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My poloroids are words. [entries|friends|calendar]

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Repetition [03 Oct 2006|12:39am]
[ mood | confused ]

The deja vu is hitting hard, and your heart races, the familarity like a skipping record. It is hard to believe what is real when you're not.
I cannot have her. I touch her and all these snapshots of different girls, different faces, different beds - they shotgun themselves into my head, reminding me why I always keep wanting, reminding me that I've said the same things, they've all said the same things, to ourselves, to each other - over and over and over.
Maybe we share the same addiction for repetition. Of bedroom dancing - moving in and out, together, from each other. Of making the same mistakes again - the push and pull of conscience - I am pushing you away, you are pulling my face to yours, kiss me like you mean it, you are pushing into me, inside me, I am pulling out all the regular excuses - stop, rewind.
It's the same song, xeroxed yearnings - desire on its knees. The same shit again. Do you want to sing this with me, this perfect sonnet, sing us out to sea.
Or do you want to sink with me. Tied together and thrown into the ocean, left there to drown - love like water in our lungs.
But I want to be fucking insatiable. I want to have choices and not choose. Why this ache, then. Why this - fear that I might lose her.

across my eyes

hold on, love. [27 Sep 2006|05:45pm]
[ mood | content ]

I want to leave my mark on everything, swallow the world whole.
Do you understand why now, when I say, that I cannot stay in one place? I don't fit in fixed equations, not a fan of logic, constants.
I will keep packing my bags, to leave.
And my sneakers will always be worn out, my feet, always weary.
But my spirit.
My spirit will always be alive and every morning when I wake up, there will be another adventure to sink my teeth in.
Hello stranger. I am writing our story right now.

across my eyes

the seasonal color of leaves. [21 Sep 2006|10:15pm]
[ mood | calm ]

Change. Change is important, necessary.
I've seen the extent of my own transition, know that it will never end, know that I might be afraid of some things, grateful of others but I have to keep changing.
Like clockwork, I will move through the motions of elements, travel destinations, people I meet, keep transforming until I find myself.
This journey was intended as an escape, but it became a pilgrimage. To find out what I want, what I am, what I will make myself to be.
It's summer in the afternoons but autumn comes creeping in through the temperature drop when the sun disappears. The seasonal color of leaves gives me the same kind of feeling the way a full moon does - beckoning and yet pushing me away. It's a sign that I need to let go of something I don't intend to.
But it has to be done.

across my eyes

Afternoon Urge [19 Sep 2006|07:30pm]
She's moving slowly, pressing her firm abdomen against mine. She's not smiling, I don't care. I'm not a fan of artificial gratification but she has her dildo ready, I can't exactly push her away. And then she's inside me and she's moving slowly, in and out, rythemic like clockwork, I'm not smiling, she's not smiling, holds on to my right hip, tighter and tighter, bedsheets are crumpling in my hands, I'm watching her watch me.
And then.
I arch my back and thrust myself deeper against her.
I'm such a fucking bitch.
Andy's birthday party. Threw up the vegi burger I had earlier at his neighbor's front door. Listened to Postal Service in my room until I fell asleep.

Got completely wasted at the eviction party for the squat at Hanover Sq. on Saturday and woke up in a daze in a recovery position, freezing to death, on Ferg's sofa bed. I owe Helena a big one.

Kinda spent the day recovering from Saturday at Ferg's. Went to the park to wrestle and tussle each other's hair with Ferg and Helena and Debbie. Watched a lesbian super-villain/hero teen movie called D.E.B.S and fell asleep.

Met Ngombo at the cafe, hung out with her and Emily and got drunk with Justin and Alex.

At the cafe. Going to Violator tonight with Em. Her zine is ready and mine isn't and it's making me anxious because I want to get it ready for Ladyfest Newcastle this weekend.
SHould stop getting distracted.
across my eyes

and all the rest like them [12 Sep 2006|06:34pm]
[ mood | anxious ]

He is well dressed, cotton v neck sweater over a pressed, collared white shirt and white shoes. Clean face, pink fingertips and short nails. Schoolboy haircut. He is gentle with his words, like he is with his cigarettes and he listens to chart radio. Drinks coffee with milk.
But in a week, he will be scamming trains, cutting through barbed wires, sneaking past surveillance cameras, and sinking submarines. He will be telling himself to be quick with his fingers, with the wires, with his feet. He will be doing something,
'That I believe in doing.'
There are others like him. Like that girl I met at that party who danced next to the washing machine in the kitchen in her boxers to electro and then held in a cell for 14 hours, 3 days later, after a demonstration.
There are more like them.
And I'm thinking, what am I contributing, to make the world a better place?
A zine, a song, a stencil at a time?
I observe and observe.
A map, a plan.
And I tell myself that I will have to be quick with my hands, mind, with my feet.

across my eyes

Lake District [06 Sep 2006|06:45pm]
[ mood | blank ]

It laces my words with extra sweetness, extra flash, it tangles intentions, sometimes my shoelaces. I just wanted to talk to you. But you took my hand and the hug turned into an unplanned kiss and then we couldn't look at each other in the eye when we left the bar.
I'm not guilty. I told you I was attracted to you.
I only just wanted to talk to you.
But I remembered your haircut. And the fullness of your boy-lips on a girlface.
You're telling me something about your job, you're a chef, you live in Lake District, you're exhausted, it's your first night here, you're going away for a month - I couldn't make out anything except for the last bit.

You're going away for a month.

I'm a girl.
And I kiss girls.
I kiss girls to remind myself of my girl-ness. She said I only kiss girls when I'm drunk but that's not true. It's just that, it's more intoxicating, the delicious cologne from the collar mixing with the gin lime on your breath. The semi-carelessness, how inexpensively pretty and precious it becomes.

across my eyes

searching. [04 Sep 2006|11:27pm]
[ mood | contemplative ]

Girls. Women.
Concentric circles and detergents. Whispers, locks of hair. Eyelashes. Cotton. I press my fingertips on her back, felt her softness invite me in, calling my name.
Tell me how you want me.
I don't want anything. I don't seek to possess, d'you understand? I'm finding myself. Coffee or tea. Left or right. Up or down.
After her house warming party.
It's a dance, to most. It's a ritual to me. It's beautiful, it's a morsecode. It spells out my name, what I'm looking for.
Your mouth open, a perfect 'O'. I closed my eyes.
Try harder. When we tangle in between sheets, I'm screaming to try to remember the comfort. But there is only want. The guilt is selfish.
Why is it that when I said you were beautiful, you turned away from me and said no?
The tip of the letter K.
Nipple tapes. She said I was distracted but it's alright.
What is it?
Say something.
I can't. I'm just a stranger. Don't want to know if it was convenience. But I remember your face. I don't need a camera. My poloroids are words.
Punkrock. Pocket sized zines.
What is it?
Pepper-sprays. Broken nerves. Batons. Bruises. I couldn't see the fire inside you, past your studded belt, buckle, sneakers, tattoos. Did I judge? Did you judged me?
Nothing. I have nothing to say.
I just realized I don't even know the magnitude of you and your work.
You asked me what my name was.
Don't say it.

across my eyes

untitled [04 Sep 2006|09:42pm]
Yes, I am a fool. There are stories behind every razorblade wrapped in thin, oiled paper, light and careful in my pockets.
But those stories are not for you to tell, they do not fit you, you cannot bear their weight.

And you. Your serpents sit on your tongue, coil in your mouth. You are medusa, swallowed, in your own throat, your speech is poison, turned you into stone.
Woman, you bring me down to my knees. If I brush my lips on the soft curve of your neck, he will never feel it - not a strand of hair, not a breath. If I trace my fingers from your thigh, to your chest, he cannot see it. I do not seek to possess, but to be possessed. The air you take into your lungs. The secret you breathe in before you sleep.
across my eyes

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