Oh my little Bloggers

I'm sorry, Bloggernauts! I have neglected you so much these past few months. Let's prepare for a new year by spending all our money, gorging on meat and inebriating liqours, mercilessly crying out as one on this our most pagan of holidays. Thankyou Jesus for this opportunity to piss in your cradle all in your honour. We're so glad you were born in winter, it makes the whiskey taste better.

I think a few hot toddys and plenty of those slightly dry spiced cakes (that always fill up the Food and Wine stores with their scent) and we'll be ok. I know I am. Breakfast started with curry and ended with whiskey and pastries. Yum. Butter loved winter and birthed whatever I am eating, so lightly bound is the pastry I wonder if the chef put any flour in his dough... sure does taste good though.

I want to know what everyone gets for Christmas, I'll be expecting a chain phone-call party in the morning!

I had to consult Wikipedia to remind myself what date Christmas actually is..

I'd like to live before I die

So let me abuse you. You're weak and repulsive, your fear is pungent and you know no bounds. You can't hear the echo of sounds in your static sepulchre, you're vulgar. Even unclean you stay pristine in me, your memories weep, cleanliness seeps. And I'm sick of the white noise. I'm sick of the high tide. Stick the the shoreline before the ocean becomes a rhythm that rhymes and our rhymes collide, sending the butterflies flying to skies we can't reach in time.
We're fated. We're fucked up and jaded. We need more coke.
We've lost all hope.

Sometimes, things unglue themselves without our help..

I know you've all been waiting with bated (or is that baited) breath to hear about the piss-dribble that is my latest update. Glass of wine in hand, I will attempt to decant the weeks gone by slowly so as not to startle small animals.
Hmm. Well now, there was the pedestal sub. A nice enough Dr.Moore with obviously more money than sense and the lingering signs of a healthy junk habit from years past. Of course this needs to be delicately handled - I have an immense duty to my boyfriend's emotions (and not many women will actually say that) and to my own as well. How many thirty somethings befriend pubescant girls with the pretext of a totally platonic friendship? I'm dubious, but I'd like some free shoes so if anyone wants to come with me? I don't much feel like dealing with any more crazies tbh. I'm sure like every other man that has a will weak enough to be crushed by my mind games, he's going to become totally infactuated and end up collecting my hair and used tissues. On the other hand, I could definately batter him in a fight. I might be ok :D and I could always bring a can of mace!

With autumn swept swiftly under a carpet of ever-deadening leaves, rain pours in something unmerciful. The temperature has not just dropped, it's bleedin' disappeared down a mineshaft. That said, I never remember to turn on the heating... Anywho...
Tis the season to be baking. I'm going to be visiting with brownies and cupcakes and cookies! Maybe soup making... embroidery... book writing... Gentle winter projects? Card-making?

I hope that I'm allowed to make Christmas dinner...

Mmhmm.

Nnnngh

Frustrated, deprived
She sits. Waits. Doing nothing depraved.
Thinking about fucking
Nothing.

Sombre

It has just been one of those mornings. I woke up at nine leaving no time for a shower, ate breakfast and consequently felt sick all morning and managed to have a marital spat all before I'd wiped last night's make up off. At college somebody turned the stove up to insanity-face-peeling 6 and so both my lasagne sauces burned whilst I was washing up said wanker's pans... probably. I enlisted three people to fix that damn bechamel, burned though it was it was saved (just). Chef G told me I'd have level one done by Christmas, ready to start level two in January. I'm really quite pleased and it showed all morning in my deep-south mugshot grin. I also broke the tap off my sink which then coughed up water until it was reattached. Whew.
Why is everything happening on Thursday? Pedestal, parent's evening, whatever Mike is doing. It's shaping up to be a busy day. I think I'll pre-plan some things, maybe go shopping.. Urgh, I should have done that today... too tired and irritable now.

Working on it

Part 1

It wasn't a feat,
But a sad, sad fleet.
Rode into the night-foam,
Slow and drear.
And she was watching through
Her pane, clutching neat
Folds in his shirt, all wrapped around
The hot water bottle's heat.
Almost half-wishing
It had a heart beat.


Part 2

Lost was the rhythm that she revived.
Who knew why
The iron lay out by the side
And rot had crept in where sleeping dogs die.
The family table grew sinewy, weak
With the echo of untouched dishes.


Part 3

It wasn't supposed
To appear like hope,
The shimmering ray torn out
As the boats
Set sail, she lay glittered
Unspangled, blander alone
As the ocean lapped shore, she wondered...
What was left of the coast?
Gentle memories
Of his ghost.

Pains, Propositions and Pizza (or lack thereof)

First - the pains. As I switch my hot water bottle from lower back to lower tummy, it's pretty obvious what kind of pain :P Thank gods for a man who works in mysterious ways by which I am left medication, it's form smokeable and mild. But enough. No details, thankyou.

Propositions take on a different shape which is perhaps more virtuous. Once again the seasons have shifted underneath our feet and the cool weather is ravaging my appetite. My stomach waxes lyrical for chips, roasts and anything slathered in warm, rich goodness. But I have a cunning plan up my sleeves for keeping off winter pounds and it's simpler than an eight step plan, infinitely easier to stick to as well. It is still a diet of sorts, and I guess I will have to write down what I eat to keep in check.
Roast meats are being replaced with roast vegetables and tofu. It sounds boring? Not on your life. Seasonal herbs, light gravies and a careful approach to starches like pasta, bread, rice and potatoes sounds almost enticing.
Curry! It might sound like a cop-out but chilli heat is a fantastic way to replace a craving for fried foods, replacing the heat of fat with a body-tingling warmth that will let me forget I was even thinking about throwing some chips on to cook.
Bread is taking a backstep as well. In place of toast- crackers. In place of sandwich bread- a little rice. Tortilla wrap? Lettuce wrap! Yeah that last one sounds like a health step too far, but screw you, it's damn tasty and usually more refreshing.
Soup, duh. Soup is a super healthy fast food and everyone likes curling up around a big bowl of hot soup. Duvet? Check. Crappy reruns of old movies? Check. Soup and bread roll? Ah, just this once. Yum. Now I want soup :(


Hot food is cold weather's lover. So don't think that diets mean salads, and be sure I won't be out jogging over frost-baked fields or cutting back on the booze (at least until after January), but maybe I can forego living in my sweat pants this year if I work hard to eat everything healthy AND delicious in sight.

This brings me to pizza, which I am making tomorrow and which will be a bitch not to scoff back in seconds.

Huh.

I hate that you hide things from me. You make me feel untrustworthy, like I am not worthy to be with you. You make me feel ashamed of myself. You make me feel like a user. A liar.

Fuck it. I've spoken about this enough times.

BRING ON THE CHAOS.

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And a Pocket Pig.
And an ounce.
And a tequila.



Birthday.

Life would be easier if I couldn't cook

I made mayonaisse today. It was easy. ^_~ .

Bread bread bread with every meal O_O. Toast is such a quick breakfast.
Lunch was also a stack of toast drenched in guilty pleasures like bacon, tomatoes and potatoes dressed in a white vinegraitte, followed by a sneaky little piece of cake. Late lunch was a fried curry rissole *sigh* and so for dinner I ate a bag of salad. Yes, a whole bag. But.. more vinagraitte... :( It's been a pig-out kind of day. I quite think a cup of something digestive to shuffle this meat through would be good -_-
I'm pretty sure around three A.M. I'll go eat more salad, more oil, more balsamic, more salt. MOAR BREAD O_O_O_O

The rissoles are in the freezer, unbreadcrumbed. I don't think I'll bother, it will be nice to bake them and enjoy their half meat-to-veg ratio, mildly curried flavour and internal breadcrumb stretching agent :P Perhaps with some pilau rice and greens, no?
Tonight's dinner was (can you guess I used up some mince?) meatballs is a spicy tomato/lamb stock sauce. Yet to get the OH's opinion, but maybe if I hide the tomato flavours a bit more tactfully.... bah. Meat is meat. Rice is rice. And there's plenty of both, k?

Honey Mustard Buns.

4 tsp caster sugar
150g/5½oz plain flour
½ tsp sea salt flakes
1 x 7g/¼oz sachet easy-blend dried yeast
3 large free-range eggs, lightly beaten
75g/2¾oz butter, slightly softened, cut into cubes, plus extra for greasing

That is V. Warner's recipe for his yeast buns. *giggle*. I plan to incorperate a little english mustard into a honey soak-up saucey thing, and put some black mustard seeds into the batter.
Nom. Nom.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/database/orangeyhoneybuns_91684.shtml

Balanced Diet

Just a snippet of my seriously lacking diet. This is more of a reflection for myself for next summer when I WILL BE BASTING MYSELF IN VEGETABLE MATTER AND FRUIT COULIS.

I'm also blaming a throat infection for my poor diet.

In the last week I have eaten -

A large pack of Pickled Onion Monster Munch.
About two litres of spirit.
A loaf of bread.
Fried rice.
A block of tofu.
Six litres of coke.
Seven tablespoons of Marmite.
Seven tablespoons of Pure spread.
A gherkin smothered in Salad Cream and Ketchup.
Some instant noodles.
Curried chicken and beef. More fried rice.


Oh, and one salad.

Kay.. House Rules.

I know this is super grouch. But I feel like being pro active, so here are the house rules.

-The only places to pee are the bathroom and the back garden. You can pee in the bath if that kind of situation arises. Drunk/drugged mass bathroom trips are rare but as long as everything is kept cleaned it's kosher.
-No flushing the toilet after people have gone to sleep. 2.30/3AM we just leave it unless you have to take a shit ^_~
-No stealing from this house. My closest friends have done this as well as strangers. I tallied up the costs with Jan recently - we're talking almost a THOUSAND pounds worth of things in the past few years. I do not want to have to keep everything locked up. Ask, and I will lend/burn a copy/suggest a library/shop.
-The kitchen is off-limits unless you want a drink of any kind or 1/2 slices of toast. With permission, you are welcome to make a meal or finish leftovers. We do not deny food to anyone who visits.
-I will usually cook. If you choose to eat you take your own damn plates up to the dishwasher, scrape them into the bin and leave them by the sink.
-We do not deny shelter to anyone who needs it. You may always find a place to sleep here. However this rule of the house is often abused, and this house also belongs to someone who works and needs their own space too.
-You may turn up unannounced at conveniant times or in emergencies. Emergencies include A&E's, deaths, extreme inebriation, missing persons, births, malnourishment and homelessness.
-My bedroom is like a tiny studio apartment for Mike and myself. Treat it with respect even if it is a mess. Just because ashtrays are tipped over and laundry is everywhere it doesn't give you the right to fuck it up more.
-I will happily allow people to shower and do laundry here.

Nimble Mumble

Crap jesus do I ever have a hango'er. I'm tired and I have drugs I still haven't even taken. What with the house being completely void of life, save for myself and a few pets smearing themselves into couches, I have turned all the lights on and put some Tori Amos in the CD player. I've also put on some clothes to go out in, but the chances of me being anything but a grizzly bitch... well. There's something comforting about the sound of a regular favourite CD being played through the CD player and not the amazing computer speakers with bass unit. I like the scratches in the disc. I like the tinny echoing. When I am left alone I feel better, but I cannot stand being lonely and this house is big and dark. Night is descended. And in my body I can feel that we are definately in for an early arrival of autmn, despite the pleasant weather. Still, it just makes the start of a new year in Samhain even more highly anticipated.
Gods I feel sick.
Sometimes everything feels shit. Today is not one of those days. I have been invited to two parties and to visit friends. Unfortunately I absolutely wiped out by drinking copious amounts of inebriating beverages. -_- What I need most in the world right now is a big bowl of autumn soup, a curl up on the couch with a duvet and a cuddle, some pile of classic cult DVDs and perhaps a few joints. I'll make Sunday that day. All I need to do today reeaaally is go to the shops for a few items of nom nom so I can make nice lunches :)
So the plan for Sunday is to buy some plain black work shoes that are pretty ^_^, ensure there's something nice for when Jan gets back (i.e. no food plastered to walls), try and pick up a little dro, go over to Arseniy's house to cook some dinner, come home and curl up on the couch with movies. Maybe I can convince Mike to play along. He already committed to coming shopping with me. HAH. SHOES!
Now, I think it is as good a time as ever to make a shopping list.

Don't. Mine.

These are my walls. Let me remember
What colour they were when I was four.
I can recall the bathroom in yellow and blue, purple
(Which is apparent still under silky white)
And maybe pink
Or was that my room? I know it was also these colours. Then there was
The Care Bears. I loved them so much
For a month or so. They were drawn by hand
Painstakingly painted in a thousand colours.
Their eyes were terrifying.
And it has taken me seventeen years to notice the way the bathroom wall is.
It juts out above the door. I can't remember why.
The living room has always been whites. Blue-white and cream-white
Are still fucking white.
There was the red bit. It was supposed to be raspberry
But it was crimson. Red. Didn't look good, nor bad.
But it always returns to whites.
And once in that place there was a fire, I guess a long time before we were there.
But I do recall an electric fire. We used to sit by it (but not too close!)
And sip cocoa. I dipped cheese on toast into mine.
I still like the way it tasted.

Reviewing my navel. Or is that naval?

I apologise in advance as I have forgotten the name of the restaurant and will have to cross-reference my notes with Mother's infallible memory.

The gastropub. A word that now holds more pretense than haute-cuisine in central London, and if you're anyone worth batting an arsehole for you will have been into at least one. The entrance here was unpretentious, just a door that blended seamlessly into the wall save for a small 'open' sign and a handle. The noise was what you would expect from a pub come early evening and it was nice to see that we had been seated down the quieter end, although music playing over the top of businessmen's roars made it impossible to hear people at the end of the table. Still, no problems as of yet.
Lighting was dim and got dimmer as table service lit candles although next time I would make a point of -not- reaching infront of a guest's face as they are talking to light said candles. However, the atmosphere felt relaxed and was maintained throughout the evening. We placed our orders, recieved our drinks and were swiftly given clean cutlery, condiments and jugs of water. The food arrived shortly afterwards. And I started to regret having such a large appetite.
Portion size was not the problem here. My steak was massive, marbled with fat and topped with parsely butter, cooked to a perfect rare. It was also incredibly tough to eat, given that I wasn't provided with a steak knife. I ended up hacking away at it with a butter knife which in turn damaged the texture of the meat, causing long pauses of serious mastication. It was in no way 'melt-in-the-mouth' yet was very well seasoned and leaked delicious steaky juices. The chips were nasty. They were floppy chunks of pre-frozen potato, season with... something. When this something met the parsely butter my mouth twinged - placing the steak over the chips definately didn't improve their constitution. I ate one and no more. The salad that came with the meal was large and contained a nice mix of lettuces which I loved, but should have been served in a separate bowl as the chip/steak pile was ontop of most of the greens. The red wine that was suggested by our waiter was actually very nice and was served at room temperature. Props to the man waiting our table for that.
Another guest in our party ordered their fig tart with a side of chips and aioli. The aioli was perfectly balanced, but tasted commercial. Ah well, can't win 'em all. The fig tart had a filo base, from what I remember, and arrived a dark brown. Uh oh. Burned filo. I didn't taste it, but apparently this was otherwise very nice. Still, for a gastropub in King's Cross you have to realise people have certain expectations about the quality of your food... I had no problem catching someone when we came to pay the bill which came in at around £20 a head, a fairly unremarkable price.
Two and a half floppy frozen chip chunks out of five.

Respect is Earned

You have my respect.

Because you can say that my ass does look fat in those jeans.
Because you can get past that annoying level with that annoying boss with ease.
Because you can look me in the eye.
Because you put me first.
Because you empathise with me.
Because you are the most patient person I know.
Because you are not ashamed to show your bashfulness.
Because your honesty bites.
Because you hardly say thanks for a meal, but your eyes occasionaly spark with joy from it which is more than any amount of words could manage.
Because you always forget not to call me 'Babe'. (Like the pig.) And because I don't really mind at all :P





Tantta



Yours is the room I run to when I break down, the clothes I smell and cling to to remember who I am
And the food I eat when I feel homesick.
You are the person I need to not need.
You are the bane of my existance and all of my current knowledge.
You are all the spelling mistakes I notice, the shirts I borrow when I want to look grown-up
But not my first pair of high heels.
In autumn we sit and recall fond memories, (usually over a glass of wine and something roasted)
And we have watched the seasons changing.
In you I see my own failings, in a sort of perverse way I guess.. I suppose.. I theorise.
Every time I could have, I refused. Now you can be smug.
You are my hatred, infectious bitch.
You spawned this person, you made me
Me.
But you are still stuck mimmicking your own voice in my head,
You are still wiping my nose
And checking my fever.
I bow to you.

Summertime - and they say living's easy,
But I find it too sleazy
With the coal man watching from his bedroom window.
Summertime is a beautiful day in July,
How the world seems to float with it's alibies - I can lie,
But it's still dirty watching through the window.

If I had a white dress I could be a princess
Put her in a tower, smother her in love.
But I'm just a waitress waiting for a paycheck.
Cutting up the flowers. Cutting up the flowers.

Rustic

There's something about a bitter, black brew with a dribble of milk and some chewy, dense heavily-crusted bread that screams autumn at me. I think it stems from late nights in strange country houses and early bitter mornings huddled over tea, the teabag sitting innocently at the bottom of the cup, opressing the sugar cubes whilst getting stronger and sweeter the further you drink down. The toasted bread would be home baked, yeasty and bland so as not to interfere with the teacup's plans. On a good day perhaps a little jam, on a lunch outing - sandwich spread. Or fish paste, tinned anchovies, lettuce so fresh it was still gritty and wriggling.

Never did like the countryside.

Quick Nom

Fry onions and garlic while you cook two large cubed potatoes. Mash the potatoes into -plenty- butter, milk and cream before adding soya sauce, black pepper and a pinch of herbs. Poach an egg. While it cooks, scoop out a few ladles of potato, make a dipping space in the middle of it and put some wild greens, rocket or spinach in there. Always use a fresh green here. Then, take the egg and place onto paper towel as you pat the top gently with another paper. Transfer onto the island of greens, top with salt and pepper, and enjoy something comforting. It tastes like the home I never ate ^_^

Since I cannot sleep..

I shall list all the things I am going to put in my fridge when I get a fridge. Until I get sleepy. Or run out of room..

Olives
Tofu
Sosmix
Pastry
Seed butter
Home-made Pesto(s)
Soy milks, and soy desserts
Soy yoghurt
Avocado, Celery, Lemon, Celeriac, Tomato, Cucumber, Arugula, Garlic, Red Onion, Kiwi, Melon, Pear, Apple, Nectarines, Berries, Carrots, Lettuce, Beetroot, Banana...ect.
Mayola
Tofu Dogs
Hoummus
Wine
Cold rice
Vegan cream
Leftover curry
Home-made/store bought falafel
Sundried tomato paste
Lentil salads
Cooked-in-advance bean burgers
Pumpkin pie, soup, cookie, pasty and mash. I love you pumpkin.

Olive oils (well, ontop of the fridge) and Salt, Pepper, Dry Chili, Couscous, Mustard, Ketchup, Balsamic Vinegar, Agave nectar, Peanut Butter, Pure spread, Home-baked bread, Soy sauce, a jar of seeds :D, vegan parmesan...

Solutions to Problems

I am back on the vegan wagon. Ok, so I ate pork last night. But this food poisoning has made me all the more decisive.

I'm going to make myself some promises.

I will eat a salad with every lunch.
I will eat a piece of fruit every day.
I will go for a walk every day.
I will snack regularly.
I will try to avoid frying food.
I will sit down to a meal with somebody at least once a day.

Today, after more porkly goodness I resolved to keep these promises. Lunch was a casual quiet affair - a mixed greek style salad bound with yoghurt and a drizzle of honey, some crackers, a slice of toast with mushroom antipasti and a arugula salad with a little olive oil. A glass of white wine. It would have been rude not to. Delicious.

I think I shall make some pizza dough.

Bliss Between the Bedsheets

It is not uncommon to find me lost in moments of pleasure in my kitchen, movements mechanical and eyelids kissing. Today I felt sick pretty much from the get go and put it down to a little too much to drink- nothing a lot of water and bread couldn't fix, however pain and sickness followed and I decided perhaps I should just stay put. I hoovered up yesterday leftovers which turned into noodles with vegeburger and leftover bread. Ach. Bad choice. Although it was rather nausiating, it did line my stomach so I was spared puking. I love you, starchy carb compounds.
After a bath I did felt somewhat better and strayed back to the kitchen in search of something a little less gross. Real butter winked at me from it's leafy sheen of foil. Mmm, butter. And then- baguette. Ah. Cup of tea in hand I was slowly tearing off chunks of bread, slathering liberally in butter before savouring in one mouthful each slightly-too-big-to-be-called-bitesize piece. The rest of this half of the baguette was toasted, buttered heavily (as I made more tea) before strawberry jam was upended over the top. Oh yes. Oh yes. Here I sit in my dark duvet coddled state feeling every bit like the cat that got the cream. And the butter.

I read a forum post today about the ethics of food sharing and I found it extraordinary how many people hate sharing meals. As long as I can remember I've hated sharing anything spit covered with other people, especially drinks. I still feel a bit uncomfortable about it but generally speaking I think it's just a childhood thing, like not eating greens (which I have always loved, go figure). My ideal meal would be one in which everyone was able to share and taste a little of everything, and I also (as any who come over for dinner will know) love to share from the same plate or bowl. I think it adds a sense of connection with the other person(s) that you cannot experience from anything else. The only thing I do not like is uninvited people reaching and taking. I always offer everything I have, but refuse point blank to be "sea-gulled" by forks and fingers before my ass has hit the seat. I'll even share dessert... most of the time ^_~.

This leads me to a rant, quite on topic and relative to everyone except my mother. Don't get me wrong here because I love cooking for people and I cook with love. But sometimes I do feel... irked. A slight irritation, like a rash in my mind. It comes when I have been asked to prepare a lunch on the lawn, only to find everyone has eaten beforehand. It's one thing to bring a few sandwiches but I put alot of effort, time and money into such things. I warn people to come with their appetites.
It also comes when, after complaining of the above, people assure me that they will help on the financial front. It's a polite gesture, but is rarely held up. It is also not the major issue, so long as the lunches are eaten. It only becomes bothersome when I am left with sometimes up to £15 of food which I cannot get through in time.

I would have to say the most poignant thing in my mind at the moment is a comment from the Mr of the house a few weeks ago, which pretty much sums up how I feel people can come to view me. I, of course was cooking not one but two dinners to cater to the picky tastebuds of tired masses, and cooking them at different times whilst trying to use food economically. After listing a few things from the freezer, a meal was decided and I went to cook it. Mother was in the kitchen, and suggested I cook some meat from the fridge which would be spoiled soon and I obliged. I even went so far as to relay the change of meal plan to my Mr. His response is was appaled me - "But I want X, why are you cooking Y?". In the end I cooked X and Y sat in the fridge haf cooked until the next day when they were pronounced - the worst he'd ever eaten.
And that is why I would like to be shown respect from time to time. For some of you, it is just a thankyou or a compliment, a loaf brought along or a bottle of wine with dinner. For others, it is acknowledgement that I wash their clothes, cook their food, clean their dishes and do their food shopping as well as keeping their living space cleaned. And I am no one's mother. I do not have to treat anyone specially.
I do so because I love.

Holding Cell 108

When Nikko was just three, doctors discovered a most unusual blood clot behind her eyes. It appeared to be infected with pneumonic plague and yet on recieving the results of further analysis, they saw that this particular strain had mutated. She was the only known carrier of this awful bacterium, and a few further samples were taken to give to mice. As a result, each test subject died within days if not hours of coming into contact with it. Both her parents were savagely executed in the lab without notification, their data erased from the public system. This, of course, was a safety precaution. As a further safety precaution, Nikko was quarantined in the lab's most sterile unit - holding cell number one zero eight.
Now, Nikko was not without company. Dr Monocle raised her with kindess even if lacking any love for her, too deep was his fear of what lay within this child. She also met many unnamed laboratory technicians and chemists who all blurred into thick suits and air tanks and masks. She never much cared for them. The tests were more intrusive than I care to mention. The biggest torture to Nikko was not the lovelessness, nor the absence of human contact. She knew what skin felt like- she had her own. I digress. The most arduous and torturous thing was the window. Large enough to stare out across the whole cityscape, vacuum sealed clarity. The sun, the stars and butterflies were of most importance due to the dazzling array of colours and sparkles. She could never quite figure out why the moon looked on her so coldly.
When Nikko turned thirteen, so did Gekko. It happened slowly... and then suddenly, you see. One day whilst staring out the window, particular anguish in her eyes as she was being needled and electro-treated (quite routinely), Nikko's mind stirred. She dizzied. What the labcoats saw next was the last thing they ever did and it was remarkable to behold, for never will you be so shocked as to see the pale girl with white hair and blue milky eyes like she was. Her eyes had turned a curdling crimson. Blood spawned at her lips, blossoming on the faces of the technicians as they fell in one gross pile, retching and gurning the last of theirs away. I tell it so quick because it was. Forget hours, this was over in a minute. After that, Nikko woke up in an incubation tank with myriad wires sucking and feeding, sharp as hell. Doc Monacle's voice was outside, talking a jumble of sounds to a woman. Her sound jumble was more like sterile honey. This was Nurse Eorith.
But now, there's some back story. Nurse Eorith was new then, only a few months in and no one knew quite where she came from. She was exceptionally good at everything that was asked of her, and Monacle could hardly turn down such a valuable asset. Especially with deaths around the building, most suspicious unless you can get a smart woman involved in the sciencifying. The public understand more when they don't know what you're saying. Very smart woman.
Nikko was more than smart. Nikko was intelligent, genius perhaps. Soon enough she learned she could control the flow of blood, redden her eyes as she pleased. And Monacle discovered that this in turn was killing her quicker than you can say 'ham'. But when Nikko spurred on the bacteria, forced the blood further, that's when the magic happened. That's when she became Gekko. And that is where the real story starts- in the Dreamscapes.

Hmm

Sing a song
It doesn't have to be very long,
You can break up symphony
Into simple melody,
You can't go wrong.
It could be be from the swingin' sixties
I don't mind, you choose.
I've hummed to a little Steinway
Clicking out the twelve bar blues.
And if by midnight no one's got the courage
To have sung,
I'll go back where I came from,
To the silence I call home.



Sometimes, my own innocence makes me giggle. Because my mind isn't dirty when I'm alone. Not all the time ;).

I found a face mask today described as a chocolate pack. The first thing I did was smell it and realise that it indeed smelled like chocolate- orange smarties I think. Still seeing nothing to laugh at I applied it in the mirror and as I was doing so I was reminded of that bbc sketch where someone is shown 'blacking up'. And then I almost peed myself laughing as realisation dawned. I was painting my face with brown mulch, I smelled of smarties and was smeared in something called chocolate pack.
Well, I got my kicks :)

Apparently that sketch has caused some controversy, as I can't find any clips on youtube.

http://www.ligali.org/article.php?id=641


My face now smells of chocolate sick. Ugh. At least my skin is soft.

King. Check Mate. Crown Me Queen.

It is only fitting that I met my O.H in camden, home to a wealth of beautiful women, colours and fashions.

Bitch, where'd you think you're going?!?


I think I have fallen in love, she says as the last can rolls underneath the TV. No one really understands, as her eyes blur tears and her heart sinks solid, that she cannot possibly explain this bizarre drugless emotion that still feels like the best fix she's never paid for. She slumps over the stove with pots a'boiling, tins empty and torn skin from amalgamated vegetables scattering the work surface. Alone, she can recall a time when she heard the counter being called a work surface and understood, beneath those big brown eyes, that the kitchen was a place of work. This was a room of dedication from birth until death. She decided then that this room was her haven with her mother, tiny fat toes on a kitchen chair balanced, knife in hand, all her own. She learned of the differing ways of slicing vegetables. That hot was steam and fire and pans left on a high heat, cold was wet fingers and tongues stuck to ice cubes and frozen fish.

Her life flashes before her eyes. She remembers her roots, then remembers her shame.

She recalls the time she was four and could not make it from the garden to the bathroom in time. She recalls the most inappropriate thing she said aged six, straight to her mother in front of her schizophrenic uncle. She recalls falling dressed as a candy bar and how safe it was to hide within that stupid paper bag and cry in front of forty or so people, no one could see. She recalls every lie, every embarrassing and perverted thing she has done and hides her face.

Suddenly she is older, no longer climbing up hills but in her room listening to her first metal album and swigging beer, cigarette in hand. She is her first lighter burn and her first shard of glass. She is well beyond her first period. Everything is encrusted is anguish and she cannot comprehend why or what.

Everything become overdoses, bottles of spirit and bleeding limbs. It is alot of lost friends. She can't decide between being and bleeding.

She is seventeen. She grows suddenly into a real person, an adult of strange proportions and strange propositions.

She decides everything will be ok.

Predator

I am predator woman, pinning you between the sheets.
With my hands on your wrists, I am your violent queen throwing you down and tearing my way towards bliss.
Yes, predator woman who has her hips in the small of your back and a thigh on your thigh -
I dare you to escape.
Teeth at your neck.
Hands at your waist.
I am poised for the kill.

So, It's Like This.

My words fail me.

I'm hurt. No more, no less.

I will not respect you for taking drugs, but I am trying to respect your decision to take them.

I'm cooking you chicken Nasi Lemak. I'm not sure, but I think it means tasty/curry rice. It's Malasian cooking and soul food, one of my favourite things to eat, and I got in SO much trouble for taking the legs from the chicken for it. Jan was NOT pleased :P.
The curry took me hours on a slow simmer. The rice contains coconut, and there is some cucumber and fresh lime as well as peanuts and fresh herbs. I have no sambal. And I know you won't eat fish. Or egg. It's as close as I can offer you to my hidden side of the family. But I tried for you.

Jan just almost choked to death, quite literally. She tasted the curry. Oh dear. Apparently the amount of chilli made her whole throat swell.

Enjoy honey pie.

I Reply. I Expose.

Charming, but on the contrary I feel I am not being a retard. I am exposing the most fragile parts of my soul to everyone I love and I only ask not to be hurt by those I have entrusted with this almost-impossibly fragile information.

I know how you feel, but not exactly because I am not you and your emotions are your own. I can only respect that. I believe every word you say, and that is the truth. And you are my truth, I will always believe you.

I know I am destroying myself, but I have never been better and with you I have re-discovered the nature of life and all its joys. I am truly happy.

Please, I ask only that in return for this most fragile information -

Be delicate with my soul
Be ruthless with your love
Be honest in your words
Be kind with your anger

Paranoid

I am paranoid.
It stops me from sleeping.

I am paranoid that I am fat. Every woman will say this, but not every woman will sneak away to eat food. I am paranoid that when I walk everyone turns to stare at my thighs. And that when I am seen from the side or lying down, my chins threefold. I am paranoid when I move my arms because I feel arm fat shake and I am paranoid that this is ugly.
This makes me cry.
I am paranoid that I am ugly. I am paranoid that because I am fat I am ugly, and that I have been getting fatter and hence uglier. I am paranoid that because I am ugly my friends will all leave me, and that some of them are choosing to already. I am paranoid every time I am not touched or held because of this ugliness. I am paranoid when I expose myself for attention and I am not recieved with adoration. I am paranoid that I will never look like the women that people want, in the movies, the pornos and the magazines. I am paranoid when you turn to sleep, and I am paranoid that this is because I am too ugly to be touched or kissed. I am paranoid that people cringe after they make physical contact with me, and some of them go and wash afterwards. And that I am undesired.
This makes me cry.
I am paranoid that I am useless. Everytime I cook, clean and fold that it is not enough to be noticed. I am paranoid that I will become invisible and my triumphs will dissipate. I am paranoid that my food will not forfill any expectations and will fall short of being passable, to be thrown in my face. I am paranoid that I cannot be perfect. That no one sees if and when I try.
This makes me cry.
I am paranoid that I am weak. And because I can admit my weaknesses I get only weaker. I am paranoid that crying is the ultimate defeat, and that I am not strong enough for human relations. I am paranoid that I will cry infront of people and when I do, I am paranoid that they will ask questions which have stupid answers. I am paranoid that people will find out I am paranoid and weak and I will be shamed only further.
And this makes me cry.
And now I am crying.
And I am still paranoid.

Tastes like Witches.

Purple soup is amazing. I just thought I'd share that with you. No one else really likes it, or else feels indifferent to its alluring sweet mild spice and creamy texture, coupled with a beautiful purple colour. It's a soup that would have appealed to me all the more aged four, uncomplicated in flavour and easy to eat. It is also quickly brought to foreground as an adult dish when coupled with sour cream and a few stilton rye wafers. Delicious, a perfect flavour balance and completely from my own juicy synapses. No recipe for you.

Come, And Be My Baby...

Once, there was a poet
Whose words had gone astray,
They did not linger in the air
Nor at the dim doorway.
This poet called out softly
But alas, there was no sound
For all the words had dissipated-
None could be found.
Entangled in the branches of
The slowly swaying trees,
Caught in lovers' lullabyes,
Choking on the breeze.
Not one poetic utterance
Not one apt word of truth,
Forever gone, the poet's words,
Forever gone their youth.
And now the poet all alone
Can seldom move the lips
That once sung out of beauty,
Of blushing ivy crypts
In which there may lie damsels,
Weeping in distrust.
No, these words lie dormant
In the ever-moving dusts.
Take heed, most weary traveller,
Allow yourself to see
That all words hold potential,
Any word can be.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light..

Once perhaps, I would have lazed long in the sun of summer and drank deep the evenings with slow setting suns. Perhaps I would have wandered down the endlessness that sprawls into english countryside, nothing but a fond smile and some bread as I searched for trickling ravines with hidden radiant gems of last light. Leaning back against a worn tree, night standing imperially over the waters, I would allow my thoughts to flow away into eddies and ebbing tide as the sparks from a fire took flight. Such calm.

Now I am looking forward to autumn's warm cloak of embers and russet apples, bloody rose red leaves amidst bracken and the earthy smell of Samhain. I look forward to the food. Oh the food. I am all set for pumpkin carving, baking pasties and brewing virgin mead before spiking it with the belly heat of brandy. Toasty, buttery, spicey, baked and sweet. I look forward to the welcoming of a new year come october, to hopefully being in a catering course and most of all to being happy. The tempting calls of squashes and sweet potatoes with nutmeg and cinammon gets me glowing. Long skirts, the clattering of boot heels on the stairs... poetry. When Autumn comes she will be my sweet muse. And I shall be her poet.

What else is news? To be fair, I have sat around alot, gotten ill and stayed thus. Everyone keeps offering to make me tea and let me rest but stolid as I am to myself, there is little mercy. I continue to housewife around folding clothes here, fetching everyone tea and breakfast, ensuring there's plenty of food ready for tired and hungry workers (or just lazy stoned masses!) and so... Mother Nature has allowed me to make an early start on my winter fat storage. The bitch.

Oh, Nigella.

Cooking has never been so sexy. Nigella Lawson is a true woman. Despite her husband's death she remains (although curvier) a beautiful woman and an indulgent cook. I do not consider her a chef by any means as her food seems to revolve around stay-at-home mothers, newly-weds and mothers with children. That kind of cooking has to be simple, complex and accessable. However, that said, her food is also serious crowd-pleasing stuff. Main ingredients use chicken, salt, chocolate, sugar and cream.
Her hair is perfectly coiffed. She licks and sucks, smirks and winks as she whips eggwhites, sprinkles sugar, leans forward to the oven and slowly inserts a tray of her perfect meringues.

'Nuff said.

My chef idol is Angela Hartnett. Now there is a hardass if ever I saw one. A dominant and powerful lady with the culinary skills of a demon, a Michelan star and an MBE. I aspire.

Everyone will come, everyone will come to my funeral :)

Yes, I DO feel delicious.

It fills me with smiles and warm buzzy slightly nausiating feelings to know people sit and read here on an occasion only ritualistic to their own :) I rarely write well, I rarely spell correctly, and I rarely use good grammar. (The punctuation there was a joke. I know no one got it. Maybe Sofa did...).

Anyways. A big snuggle and snorgle to everyone when/if they read this post and since you are here you should get some tea, juice or water and chill out for a bit. There must be a reason you were driven to reading :)
Go now. Tea time.

Fine. Well you either obeyed, ignored or considered. At least I poked your squidgy brainthoughts :) Yeah, I feel drunk, and I feel really good... shows alot huh..


There's a savoury meal of choice awarded to who ever can find every grammatical error :) Homecooked and paid for. You know you want some.

This is just sunshine ray in the storm.


And Mike, I woke you up at 8ish impaling myself on the bedframe trying to get the lighter, grabbed your shin and fell on my face. You won't remmeber. It was epic fail.

Burning Down The House (fighting fire with fire)

Maybe it's just lack of sleep, a weed fix or an orgasm. Somehow I woke up feeling like death and am now chilled. I am a calmness in the air as opposed to being calm. It's probably the drugs- it's always the fucking drugs. I'm going to go on an MDMA binge sooner or later, for better or worse... definately gonna be poorer.
I wish the mind didn't delve so deeply into itself because mine practically has its lips in its arse. I just need a break. A couple of hours (biblically speaking) to do a 720 and be in complete understanding.

Also.. a list of great things to do.


Central London before rush hour, and business lunchtimes.

Sunrise on the bridge.

Beard Papa's.

Get high. Appreciate a gallery.

Drop MDMA. Go to the Science Museum.

Mutilate

I love that I was the chaser. I love that I couldn't make myself chased. I love that you put up with all my mind games. It was just a test. I don't do that now, I don't need to test people I love.

Grah, what ever am I supposed to buy for Mike's birthday? I have a fair idea of half of the gift(s), but seeing as I can't post them here I'm going to leave this post as an elusive clue.

Something dark and sexy.

Something with a pleasing colour.

Something to remind you of our first date.

And something home-made.


Guesses welcome :P

Suggestions extra welcome.

------------------------------------------------------------------


It is me, in all my glory.

I am oppression coaxing the fire.

In the night- the draught. In heat, the drought.

Between and under cracks in rocks, I await the arrivals. Departed.

Mutilated, I am the throne of injustice.

Together I become the scales of paupers' reason.

But alone,

I am just a breeze.



Talk to me, help me understand why I do this for you. Please, please... if I'm crushing you just speak out.
I don't understand.
But I know I'm to blame.
Now.

Absolute pleasure bowl, and The Only Way To Eat Spaghetti Now

Ingredients


Two deseeded chillies - hot
One large clove of garlic
Five Kaffir leaves
Diced ginger - one dice sized cube
Diced candied ginger - one ball of
Fish sauce - a teaspoon or so
Sugar - a half teaspoon
Lemongrass
Black pepper
Soya sauce
A few shallots
Vegetable oil

Blend these into a paste.
Fry this paste in a little oil before adding - pork, finely diced green beans, broccoli, mushrooms. When the mushrooms appear to be cooked, add water and cornflour, grated carrot and cooked noodles. Taste and season accordingly. Add chopped fresh tomatoes and a squeeze of lime immediately before serving.




Pasta Sauce So Easy Even Sofa Can't Fuck It Up :)

1 - Break spaghetti into pan, add boiled water and leave simmering whilst you
2 - Dice a small onion, two cloves of garlic, two medium heat chillies and two extremely ripe good sized tomatoes.
3 - Fry slowly in a generous amount of olive oil, adding seasoning. Mash tomatoes in.
4 - Remove spaghetti when al dente, stirring into tomato sauce with a handful of parmesan.

It's done.

Double quantities for 3 people. Or two fat joints to yourself.

Fuck You :)

;lkjh says:
yer theres a party at mine tonite
its partly kells bday and hes bare nt on seeing you aparently
i shud hv one end of august tho tht u n mike shud come to
ChemiKaze- The death toll continues to rise as shocking numbers of teenagers are dividing by zero. says:
okies
if it's partly his party and he don't want me there i can understand it
;lkjh says:
yer me cesar n kells doin like a joint thing innit
cesar bare nt on seeing alex bt i dont think she knows
ChemiKaze- The death toll continues to rise as shocking numbers of teenagers are dividing by zero. says:
aight
;lkjh says:
kelly blatently wants to c u tho
in his bed
oi alex want to follow u where the sun dont shine

Just Like Sands...

Just like sands, unreasonable sounds
That slip through frozen hours.
Subservient to the rule
By which the millimeter stands,
A measurable passing, a granular lapse
Through the eye of a weevil
That boars itself inward.
Torn asunder, these seconds split-
The difference divides. Fleeting
Moments provide no clues,
Elusive.
The only flawless imperfection-
A quarter.


Today's waking was very nice. Considering the complete over-abuse of alcohol on mine and Sofa's part in Colindale... How do you boys put up with us? I'll certainly never understand.
After a bath in good smells with Mike, we clambered into bed and no sooner had I given him a hug than I was crashed out. Waking this morning I had those lovely simple thoughts you get for the first five minutes-

Mike looks cute.
He's warm.
And soft.
I didn't have a nightmare :D
I'm gonna make lemonade.
Gods my hair feels glossy.

It was a clean stream of simplistic, gentle thoughts that I could understand. They didn't require analysis and I could deal with each of them. I also like that my thoughts went - Mike, tummy, head in order of how much I pay attention to them and heed them :P.
Long-sleeved shirts just make you more cuddly, honey. :D
It's raining, but the sky is still yellow so I hope for more rain although I do feel slightly better.
I've been sneezing such a lot recently. Illness. Allergy. Spores in room. Who knows.

Gimme Some Sugar

I am sitting here.
I am selfish.
If I stop writing I will die. I used to say, "If I stop writing poetry I may as well be dead", and now I feel as if I write to pospone a bad trip, a deadly accident, liberation.
Every day I get more miserable and depressed and yet.. on this cusp - the brink of mutilation I feel more clarity.
For the first time in an age I am cognitive which seems to be the most beautiful irony since I cannot use this clear glass for looking, only reflections of what I know already and what I refuse to aknowledge but have seen my whole life.
This room is just full of sharps, the house is basically a walk-in suicide masion and the roads are all dusky and beautiful. I think I may have lost a few marbles under the desk.
I am sitting here.
I am selfish.
I take everything I need but will never give. That is nature.
Not mine.
I want to be the blossom that cracks open into the Sun, giving his fire this clarity, stealing his passions.
I will be the Moon in her calm ebbing and flowing- cool waters and deep dreams. There lies the life I beg to give and to nourish those that already live under the shade of my cyclical silver smile.
I want to be silent on the inside. Peace without murmers. Silence without chaos. Still without static.
Most days, the voices are comfort. There are kitchen maids and nannies from lost eras, strict mothers and poor slaves with whom I have dinner and civilised conversations. I help the slaves to clean and the kitchen staff to cook. I sit and embroider listening to harps that have long since become ruble and dust, compost and junk buried away. I also dip into other conversations and go about my day listening to exchanges between many types of people. Once, I am the mother in daycare socialising. Another time, perhaps I am watching an army of men weep and bare raw emotion before war.
This type of behaviour is so simple to analyse I find myself doing it. And then I become to caught up telling myself what explanations are there. And it all falls down just like London Bridge. I'm a few knives short of a crayon box.

Say what?

Maybe
I could hold your hand,
Take you through a field to
Roll amidst the flowers.
We could stay there
Breathing in the night,
Waiting to take flight just
Murmering for hours.
And then
As I walk you home, we're
Thinking of excuses even though they won't believe us,
It's all I can do
To say
You're keeping me from Venus.

Nervous?

Do you ever feel something with such intensity that it actually scares you? Something that scares you so quickly that you can feel your follicle nerves twitch into gear, something that causes hot and cold sweats all at once. All this happening it a mere second or so and feeling for every split in that second like an eternity. A desire so strong you get a psysical pain, like you are falling, like the first time you got fucked real slow and sensual.
It's so easy to trigger the human mind. All it takes is one image, one sound. It could even be one colour, or an object in the room of a house somewhere on the other side of the world. Whatever it is, you know that it is your weakness and you try at all costs to avoid it. Yet, true enough to human nature, you know you are perversely drawn to it all the same- because what's life if you can't test yourself or work yourself up into a frenetic state. Superman had Kryptonite, right?

Well, since you're all welcome into my mind (blogging automatically rolls out the red carpet for you, leading straight to my limbic system) I'll tell you all a little secret. I absolutely cannot look at pictures of self injury. There's something insatiable about being so utterly fixed to the spot in fear, sweating and trembling to the point of tears as screen after screen of images appears. In a matter of seconds I am completely overcome with an icy desire to destroy every part of my body, to feel pain and see blood and fat, to sit in a bath and bleed and sting all over, completely covered from the shoulders to the ankles in varying sized cuts. Of course, I more than go out of my way to avoid seeing any such pictures but they do seem to cross my path an awful lot more than I'd care for.
I am totally powerless to remove this emotion. Even sitting here blogging it out is to no avail whatsoever. It doesn't help that I was positively in the foulest mood this morning and getting back into my dark room was all that I could do to stop from really losing the plot. Now, to have been triggered into this state I am frustrated. I do have the option of simply obeying my desire. Obviously I do. But I have no intention of hurting the only person I love. And so I am stuck here. If I were of the Christian persuasion I would say this is very much Hell. As it stands, I am not and I find it more of a limbo state to use the term loosely. I am stuck between absolute bliss and calm, and total self-annihilation.

This song is sexy.

Vodka, Pride and Nothing to Hide

Pride was a coming together of drinks and drinkers alike. The photos speak for themselves and can be found across facebook. I'm too tired to blog.

And Here's A Quick Fix For The Mix

I told you already he is addicted to it, so don't promote it or make it seem acceptable by taking it around him. I told you don't take it around me. I told you I was trying to sell it to pay off your outstanding debts. You know why?
SO you could afford to take me out. Anywhere. So you could buy games and food and travel with out worrying for a month. But you persist, and you make me cry. I would will and am doing anything, everything I can to make it easier for you to be able to feel you are treating me right. Stop throwing it in my face.




I WISH YOU WERE HERE

And This Is How We Do It, Baby...

This might be a long ass blog, so I'm gonna pee first :D
Okay, I'm good to go. Yesterday was a no-frills picnic a la parc with Mike, Sofa and Tomek. I provided all the food which cost me a total of thirteen pounds including new picnic boxes, but that is a small cost for getting Mike to come out anywhere with me (FYI you can sign up to Time Out London emailing list and they send you newsletters about free stuff going on all over London, as well as discounts in resteraunts - if I have to make this any clearer we're going to see a nasty side of Khloe the housewife cum home chef, kay?)
The picnic consisted of -
Cheese and Onion Rolls - bought
Pork Pies - bought
Crabsticks - bought
Mini pizza sticks (Mozarella, red onion, cured black olive, herbs)
Boureki - a Cretan dish made with courgette that I couldn't find a recipe to taste how I remember it, so I made one up :P
Cold Peppered Ham cuts
Couscous salad - A mixture of cold couscous cooked in stock, butter and garden herbs. Chopped red onion, roughly chopped spicy brine green olives, artichoke, salt and pepper.
Sandwiches -
Cucumber and pepper,
Egg salad (butter, mayonaisse, salt pepper and cooked yolk combined, white albumin sliced on top. Watercress)
Chicken, Cucumber and Lettuce, salt and pepper.
A roasted pepper salad - Red, yellow and green. Olive oil, balsamic vinegar, lemon juice, salt, pepper and herbs. Roasted on a low heat
Three bottles of white wine, eight cans of cider and some mdma which as Mike's girlfriend I of course didn't get any of despite saying I was going to buy it and share -_- Whatever.

Chaos is a picnic with Khloe and Sofa.

The bites on my neck hurt when I turn.

I also went out to Camden a few days ago and into Inspiral. I love that place. Oh my god I love it. Alex I might jump on you for taking me there because it's the kind of place I would go every day just to have a cup of tea and a cookie. http://www.inspiralled.net/index.php Yeah baby ;)

More later, feel sick.

Grey In, Grey Out.

It's DETOX time. A few days of pure ice cold water, followed by a few of fruit/herbal teas, plenty of vitamins, then a few of soups and blended juices. If anyone wants to join me, say now. The main reason for this is that my short term memory is worse than that of most stoners, my waistline makes me cry and I feel too grimey to get to the gym. Hopefully flushing out.. well, everything... will help me get back ontop of things.
Fried foods are once again out of the picture and veganism is back with a vengeance. Alcohol is away on holiday throughout the detox.

That should stop me from hanging myself :)

The fact that I'm even joking about that must mean something pretty dire, huh? I wish I could curl up in the biggest, most tender warmth and sleep. It would be a quiet calm that spread over each nerve.

I just lay on the floor and cried or went into the kitchen and cut onions to hide that I was crying for most of this morning. It's fucking pathetic, I hate crying - it makes me too vulnerable and human. At least I can sit and blog about it and admit to myself how I feel.

Back To Black

Don't get me wrong, I love Michael Webb to the end of eternity and all the stars moons planets asteroids and quasars, along with all other beautiful random things in the universe. But. Getting so trashed so often? Love, what ever's the matter? I have worried my fucking beans out for days and days, but never can ask you what's wrong. Christ you give me a fucking headache. You're the only person I've loved and do love this much. Please.. Take care of me too?

I still feel depressed and a little suicidal, and I still can't explain why. The more I get cravings to cut myself, the more I feel there's no point. I'm so fucking hurt still, it's so obvious I need to get some help (to me at least). Life disappears infront of me. Breathe? Asphyxiate.

Grouchy Grizzler

Last night was real fun. I was in a grouchy-er'an hell mood all day, and so naturally I got two shags instead of one :D. Nothing like lots of fucking to bring a woman back up. I don't know what it is but I've been so irritable these last few weeks, not to mention pretty depressed. So, true to form Mike set out to make me less of a grizzlecunt by buying booze and junk food, making me play resi5 (damn you :P), dressing up in drag, tickling and prodding and just... trying I guess. He also mentioned something about going on a date, but I can't expect anything 'cause he's let me down so much.

Alex is on her crusade of sunshine in a mass attempt to cheer and enlighten all her friends. Something about acid and gardens... Who knows. I would feel pretty sexy about it if I could bear to look in the mirror at the moment.
Self confidence T minus two seconds.
Social awkwardness at 68%.
Reclusion at 100%.

Quite Frankly

If I didn't live for love, I'd have killed myself by now. Don't think I'm not tempted. Behind every smile, under the sparkle of my eyes, entwining each thread of hair is the intense self hatred and shame, the despise reflecting itself back onto me, the burning humiliation I (and countless others- don't get me wrong) have to live with.
Do not for one minute think I am not completely sick of life. Do not think I am not depressed. Do not think that I do not see the sunshine through bars. Life is agony.

I live it.

I am thinking. I am thinking about 4 AM on the bridges of central London. It is watching the sun rise and heat up the tar, it is feeling the traffic rumble the place you are sitting, it is the earthy smell of Thames. It is being alone to enjoy the solitary morning-mourning.

I am also thinking about blood. Cutting. Those little red lines speeding across. And the big ones. I am thinking about how I have no reason to feel to sad and angry, oh angsty teen. And I am thinking about how relieving it would be to cut into those soft pillowy thighs, embroidered with stretch marks and injury free. Almost a clean canvas to devastate.

And I am thinking about how pornography degrades me. When I watch it, I feel alone. When Mike watches it, I feel inadequate.

Thinking.. I wish nobody in my life took drugs. I wish we were all clean and pure, all happy. All together.

I am thinking so deeply into my own life I might drown.

I am thinking - Gods, I wish I could voice how I feel. I wish I was not so weak I had to write everything down because the words evaporate on my lips and turn into hot dust that chokes. And I wish I did not drink. How I wish.

And I am thinking - Shit, I've been hearing voices for nearly seven months ongoing. That's longer than the last time.

Mostly I am thinking - Fuck. Michael will read this rather soon, and then I will have to try and explain why I feel so fucked up. And I don't have a reason, nor an excuse.

*******************************
Edit post

*******************************

Michael, don't think this is anything you have caused. If I know men like I know women (deeper on the inside *winkwink*) they freakin beat themselves up over ev-e-ry stupid thing. It's not you. Just leave it alone if you think it is. Right now. Drop it. Drop it. Good boy.

Junkfood Junkie

Things I love to chow down on when everyone is out the house, away for the weekend or in deep sleep.



Scrambled eggs with soysauce and bbq sauce slathered very liberally, black pepper and buttered untoasted bread.

Anything else i can put soysauce on.

Prawn stirfry, light on the sesame oil (people always put too much in! It's potent) but plenty of soysauce in the noodle water as it soaks up. Fresh spring onion and other raw veg, some raw and some cooked garlic, always plenty of (pre fried) tofu mixed in. Deep fried shallots. Vegetable stock on the side.

Any strange curry mixture I procure from the cupboards. They're getting pretty fucking good :D

Brown rice with salty sweet carrots. This is a bit odd I guess? I get unusual cravings.

Rainbow trout. 'Nuff said.

Marmite on toast, Earl Grey, soymilk. Mmmhmmm.

Spaghetti, red sauce with no particular tomato flavour, heaps of pecorino, black pepper. That is true comfort food to me.

Tiramisu without cream.

A rare/blue steak fried in such hot oil that the outside goes salty and crispy, the inside raw warm and bloody. No pre-salting, just a little pepper or ground mustard seeds. I feel naughty now :D

Cheese in mash. I don't like cheese, and it doesn't much like me. But oh my does it do carby starches bad things.

Slop. This is soya protein/any meat - lamb or very tender ground beef works best, onions cooked in butter, gravy granules, wine, passata, pepper and sometimes cooking lime leaves too. It's basic sloppy joe look with school food flavour in a home-y kind of way. Mint works so well with lamb you wish they fed on eachother to just infuse something orgasmic :(


Haagen Daaz vanilla icecream with frenchfries mixed in.

Lemon sorbet.

Avocado and lots of lemon salt and pepper.

Poached eggs with smoked salmon, but placed quickly so the salmon starts cooking on the egg. Ridiculous amounts of black pepper.

Cheese on toast with lea & perrins.

Lemon drizzle cake - only Matron can make it properly so I'll pine for the rest of my life -_-

Apple laces with that funky filling.

Rainbow belts.

But Not Until

You hear words

You taste

I breathe

It echoes

Resonant



Michael ;) You're so sweet when you're sleeping. You cringe and thrash around, grumble and mumble. I kiss your wrist, stroke your hair back and rub your tummy. You smile, curl over and go back to sleep. With a hard-on.
That.
That is the man I am in love with :D

I am playing solitaire.

I am playing solitaire.

It is night
And the red queens are screaming.
I cannot see the stars for sky, it shrouds with sorrow,
And the kings are starting to march
Even though it's July. Through my head.
I couldn't say why as I sit and rock all alone in this night
That the jacks are tumbling. Stranger-
I thought it was easy.
But now there's just clubs that I don't want to know,
Echoing shadows. Whispering wonders.
And my heart's beat for now, I should switch to the glamour
To try and make headway - such glimmering frustration
That ends with a spade.
Well, that's life.

Rain Lullabyes

A storm woke me gently this morning, and the cold draught bit and poked until I got out of bed. Waiting for the kettle to boil I stood mindlessly at the fridge piling left-over curry into my mouth. Cup of tea in hand, I descended to my room once more wondering why we all do the same shit every morning no matter how and when we wake. There's a fucking train alarm that's been going off for about half an hour non-stop - I'm beginning to hope something died on the tracks.

I know Mike's weekend was less than favourable and mine wasn't vastly better. We did picnic in the park which was nice (I love feeling like I can be the centre of something's world for a few hours, don't you?). Then we had a BBQ that turned into everyone appearing at my house and drinking all Mike's alcohol. The next day I had pukey hangoverness, and cooked dinner for 5 inc. Mike's dad.

College monday.

Junkies shoot up because they're pacifist and see no sense in shooting forward. ^-^

Got my Mind in the Gutter, Got the Gutter on my Mind

You make the rain smell so good.


I wanted to blog the recipe for the curry I made last night. But there was alot of random shit in there including baked beans, ketchup and butter. I don't remember the details, but it made use of some of the uncooked BBQ vegetables *shoots evil look* I don't like sitting in the dark on my own, especially not to sit there turning vegetables for no one to eat.
Mmm, anger and tears aside (feckin' PMT monster)... Exams are out the way, I've lost my keys and I'm broke-ish.

You reduce me to tears in front of you, at your feet, knowing no one else may witness that.

It's actually quite relaxing to sit down mid-afternoon and ramble here to myself. I have a confession. I love one note. It is my sorrow. I can't read music, or else I would know and be wed to that note. It's resonant, blue, sharp. Placebo songs always seem to hit it. It's peppermint and lemons in cold water. How can I make you all understand? Do I sound like I'm losing it? A little fucking crazy? I am not schizophrenic. I have roles. Different roles I have adapted and unleashed to keep me alive. Don't you understand? I need to be the lover, the killer, the liar, the baby, the bitch, the slut, the beauty queen, the wonder girl, the mother. I am me. In all aspects of myself. Some people have names for people like me, and I have names for them.


You are something musical in my poems.


NO MORE WIRES

DO NOT RESUSCITATE.

Bah Sketti.

Dice two onions and sweat them in butter over a low heat. Add a teaspoon of bouillon, a pinch of smoked paprika, a tablespoon of hp sauce and some hot chilli sauce.

Add a carton/tin of tomatoes, allow to simmer for ten minutes and taste, seasoning accordingly. Blend in a food processor or use an immersion blender. Now you can stir soya mince into this.
(Optional)>> Grate pecorino or parmesan cheese- about a handful- and add along with a tablespoon of cream cheese, stirring to incorperate evenly.

Serve over spaghetti.

Prawns, tuna or any other seafood work well in place of the soya mince. This sauce is a little heavy to compliment most vegetables

Chains, Whips and Wiggling Hips

A few interesting things to blog about today. First up, I went to Pedestal on Thursday. Now that was fun- my first time in a club and I walked in with my nipples out and a man on a chain at my side. I wore a black string vest, red underbust corset and a tartan skirt paired (courtesy of Noz) with black PVC boots. There was a chill out room by one of the bars, a rave room, the main room with all of the main metal stands and benches and a goddess room for quiet massages and a St Andrews just for fun ^-^. I didn't pay for any of my drinks, got a really good massage, had my nipples spanked and in general just had a great night. Hopefully next time I can convince Mike to come along and if I keep him close, he might not get leapt upon by more viscious women (yep, they're out there).

Has anyone seen that Ped-Egg advert? Isn't that vile?? The name itself is gross, it sounds like a paedophile's favourite insertable. Here you go.





And now I'm curled up with a beer watching Bill & Ted which feels very Sunday-ish. And somewhere in the back of my mind I'm thinking about underwear shopping - I think Mike should pick some for me :P. And further in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "Time to save up for my own corset." And more close to my gut I'm craving spaghetti and meatballs in a huge bowl, a glass of full bodied red wine and a salad. And dancing in the dark beneath some fairy lights. Girl needs a date already :( I need romancing!

Michael Webb, I..

Do not hesitate to blog my anger, and believe me you will get a hard slap on your bruised face when you get home because I am very, very fucking angry with you. For the pleasure of everyone at home -
Michael got paraleticly drunk last night and fell into a ditch, then rolled around on a dark road with me trying to pick him up out of it and him rolling straight back. He nearly got run over. The police were called and they were extremely rude to me and I put up with ALOT of shit from them to the point where I was real close to reporting them, took you to hospital until you regained consciousness and then you threw up on yourself. Then you were screaming I DON'T GIVE A SHIT TAKE ALL MY ORGANS I WANT TO DIE. Then you called me a fucking whore and a cunt, told me to kill myself, told me you wished I were dead and that I was not the woman you fell in love with. There was a bunch of other insults slung at me, but you get my drift, no?
He mashed up his face on the floor but thankfully was too drunk to assault a police officer, however you would not put on your clothes (just your trousers because you couldn't work out how to take them off) and were thrown in a cell for the night. The police left me outside the hospital with no money and no phone and said Good Luck. I was left lone in the middle of the night in a place I had never been, drunk and shit scared. I had to sit in the hospital reception for six and a half hours waiting for the train station to open and my mom came to pick me up, and YES that was expensive for her. And YES it was cold and no I didn't use your card to buy anything because no where is open at 3 AM. I fell asleep sitting upright at 8.30 and a security guard at the hospital woke me up and said everyone was staring at me and I should fuck off home if I was that tired. I HAD A SHIT NIGHT. And I am, oh yes, so very very angry.

Herons are Head of the bird Hierachy

Well, that's the english exam over. I don't particularly feel like blogging recipes today, so I'll tell you all a story about a walk in the park. It was pretty cool actually, and I saw a bunch of peacocks doing flashy tail things. There were six ducks, three of each gender and I still don't know what ducks eat. It's not bread, so don't say it. Then we went to the Japanese garden and there was a heron- man those things look evil when they turn their head and rotate those beady white eyes at you. There was also koi carp and a thick layer of slimey foam which shall be called sloam. Even though I think sloam is already a word. We wandered to the garden shop and I fell in love with a knobblish tree stump plant, and poked the herbs. As we walked back there was a crazy lawnmowering man of about eighty, fag hanging out the side of his mouth mowering into a wall.

And then I was home. And here I am. At least a wander outside today has made me a little calmer.

I did have a bit of a hangover this morning and thus forgot my college card, tubed it back here to grab it and got into the exam room juuust in time. Later I would learn that college now hands out one day passes :( So a waste of panicking.

Next week is a little bit of a busy schedule, but I'm sure I'll find some time to catch up with everyone over a drink and some food. I feel like I haven't seen anyone in ages. But I'm free Monday to Wednesday. I can sort something out, perhaps in the park again? I do like sitting back in the sun with tasty bits of nomnom and a cold boozing.

A Mixture of Memos.

Just a bunch of stuff I need to remember, as well as a hint that my upcoming posts will be recipe posts.
Bubbles' lice treatment is the Monday after this one coming- Sof', if you read this before I remember remind me to remember.
English Exam is on the 20th. I'm fucked. Biology is on the 1st. I'm fuckeder still.
I need to print out an application form for next year and gather the relevant details.
The money still hasn't gone through to my account. That's £60 now. And since Mike is basically buggered with the amount of debt he has somehow accumulated it would have been nice to be able to transfer that money over to help. I need that money, even if it's not for me.
I HAVE to sort out my room. It's ridiculously cramped here now and I can't swing a cat at a wall or whatever the expression is. If I can rid myself of some clothes that would help. If Jan would trade rooms like she used to say she would when I needed the space, that would help.

So, my upcoming posts are going to be:
-Basic Complimentary Flavours
-The Simple Things That Make Simple Things Complex
-A Sauce Recipe, A Pie Recipe (or two), Some More Soups

That should keep me busy.


In other news, I've been as unbusy as ever avoiding revision and socialising. I opt instead to sit solitary and read or game, cook, write or draw. These things keep me more than entertained most of the time which is good enough. I'm fairly happy, the OH and I aren't bickering (much :P)
and there is a level of inner peace that keeps me from going over the edge of any threshholds of rationality or emotion. Which means, in short, I'm doing OK.

The Things That Tingle

Heeheehee. I just found out that Mike actually reads this (honeypie, I think youre the only one!)

Yesternight I whiskey and coked myself to naptime.

Now I just sit back and watch that handsome sonofabitch sleep, mouth open, drooling, snoring, picking his nose and scratching his ass.

I wouldnt trade him for THE WORLD.

I love you sweetie

xXx

And Everything's Gonna Be OK

Chrissy-chan. Aleshkai. Let's burn this city with out extraness? I''d love a night outs if no one minds :D

Reasons Prince of Persia is Shit.

Elika. She is ALWAYS in the fucking way. You have to do a little dance to get her to move. She hangs off your arm. She jumps on your back. She copies your every move. These things take time, which sometimes means the untimely death of your character. AGAIN. In battle, her move is temperamental. Press Y to attack this enemy with Elika's move- "I'll get this one", "I can't reach". Come closer then. "I'm not close enough", "Let me handle this". Make up your fucking mind. By this point of course, your character is a pile of crippled bones.

Delay. When engaged in combat the enemies can hit you to the floor and hit again before you're up. I was cornered by a giant rock and mercilessly pebble-raped until Elika came 'to help'. Sometimes pressing X and B doesn't actually mean you're attacking, it's just a nice way to kill time inbetween beatings. Your ass will get creamed and served back to you. Cold. When the enemy decides to REALLY lay into you with their special moves you have the chance to block by pressing one of five buttons. After the message pops up letting you know you have to hold block to continue, a big flashing A appears but you're still pressing block and it doesn't count. It's pointless and wastes time since you have infinite lives any way, serving only to allow enough anger to build up that you are forced to buy more xbox controllers to replace the shattered remnants of their predecessors.

The A button. Guess what? To wallrun, jump, climb rings, lift yourself off ledges and skim along celings you press A. Why does A do everything? X isn't even used and all B does is serve as secondary ceiling skim button (forgetting this at the last moment is not fun). Y is Elika's everything button, saving you and such. More often than not, her mid fall saving throws you further into the abyss. Murderous bitch.

And the special that allows you to run antigrav around walls. Yeah. What a fucking jar. You can spend up to a minute doing this only to bump into a crack in the bricks and plummet to your death. Restart time. Grr.

A List of Things That Don't Just Apply To Guys

In no particular order:

-Sweaty crotch.
-Beer babies.
-Blocking the toilet with monster shits
-Parents walking in while you're masturbating.
-And not leaving for ages, diminishing any traces of horny-ness.
-Shaving stubble, albeit not entirely in the same areas.
-Spots.
-The ability to eat an entire Porterhouse steak.
-Seeing how high you can pee.
-Constant desire for beer and chips.
-Drooling over a nice pair of tits.
-30+hour gaming sessions.
-Spitting.
-Swearing.
-Watching sports with 'the lads'.
-Lazyness.
-Self mutilation for the sake of fun and grossing people out, or as a sport.


I'll add more later.

Mandatory Mumblings

I've been really stressed and irritable recently much to Mike's dismay, as he always seems to be on the receiving end of my gnarling and gnashing, shaking jowels and frothy-eyed screaming. Poor bugger. I could blame PMS. I could equally blame the blatent ignorance some people show when they repeatedly turn up uninvited, shortly after a long string of annoyances. No, even that is not what's really got to me. It's the continuity of self pity I've always had.
Now, I know all too well I should be dealing with the problematic things in life that everyone else gets on with. Gah. Braindead.

And you kn0w what's better? I feel like I have no one. The few friends I do have are too far to go round for the evening. My boyfriend comes home, sits on xbox, gropes my ass and goes to sleep. My mother won't eat dinner with me, since nothing I cook is good enough. If I'm tired, Mike's up all night. Come morning, he's had a wank and doesn't want any attention. And when this all gets to me, I cry quietly so I don't wake him up.
I don't even have drinking buddies any more.

Key Lime Pie

Sofa, as promised, my recipe for Key Lime Pie ^-^

Crust Ingredients

Digestive Biscuits
Butter- Unsalted
Powdered Ginger (optional)

Filling Ingredients

A can of condensed milk
Four egg yolks
Nine limes
A little cream


Method

Crush the shit out of 200g of digestive biscuits. If you want, add three teaspoons of ginger powder now. Melt 100g of butter on a LOW heat so as not to burn it, and stir this into the bicuit crumbs.
Flatten the crumb-dough around a greased pie tin evenly across the base and the sides. Put this into the oven at around 180degC until it is brown- around ten minutes.
Pour the four egg yolks and lime zest from four limes into a bowl and whisk with an electric whisk until thick. Then add the condensed milk into the bowl, whisk to combine. Juice all the limes and add them into the mixture with a little cream, whisk one last time to combine all ingredients.
Spoon the pie filling into the crust and bake until set- around 15-20 mins.
Leave to cool.
Eat.

Life Gives You Lemons, Learn To Love Lemons.

The chances of me ever having kids is slipping into a smaller number by the minute. It doesn't bother me now, but I'm sure it will one day. Until then ^-^. I had fun at Sofa's over the weekend, and we cooked... something relatively pasta based which Sofa can now cook for herself as she watched and poked the whole time. The recipe was a standard tomato sauce, but if we hadn't been drinking and starving it probably would have had a much nicer flavour :P. We killed five bottles of wine and a 70CL bottle of 45% Import Strength Smirnoff, and subsequently fell into a deep comatic boozenap. Photos can be seen on Facebook.
My tune of the day is I Feel Like Dying- Lil Wayne. And the photos of the day are as follows:

The sky from my garden last year. I have such a poetic soul, this photo makes me all teary eyed just because of the intensity of the blue-ness of dusk.

And maybe a poem...

Wandering,
Thoughts are tumbling,
Waiting for tremors
to shake this shivering
Deliverance.
Pity me, gathering.
Attempting breathing as the world lies
Staggering
And we stay shuddering in fear-
This year is repeating.
Triggering
Reactions are cluttering
Speakers are stuttering
Crescendos are happening
This year is repeating.
Locked away, children are whispering
Huddling and coddling, in the dark
Fumbling for a light we're
Extinguishing
Relinquishing nothing
Since this year is repeating.

Game-y Whiney Pie

Ingredients:
Pidgeon, Rabbit, Venison, Beef totalling 750g
OR
Diced potatoes, carots, leeks, celery totalling 750g

A couple of -cooked- sausages/vegetarian sausages
Three large onions
Three tablespoons of black pepper, crushed
One tablespoon of salt
One glass of a strong red wine
One cup of beef/vegetable stock
A few cloves of garlic
Half a cut of tomatoes, skinned and seeded.
Two teaspoons of cornflour
A potato pastry- I made one but it is much easier to buy :D
An egg yolk
Oil
Lea and Perrins Sauce
Bay, Marjoram, Oregano.

Method:
Heat oil on a high temperature in a large pot. Dice the meat into 2x2cm cubes, brown the meat quickly and remove to one side.
Cut and add all three onions to the pan, stirring until caramelised. Throw in around a couple of teaspoons of each herb, and a slightly crushed bay leaf.
Add garlic, and when softened add the meat back into the pan with a few dashes of Lea and Perrins Sauce, the wine, the stock, the pepper and salt, the tomatoes and the sausages.
Using a little water, mix the cornflour to ensure no lumps before adding to the pot. Stir and cover.
Leave on a very low heat for an hour or so, taste and season accordingly. Remove from heat, remove bay leaf and place in as many ramekins as is needed.
Roll pastry out, cover ramekin and trim off excess. Brush with eggyolk and cook at around 190 deg C. The pie is done when the pastry is golden brown.


Vegetables do not need browning or removing whilst the onion cooks, instead they can be sweated off with the onions.
Lea and Perrins is NOT vegetarian, HP sauce is. It is an ok replacement but a little sweet, so more salt may be required.

Stilton and Broccoli Soup

Sofa, this is especially for you since you would LOVE this soup, it tastes like hot sex and I have some right now ;)
These are approximations, I cook by taste and make up my recipes as I go. I used a vegetable stock although a mild chicken stock really brings out the flavour of stilton alot better.

Ingredients:
Vegetable stock
Cider
Stilton
Broccoli
Salt and Pepper
One small onion
Cream

For the stock:
One Lemon
A half handful of thyme
One large onion
Skins, cut-offs and peels from onions, carrots, peppers, potatoes, fennel, celery and broccoli
Salt and Black Pepper to taste
One bulb of garlic
One glass of white wine
Water
Butter or vegetable oil
Sugar

Method-

Heat a large oven-proof pan on the stove, add a few tablespoons of oil or one tablespoon of butter.
Add a pinch of salt and pepper- after 20 seconds turn the heat up and and add the vegetable cut-offs. At this point shell the garlic, leaving the cloves to one side to add the outer bulb skins to the pan.
Dice the onion and garlic, add it and sweat everything off over a low heat for 10 minutes, until the onion becomes caramelised. Burning the garlic will result in a very bitter and unpleasant flavour.
Pour in the glass of wine, taking care not to drink any >_>. Add finely chopped thyme and the juice of one lemon.
When the alcohol has evaporated out of the wine, pour in the glass of water and plenty of salt and pepper. If the flavour is too sour add sugar, one teaspoon at a time until the sourness is gone.
Add another quarter litre of water and place the pan in the oven at around 200 deg C.
After a half hour remove the pan, strain the liquid and taste. Season accordingly but remember that stilton is a salty cheese and will permeate the flavour of the soup.
Return the stock to the heat once the flavour is balanced - it is soup ready :D.

Add all the broccoli florets. Once they are cooked, add a finely diced small onion.
Turn the heat off and blitz the mixture with an immersion blender.
Turn the heat back on, add six tablespoons of stilton and a tablespoon of pepper.
Once the cheese has melted, add a half cup of cream and serve.

Pure Mornings, Melancholy Dawning

So, how about that biology coursework... It's not happening now, and hasn't been for the past three months. I suggest I start it as it is due in last month, and all everyone wants is for me to just get through college. and all I do is shit in their faces. Well. Here's one more.

Don't Mug Yourself

I think drinking a pint of wine is not the best choice of breakfast cereal, but I have a Christian in my bed and a Mike on my floor, mushrooms do not work on me or I at least need three times more, and I am a pregnant college flunk-to-be. Not sure what to say? Nor are we. Except...maybe... that I have not used a single apostrophe in this blog post because when I press it I am hotlinked to something far far away..

Elaborate Escapades

So far, we've drunk champagne in a bath full of soapy bubbles, smoked zoots out of the window standing on the radiator, eaten raw amounts of pizza, escaped in to Cheadle to get alcohol supplies and hula hoops cheese ham bread and pot noodle, as well as vodka whiskey and tequila..and beer. Christian, due to eating nothing ever, is now drunk off one JD and coke. I went on AIR which was about 15 seconds of intense fun XD yes yes yes, and a few kids rides with Alex and Christian. Tomorrow we're getting fasttrack passes and fucking rinsing the scary rides :D And later today we're getting back massages and then going to dinner. Happy times. I'm going to come home eight times wider ^_^

Dissections, Dissapointments..

I cut the end off my finger yesterday. but you all know that now. It hurts. Meh.

I have been mostly disappointed by Mike this week. He has twice told me we'd go out only to sleep through. He slept when I went out with Christian, and I wanted him there. He slept when I went to hospital, and I needed him so much. He fake made out with Alex, which in the context of things is understandable and crushing in the same moment. But I love him, maybe he'll come around.

Also, K-Flex has been put down.

So all in all, I'm pretty much depressed.

Baciel

Well, the alcohol is gone. I could probably knock back another bottle, but to be honest I'm glad there's no more present. Random topic of conversation time. I piiiick..... relapse.

There are so many ways to relapse, aren't there? Relapses into habits, personalities, tastes, beliefs. You can relapse into an addiction, a way of thinking or a favoured music style, but it is not always such a bad thing. Myself, I have relapsed into comfort eating, bad ways of thinking, introversion, alcoholism and to an extent- self injury. As a result I am 9 lb heavier and easy to offend. However, I have also relapsed into genuine laughter, honesty, fear and trust. Which of these make me weaker I will never fully know, only that I feel much more grounded for the emotion I now allow myself to feel. Have you ever heard the word relapse in relation to events which aren't negative? I beleive we should all be allowed to relapse for better or worse, to make sure we are alive and to ensure we do not forget who we are and who we were, because in effect who were were and who we are and who we will be are all part of the same gigantuous entity.

In other news, if by Friday my little K-Flex is still not eating I will have her put down.. permitting she doesn't rapidly deteriorate before this. Her weight is continuing to drop, her hind legs are worsening by the day and now her internal brain gyroscope (to put it simply) is fucked. She lacks balance and I'm pretty sure she is developing a cataract. She also has the shits like nothing I've ever seen and it really doesn't smell pretty, which is unusual for a rat as their feces normally do not have much scent. The tip of her tail is flat, which cannot be good. She's fading fast. It's a moral dichotomy- to put down the rat and end suffering, or to allow them to live out the life they have left until they show more signs of pain or reach their final moments.

I'm not going to have a finished coursework for either subject.

Why do I procrastinate...?

Vexed

-_- Tell me we're going to go out for three days once you get your day off, then tell me to wake you up after a nap, then another 45 minutes, then another hour, then roll over and grouch at me for waking you when you asked. Then I give up. Then tell me to turn down music at 4.20pm in my own room. And go back to sleep.

A Very Michael Post

Because I can. Because he thought I was having second thoughts about him. Because I'm too self absorbed to remind him how much I love him every day.

It's in the way you look into my eyes with such unspeakable tenderness, and the way you kiss the back of my neck gently.
It's how incredibly handsome I think you are, and stroking your spine.
It's our first rather drunken kiss, and getting you so wasted on Raki.
Taking me out for a bit of fun drinking in the sunset and a movie, the first time when I needed it most- and how stylishly I stuck toilet paper to myself -_-.
The fright and hurting, the soullessness I felt before you were in my life, and how you alone offered friendship.
It is the fire in your back yard, meeting Helen and Kyle, and drinking your mother's wine supply.
It's whatever godforsaken time you had to crawl through your window and sneak me in quietly.
It's locking you out a hundred times when I've fallen asleep, and how it brings me to tears that I did every time.
How delicious your skin and shirts smell all the time.
How gentle you are with my rats.
It is because no matter how mad I make you, you still cuddle me even though I probably don't deserve it.
It's hearing you talk about the future that fills me with warmth because I feel so safe and secure with you as my partner.. being in your arms.
It's because you're the only person who gives me the tummy-in-an-elevator feeling, and butterflies.
It's the rare nights you fall asleep naked.
It is your voice of cold reason and logic, talking actual sense into this ditzy girl.
It's all these little electric shocks, jolts of life that course through me now because I'm so happy.
It is, after all, when I really think about how it feels to be loved that the intensity of my happiness overwhelms me.


I love you.

More of nothing, sometimes of something

It's ten to nine in the AM, and I already feel like descending into something self mutilating and messy. This is worth blogging about for the sheer fact that I have been strong since my first date with Michael *blushblush* (and because I have a full pint glass of white wine). I'm going to write a post to keep my mind off it. Bear with me. *BEARRAWR*
Oh my gods- the fart I just created (and there's another) smells like rotting baby skunk flesh. The follow-ups aren't as potent which leads to me to start leaning into the gas I have just expelled (and inhaling) to check if I truley am the GOD of GAS. I am not. I am fully prepared to give that title to Mike... my brother may yet take the throne and I'm sure he remembers why he doesn't tickle me anymore.
On the topic, I really do love my big brother, and Sofa you'll agree, they are integral parts of growing up aren't they? Maybe it's selective memory, but I don't remember my brother ever being particularly unkind to me- sure, he held me upside-down by my ankles but I thought it was so much fun to playfight with him. I remembered whilst on the bog yesterday something that I do occasionally find myself remembering- I was about four years old, and walking by my father's old slate house by the fields with Dan, Jan, and the pricklefuck of a father (maybe we got off on the wrong foot LOL), and peeling an orange. I said 'I don't like the pith' and was told NEVER EVER to repeat what I just said by my father. Misheard much? But my big brother told me not to worry and that he hadn't understood, and we walked behind him, and then I felt better. And he let me play his Sonic games, and finished food when I didn't like it if no one was looking, and he'd drop everything in an instant if I need him. I guess I don't tell him enough that he's super awsome :D Even if we can't express emotions properly :P
...

I hate lists. So I'm making one.

Random Things About Me That I Never Noticed Until They Were Pointed Out


I always pull the ringpull off a can
I like to unwrap things
I click my knuckles when I'm annoyed or upset
I chew my lip when I'm sleepy
I leave words and sketches all over people's stuff
I gaze in a certain direction when -
)I'm having or hearing conversations entirely within my mind
)I'm thinking about Michael
)I'm remembering something sad
)I'm trying to backtrack what I said

I take sandwiches apart and eat the component parts separately
I am sometimes caught counting grains of rice/pasta pieces/sugar granules
I find beer a highly acceptable breakfast
I am more of a romantic gentleman than a well-spoilt woman
I get uncomfortable when things are too tidy
I should hold my tongue less
I put Marmite on toast in a certain curly 'Z' pattern
My eyes light up when I have Mike and zoot in my bath, when I get alcohol, and when I find treasure in the cupboards - shells, crystals, candy, foreign pennies, rollies and knickers are all accepted as treasure.
I love and value all my friends even when I think I don't

Scattered Splatterings of Spluttered Bloodspit

I'm going crazy. Or at least, I sound like I am. If I could explain it then I guess you'd laugh, dismiss me. Hell, I would.  There's no rational way to put to words what's going on and it's something I don't understand, nor can control.. but sooner or later, I'm going to need some help.

I'm cooking another roast. The house is empty. I need a drink. I wish there was another day in the week.

I'm worried.

I feel all swirly

I'm ditzy and dizzy, drugless and wordless. The bass is up but the music is quiet, just a static reverberation that won't cease and even if it could, I wouldn't want it to. All I want is another hit of just about anything to keep chasing the sunset and never be left in the dark, alone, in my room. But it's not likely, I'm getting tired and cold and everything aches and I feel shitty- as if everything has been put through a blender and back into me all wrong.

My face is any girl's face, my tits are any girl's tits, and from the waist down baby I've been everyone's any girl. Even now I feel the breath of hundreds, of one in particular, of no one I know. It seeps into my skin which turns the same ugly way - hot, damp, putrid for years to come. I feel the greasy pushing as I open my eyes even though I could keep them closed and play dead, but games are for children and I've got to grow far and wild. Keep running, eyes open.

If you can take me in my sleep, you should have had the decency to pay me like the whore you saw lying there, trying to dream of better days but always falling back into nightmares... bad memories... bad people.

The next push will make me.