we love your glo-in-the-dark oak trees and bloody circuitry

go go go GO: : : : : : : : : : ' *

* + +
* * > *. . ,

*

*

*

: : : : my sister is in india
: : : : : : : these ladies know
: : : can'tcan't wait to climb in these coderidden branches

*
^

(i heart 0's and 1's)

lift to...

go see, gently

i wore my orange dress, the one that means this is really happening

and i had my typewriter and my video camera and my pencil case and i was ready for battle with important things to say and my ground to stand and my self to respect.

i knew what we were playing at. i knew what i was being played as.

and now i am sick

of the "at your age"s and the "what you have to understand here is...".

i am so sick. and so tired of this game we lost so fucking long ago. and i know what i am being played as.

there was a fire burning in the grate while we were talking and i thought the house would turn in against him in anger and burn him up and that he was just some horrible part of the nightmare voices that told me i hadn't done my homework, that tell me to grow up and be sensible; the voices that tell me that despite the orange dress and the tears in my eyes and the hard won honesty and bravery that got me through that door that i am invisible, that when i open my mouth there isn't a sound and that reality won't wake me, any minute, in a world where nothing is that horrible; because as he made clear he is it.

he is real and solid and concrete and powerful and it's me thats the invisible impossible dream.

T H R O U G H T H E L O O K I N G G L A S S : : : : :

alice is sick, maybe dying.
"alice! most precious alice. we have kept her this long and we shall not lose her yet."

+zadie smiths introduction to the new edition+

stars on walls and in glasses

it was my birthday and everything was better and better and better and better right up to the moment i stumbled to bed. and so much was so very and my friends are the most and beyond anything any tiny struggling bedraggled aspiring art girl could dream of. such decadent wonderfulnesses and deep and complicated kindnesses, i'm as lucky as the luckiest waving golden cat, the one that survived all our excesses much as i mourned his wounding and was scared he'd never wave again, as lucky as the snow drops

that
made it all

the way from leamington unwilted

T H A N K Y O U

coming back around

waking up through the sound of stonesaws everyday makes it still pretty cold hard but ever such small tendrils beginning to creep out, not like its really anywhere near spring yet but like, you know, just a couple of snowdrops.

by the time its my birthday there are always one or two snow drops.

i filled up the book I've had for six months and the end was exactly the same as the beginning but this time I can feel it kicking, see it gaining flesh and blood and teeth for fighting. it pinched me really fucking hard for every apology i made for it.


there is weight to all of this as well as that tricksy lightness. these lists are drawings not maybes. this work has a history and a structure in me and i know them well enough to scream for them now and if i don't no one will so what.what.what. am i waiting for?