I Awake...

...All fuzzy, like a big ball of wool – the screechy one that makes that awful sound when you bite it…

Frank the Onion

Today I planted an onion
I called it Frank
Because it was.

The Girl

Grey feathers of fallen thoughts rest upon the floor; the sun watches them becoming old…

Passing people uncaring walk. She, the one with the bright eyes brings one to her breast; the

feather kept – searching the sky hanging. But winds are uncaring… the feather blows, becoming

as lost as the bird that shed it…

Again,

But always the girl – that is where home lies.

Spirits and Spirits

Bizarre mix of bells round my wrist – there are chocolate bunnies, we talk of dying and some think that Jesus was real – Who am I? Who is she? Who are we all? … Our identity – is blurry. Talk of school girls, priests’ strangulation and ghosts. There’s wine and Bacardi with mixers and cigarettes – round the kitchen table. Friends. We play games with dice and words and guess the famous person on our heads. I didn’t know I was the Pope she thought she was Johnny Cash – we are all us, sitting with Minnie Mouse. There was not enough coffee, but lots of tiramisu. I didn’t like lamb but I ate lasagne, she said I was thin. She said she was fat.

Time...

...Slipped by when I wasn't looking.

What's in a Name?

Poetry…

… Rymes, rimes, hymes:

All the spellings of 'Rhyme' I have seen today in my lecture…

Fantastic.

The Strangest of Dreams...

I pick at grains of sand with tweezers in hand and I see a gleaming which pleases my eyes.
Reaching out with an unsteady finger through a ring of flies – proportions contorted – I touch it. I found it. Nerve endings stirred, never more have I cared for something as unknown as this. Smooth with the ridges of a shell, it breathes but does not move. The man on the moon above booms out a voice so loud – that of an angry crowd, he bellows down to me to leave this poor thing be. I look up with a start, shocked that we are so far apart and I say ‘what right have you up there to shout down at me and tell me this thing of beauty I see cannot be touched’ but he has gone and all that’s left is me feeling in the wrong. Again with my tweezers I pick and flick the bits of sand away, when across the bay a lady lay stood up, she sat down walking and in silence she spoke ‘that does not belong to you nor anyone of this earth’
‘But who on earth are you’ I say ‘I found this thing and now it is mine’ and as quick as anything she disappeared and I felt fine. I continued unbothered to pick up my new finding. When all of a sudden its light became blinding and there’s no space now in the sand to hide it. Without sight all I can do now is feel with my greedy fingers in, out and around it. I misstep and fall inside – it’s wet on the walls and it’s soft underfoot and I bet that this was what they were talking about. But without any doubt I carry on walking knowing that my freedom lies on. Hanging strings wrap me up and I am stuck. I fidget, fumble and fling my limbs around as though insanity stole me. And then just like that I’m outside and I can see. I look down towards my feet and there lay lots of pieces of broken coral and pearl.

Getting There

Half asleep, for last night insomnia would not stop to speak. All night she told me boldly of the fears she has and shared with me her songs that end never, ever infinite they are and loud. She is not apologetic but on the contrary quite proud that she selfishly forces this reality unnaturally upon me ‘till it covers me like a plastic bag.
I’m on the train. Uncomfortable, but I cannot blame the people around me. I’m going to be late and I hate it when that happens, but it does and it becomes me. I glimpse through the slice of window I can see at the trees with blurred edges and the birds that backwards fly, and I am not there, but here flawed and I would not have heard it had it have cawed to its partner having gotten a worm for tea. That’s what I think I did not see as I am squashed ‘tween armpit and pot-belly. On their backs I can smell their houses and I don’t like it so I stop breathing, can’t tell anymore how many seconds my breath was just my own and I have to let her go; a farewell to she from me for this is my stop. As the train slows I make sure that I have not forgot’ my bag. Follow the barriers shining with reflections of those who heads are now of sheep and cows and sows and they make their noises but I don’t because I am bored of all this. My brain compares; the lift or the stairs? But my legs just keep walking ‘till I’m outside dreaming of sleep. Walking lightly touching not a single gap to save my back from breaking, like my Nan told me when I was small I recall it well obviously. The pedestrian code I need not abide as I stride through crowd and traffic alike. They all have eyes, only some of them shine in time for me to see them so I move but they don’t because that’s me, that’s what I do but unfortunately they are not like me, in this way. Which is best? Should I delay my journey further for the sake of a politeness which they do not care for either way? I digress… so the building hangs over me in shades of old, behold its grey glory looming. Buses pass behind me, their voices are heavy with smoke so they moan along the road been told where to go and on board are people moaning too – it catches I’m sure. Inside into another crowd, check the time which wastes a bit more of it ironically, stairs and hallways doors with handles and numbers, I can’t see inside them which nerves me – I tell them to go away so that I can go away inside and they listen for once which is nice. And I’m sitting here, writing here content that despite the world I finally got myself here.

C and P

Confusion, I don’t know. Paranoia spread around – like damp.

...Pass me a cloth.

Twinkle, Twinkle

Staring up through the window at the stars - hundreds of them; tiny blue light bulbs hanging from the sky on silver threads. Soon the clouds will pass beneath them - they'll hide away.
Look at the little LCD lights flickering away on the little circuit board of Sant’ Antioco. It comes closer – floating on the still blue-black waters until we were inside; little pulses of life…

Peaceful Insomnia

Last night I couldn’t sleep,

But this morning we woke up and painted everything white – I like that.

Gone...

I really should come back... from the away.

Musically Unspoken

Music sounds different; its ears have different listeners of different times…
And its sounds speak of other words, that to you have less meaning,

Anti for your depressed – too late

Hers with others, within a time I’ve never seen – less now?

Mine safe in the world of my own as it screams inside never to mix with the air.

A place apart from here, a place not in time but in somewhere else much deeper,

I think that unquiet has to be learned to write beautiful words that are thought and that time will come in at its own pace.

I dream of a room in the time to come, filled with a mess of dreams – shared and not formed both alike…
In time.
It all takes time in the end and without that thought I’m gone again…

Thoughts get in your Smoke

The smoke leaves my lips as I blow it up to the ceiling, I’m heavy. I wonder what it would be like to be the smoke, rising and falling away from itself; weightless it can see its insides… and it floats. I could stay up there and look down at everyone at the dinner table.
They couldn’t see me – wouldn’t see my face as I become lost in my own thoughts. They wouldn’t feel sorry that I didn’t understand, thinking that my thoughtful face means that I’m sad, which I’m not, I’m just thinking of being smoke.

Confusion creeps between the floorboards...

I feel small and you, up there... looking down upon me as I trip and fall between the floorboards. Dusty webs stretch over my eyes - when the world turns to black I know it was them: those eight legged manipulators changing my future as I rock on my knees and wish to be up there. You laugh, you don't free me... just grin, look what the cat dragged in, grin. You are the mouse, a cats tale tail tale of a cat. I cannot be free today but when you hear the patter of eight footsteps - you will be sorry, for I belong with them now - they are the only ones to teach me. One day i will be tall again, and I will smile as I look down upon you looking up back at me up there.

I smell dying beetles...

I don't know. It's not easy to say what's happening inside here where I am. The door is locked and on the outside I hear them screaming... under the door, the crack of light I see ten piles of oranges. The smell rises up into me of dying beetles....
Where am I? Lost inside -
Drag my fingernails along the ground. A cold pavement. Gravel. Bleeding. Is this it? the place where you have taken.... me.... taken. Am I to go now through the crack in the door 'drink me' shrink small? is that it? my name is not Alice sir!