yes

s l o w l y d i s i n t e g r a t i n g a s i t b e c o m e s p a r t o f t h e l a n d s c a p e. . . ....

for dorothy

ok hestia you're gonna write til you stop pretending this isn't happening. til what comes out of your brain vaguely resembles whats happening inside it and begins to take on a life of its own.




here is what's happening.

I am eating oat cakes and shropshire blue with too much butter (everything has too much butter on it recently.) listening to regina spektor's 'us' for the third time in a row its the song for this attempt to escape the trough thats lasted for the last two months . it's contagious it's contagious it's contagio u u u uhU S. it makes me think about us as in all these people staring at blank walls and computer cursors, the one's i found for myself, the ones she told me about in my tutorial that can see invisible things there isn't any way of talking about but try anyway. who try. us as in community. as in people that take responsibility for themselves instead of contracting their lives out to some big corporate institution that will live it for them. groups of people thinking independently. like amy said, like a multiplicity instead of many people alone. like amy's film. i've got really bad at dot joinging recently, all the multiplicities in my work are unravelling into lonely little pieces. thoughts lost in the time passing wind blowing. i need to phone my mum. i need to email my sister. i owe becky a letter from the one she wrote me in february. i owe live journal posts, i owe myself the clothes i've been wearing since i got ill, kisses not given, plans not made, notes not organised, documentation to present, more phone calls, more emails. i did manage to hoover my floor.

i need to take up a lot more space. i got a table in the studio on monday and already somebody asked me if they could use a bit of the wall over it i nearly said ok but realised what was happening just in time to resist. i need to inhabit the physical as much as the...what is the opposite of physical when you believe thoughts to be real, material things? is that my problem? the virtual has always been actual to me but the point is to actualise it for other people so its actually there for them instead of expecting them to know the code my bit of timespaceconsciousness is written in. fuck that sounded pretentious. fuck. good word. very tangible. actually there. somewhere.

becky said to find a key, like a map of it. wait a minute didn't i already try and do that? why is it that in a fog you go round and round in circles. one goes round and round in circles. alone. not realising one is surrounded by many other ones. like amy said. maybe a key is different, a system for understanding, not a representative image (oh, cleverness). i think this spiderworking i've been doing has got keys in it. lots. i just gotta pick one. (again a strange feeling of deja vu. fuck.)

i liked acting in amy's film. lines were very blurry. everything was very actual. but tricksy and good difficult to explain. her and mike are my heroes.

i like dan's t-shirt.

"everything i touch turns to gold", she says, "then to silver, then to tears."

(someone somewhere should be called 'verde'.)

on small burning embers

"Lined hearths are easily identified by the presence of fire-cracked rock, often created when the heat from the fires inside the hearths chemically altered and cracked the stone. Often present are fragmented fish and animal bones, carbonized shell, charcoal, ash, and other waste products, all imbedded in a matrix of soil that has been deposited atop the hearth. Unlined hearths, which are less easily identified, may also include these materials. Because of the organic nature of most of these items, they can be used to pinpoint the date the hearth was last used via the process of radiocarbon dating. Although carbon dates can be negatively affected if the prehistoric users of the hearth burned old wood or coal, the process is typically quite reliable."

(burn burn burn...)

its ok its still there i'm pretty sure don't worry

black black black black eyeliner girls always forever.

it was soft. and. warm and. hazy from fairy lights and street lights. i put down three mismatched sofa pillows without waking the others up, curled up under my duvet, closed my sore eyes and went to sleep.

my house would sound like something made up if i tried to write it which i guess we did but before writing it down not during which is definitely the best way.



(kiss kiss bliss blissesplease please please((([ i feel like flies are flying round my eyes and the walls keep shrinking at me]))

tenses

ai ai agh ah ahhh a sudden loneliness, hunger and a longing to speak like i used to we say who are you like you are plural i remember work is to be love made visible something i read a very ever such a long time ago much further down than this where i don't go very often any more everywhere people are making long distance phonecalls back to their sixteen-year-old-ness the gap seems so wide between this and everything else i want to go back to the countryside to go back to find the beginnings of this grieving to places you have to drive to and footbridges over dual carriageways and holding a torch so the bus can see you and sleeping all in one room because we burnt til we fell asleep because we hadn't done this before these were the first times.

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?