes to plan. It won't, but who cares..?

I spent a few hours getting everyone fed this evening, and of course he'd fallen asleep. Yeah, he needs to rest. I'm not pissed off about working over the stove in the sun. Ugh.


Anywho.. at least the tension has disspiated for a while. I can sleep again. I can eat. It's all good.

All wine and no play makes Khloe a bitch fucker.

Ungh

I finally fell asleep around 2 A.M.

I woke up at :
2.33
3.46
5.27
7.00
And then I gave up. I can't eat, I can't sleep and my mouth tastes of guilt. I'd love it if there was something else to fill my head with other than - 'What the hell have I done?'. But there isn't.
The house smells of cigarettes and sunshine.
I left open facebook and msn, but the checking has become obsessive. I don't know how to fix this mess.

The seconds feel like hours

I wish I knew what I had said that hurt Mike so much. What vile twisted headfuck thing did I come out with after all that vodka...? :(

He's only been gone one night and I just keep crying, some part of me thinks he might be gone forever this time.
Please don't. Please don't leave me.
What if I have another nightmare? Where will my puppy be?
How am I supposed to sleep?
Who's hands are going to touch you while mine go cold?
Why the fuck does this hurt so much?
I feel so awful. What did I do to you, baby?
>_> STOP CRYING WOMAN. Ok.. no, it's not gettnig better. Worse. Worse. Worse.
How can I hurt so badly the only thing I love... How dare I.

Itty Bitty Footnotes

So, I'm writing this in tiny text.

Right now, the internalised converations (i.e that which is within my head) have become external. I hate how I keep tracking my progress as if I could psychoanalyse myself, and in any lesser extent prescribe and demand.
This morning, I had the worst nightmare I have had since I was 15.
I was fighting men at the foot of my stairs, the lights were on upstairs but it was dark in the basement. The first round of guys were easy. The second too.
The third were asian and had big red BMXs, they tried to break open my skull with the frame and one caught me half way down the stairs and strangled me with the bike chain. I fought them off with the other BMX when they did that and they spilled down into a pile by the wardrobe.
Then came number 4. Time for WAVE FOUR. He was fat, squat and lank, sick with the stench of malificence. We fought CQC for a while, but I knew he was toying with me. I was his game. He was my nemesis. We drank in the predictability of our thoughts and letters andhe tore me apart, ripping out threads of hair. Then, he tipped me upside down and dug his nails into my ass, growling "You little fucking slut, still loose from last time eh?", before shoving himself inside me.


I woke up. I wanted to scream, and I did. More than that, I wanted to cry, but it didn't hurt where it should. In my nightmare, I felt every rip, tear and forcible entry into every orifice. When I woke up, I was almost numb. That was worse than the physical pain.

I don't want to wake up to the feeling of anal rape any more.

KTHXBAI

The Simple State

I tell you what. I'm getting personal.


Christian, Ra - Stay the hell out of my life, stay away from my house, away from my boyfriend and away from me.

Mike - Stay away from the afore mentioned, or you will be forcibly removed from my house.


Does no one understand that every time K is brought back into my life through stories and wasted friends, slippery accomplishments and perverted dusts, I have to relive it all.
I hate remembering that for a long few months I was off my tits on K trying not to remember how painful the situation was. That something sick had been done to me by someone who would walk free and could any day find me. Still could. And all anyone seems to do is rub it back in my face, oblivious.


So if you're close to me, stay the fuck away from K.

If you're on K, my dears, you're dead to me.

Keep Off The Roads

It's all the same, it's still fucked up.

Where have I been for the last two weeks? Well, drink your way to the bottom of a few litres of vodka and you too shall be illuminated. It's gotten to the stage (and taken a bow before curtain call) where sobriety is a non issue. If I'm not wasted, I'm not awake... And I don't have to worry about that much either. One thing that's really been affected is my energy, which is only the most obvious thing I could point and whine about. I miss kickboxing :( Who knows how hard it'll be to get into shape after this last binge.

Another morning where I wanted to stay in bed and snuggle with my nose pushed between mike's shoulder blades and overlapping thighs, wandering hands on soft, biteable hips. I don't know what it is that makes the warmth so irresistable, but I tell you, it's worth paying an extra £1.30 a day to come home for lunch and crawl back to bed. A whole hour of bliss is so worth that.

There's a new love in my life. It's got the inch on my old one. In fact, it's got about nine inches :D


T.V <3


Other than these blurry-eyed mumblings, everything's been so boringly average. I'm still a moody cunt with more moodswings than schizophrenic playground. Urgh. I'm so.. sleepy..

I need to move out. I need my own space. In space. I don't care where I live, just get me away from Jan because I'm five years overdue to be flying this nest. Also, part of me (probably the same part that wants to kick crying children in the face) wants her to see if being alone in this flat is really what she wants. After so much complaining, it would be nice to see her get fat and lazy and cease to exsist without me, her perfect child prodigy super ego bitch.


See? Wasn't that nasty? I can be mean too.

Living is Easy Cause You Breathe Life Into Me.

Macarons, I shall conquer. And devour.

Anyway, I'm all psyked up for summer, which should be fucking awesome. Odd that I should be working so close to The Good Doctor. I might have to drop in for a coffee and a little chat. Oh ok, I know I'm being terribly cruel but you can't turn away from these big Bambi eyes.

The summer just leapt in head first, didn't it? One day we're in shivering spring showers, the next day Summer had bared her warm bosoms like the syrup-sun she is. So now, we can laze with drinks, float along the rest of college and everything will be ok. She told me so herself.

And a side note to my beloved- I'm sorry! I'll have to Selotape my arms and legs together before bed. :( I can't believe you missed work and it was all my fault.

Unnnngh

Sometimes it gets dark.

Last night in the darkness they were shouting again. So much of it was jumbled confusion, but a few phrases I deciphered - Who are you? Sit down and shut up. Answer me.
It was loud, bad and fucking angry and all I could do was tug at Mike's shirt and hug closely to him until they stopped. I couldn't even speak. I thought I was done with this shit.

Work experience is long and nerve-twisting. I can't sleep and wake around 5AM in panic, who knows why.

Wow. I guess I'm more messed up than I thought I was at the moment. No wonder I've been having severe mood swings. Things seem clearer when they are written... odd, huh...

Dear Household - You Suck

Tonight I made fried polenta, warm garlic mushroom salad with lemon dressing, confit onions and chicken and some guac. No one wants it.

Urgh. Only the thought of a bunny sipping tea will make me feel better.

I just don't have the motivation to post at the moment. Everything feels efforted. I feel bland and flat. It's usual.

It's auditory.

It's all in my head.

Shut up.

I'm pretty sure that I'm stopping eating in favour of suicidal past-times, such as heavy drinking, heavy smoking and purposeful walking into oncoming traffic.

Good times. Just don't tell the vicar

You Can Lose Your Mind (Just Hold On To Mine)

A pretty uneventful week or two, hence a slow trickling of random updates and little coherence. I'm feeling very fluid, so let's roll.
I've started my Thai boxing lessons and they're pretty hard work but with time and effort I'll be ready to kick the shit out of y'all ^_^. I should probably work out y'know.. I need someone to yell at me or I won't do it.

Hey, Post 100.

http://www.ireallylikefood.com/709202547/50-foods-to-eat-before-you-die/


Yeah. I think I win here :D

To The Man On The Tube

Your face was amazing. Unlike the woman across from you with the chiffon scarf and milk-mild eyes, a bland gaze into the universe beyond the wall, you were fascinating. The excitement I noticed had first arisen when I realised that I didn't know what was going to happen. The twists and crags in your shadowy skin were unpredictable - as the lights flickered your face shifted dimensions. Flat became bulbous, scars became crow's feet, your smile snarled. No one dared make eye contact with you. But I could not stop staring.

Jesua

Just because it's V-Day, doesn't mean y'all need to get your pants caught way up in your ass. Being single on this multi-media bullshite day does not warrant bitchy whiney melodramatic behaviour...........

Ugh.

Let's just have a quicky..

Kay?

Just thinkin'

First up - dinner is lamb koftas with raita, warm lentil and bean salad and red pepper compote, served with a side salad and warmed flatbreads. Don't be so jealous X_x (I can make it vegan if you want to come over)

Now that I know what I'm eating, my head is clear for thinking about reality. I ever flail around in life, screwing up where possible. Even now, on a course I enjoy and turning thoughts towards grown-up things like a job, a flat and another diet, I am plagued by my own pedantic sickness. Sometimes I know that the price of clarity is too great, that I cannot bear the burden of my own sins and the world's virtues. It's all too much and I think I might snap. Now, instead of cracks blossoming over my skin as tribal scars, they bleed behind my eyes. The fruition of my anti-labours is my own loathing. I hate this life, I hate myself, I hate food and drink and dance and sleep. I hate this self-centred ego screaming "I!I!I!I!I!" yes, me, I'm snapping.
Don't cry, little Alice, it's only a garden.
This existance is a very lonely one. I do so miss myself.
In other news, relationshipwise everything is O.K and not K.O, which is... good. The usual stresses and strains that make a couple love (to strangle) one another are present and persistant. We fight, we bitch, we cry, we sulk, we ignore eachother and eventually we fuck. Such is life. I'm still dizzy and druglessly in love. Does it cloud my judgement? Of course. Does that make me weaker or stronger? Who knows? Who cares?

Vanity, you broke my heart while I was still young. I ever dreamed of eighteen years and legs that ran into the sky, and of cigarettes and bubblegum hair. Something let me believe with infantile purity that I would become all that I admired which was, I suppose, the Twiggy that is now all I see around me as the horizon is blocked by protruding gut and extreme laziness.

British. Not English.

I am inherantly British, both in my customs and cooking. Although I may make many a bowl of communal curry and flatbreads, sit around back garden fires chanting, and probably won't greet you with a 'How do you do?', there's nothing a cup of tea and a chip butty can't fix.
Which is odd. I'd much rather have been raised en France with an ocean of vineyards and fresh baguette and chouquette, Roquefort and Boursin. Ah well, life is a romantic dream of the unobtainable. Perhaps I will indulge the epicure within one day.
Though quite tempted to go with another meat fuelled breakfast based around bacon *slather drool* and leftover meatballs (which were so good even Mike at them in their pool of tomato sauce :P), I opted for a modest cup of tea and a plate of fruits. Fruit? For breakfast? WTF! I'm chaaaaanging.

Movies that if you haven't watched, you should..

Mysterious Skin

L.I.E

Wristcutters: A Love Story

Boy A

Between The Folds

Yes, Virgin.

I'm thinking about fucking. Rough sex, fast sex that leaves you glistening with sweat, flushed with anger. Fucking. Hard and dirty and beastial, violent and twisted. Constantly craving what never sates, a drug of obscene proportion lying unseen in my fingertips and lips. I'm anticipating tearing, claws that maul and cradle as the gyroscope dizzies and I fall. Exhaustion.

Skin. Skin skin soft skin warm skin. My skin. Your skin. Flesh. And fucking. Flesh and fucking, skin on skin, teeth on lips on necks and skin.

Sex and violence.

Flesh and fucking.

Skin on skin.