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Monday, July 30th, 2007

Subject:cat power
Time:8:45 pm.
i can't even bear to listen to 'cross-bones style' or 'names'. it's like joy division. you almost wish you hadn't heard it.
count

Saturday, May 12th, 2007

Subject:may
Time:11:15 pm.
spring
receive me
gracefully, barefoot
be generous, strew your blossom like perfumed silk
i need you, i need to grow
to return as the geese return
to the lake shore, i heard their hellos and cried
for what has lain all winter in the earth
is music now

and i without love,
out of that hospital
weak and free
i will dance if you ask me
count

Thursday, April 19th, 2007

Time:12:04 am.
The camera comes between me and the world. It pinches the view at the corners. Photographers only choose, we don't make anything. We choose one moment to save from the river of time. I am at home with landscape, i am alone with time, and the camera compresses the distances into moon beauty. Between me and another person, the camera is a terrible obstacle, like pyjamas in water. I must struggle to cast off the baggy pants of awkwardness and voluminous jersey of ineptitude.
count

Thursday, April 12th, 2007

Subject:ginga
Time:10:00 pm.
i wish i had known sooner what an incredible gift the body is. i can't not use it. i can't forget it.
there is music in the universe
unique among the animals, we dance.
my body is ear and mouth: it hears and speaks
i sway, spin, jump; i am free as the birds and fishes
i am learning to walk on my hands.
when you are still, the world dances wilder
its music spills out
from the iamb of the heart
count

Thursday, February 22nd, 2007

Subject:three for a girl
Time:11:19 pm.
when someone has a baby i am in tears to hear
babies are all of us, they are pure. nothing is heavier.

everything we must be, falling in the playground, alone in hotel rooms, cooking for lovers, swimming in the ocean, sobbing in despair, crying with joy, blowing out the candles on our cakes, dancing all night and weepy in the holy morning city sun, learning french, silent in the cinema dark, helpless in the art gallery, guilty, ashamed of the poverty of our souls, or minds, the faults of our bodies, the wrinkles under our eyes, the triviality of our thoughts, our failure to recognise god, or reject the idea of god, to love truly, give freely, live honestly, grow endlessly, keep the lawn tidy, or tear it up and fill the patio with palm trees in huge terracotta pots... dying at the end, if death is anything at all, or only the light gone out on the end of pier.

all this folded tight inside the newcomer, the stranger, the black eyed little fish. something like the feeling when the aeroplane takes off and the objects on the ground suddenly shrink. the world's poem scribbled in shorthand on the air.
count

Thursday, February 1st, 2007

Subject:home!
Time:5:31 pm.
we are so numerous on the earth:
our burrows eat up the land in rows
Glassy bouquets of reference, Greek vanity
And the solid utility of Victorian poverty.
Brick and slate against dissolution,
Paint and paper against
the horror of ugliness.
In bed under the skylight, blessed
by the rain's staccato lullaby
Naked in the kitchen and kissed
Or alone in my six shrines to silence
I am the lungs & heart, the rejoicing blood.

I do not want a mansion, chandeliered
In moneyed taste and a hundred empty beds
Or jeweled rooms from the Arabian Nights:
This stone box will suffice.
I would build my palace of pebbles and fragments
Of stained glass, or inhabit
And old station like the Tate, airy
and designed earnestly, with muscular grace,
the coming world between the wars,
gardens of the mind in gardens.

Night falls outside my yellow cabin
I could be an astronaut, the world could be gone
in the morning, like snow.
Dreaming already, I admire the symmetry of bananas in the bowl.
count

Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007

Subject:sounding the beats
Time:6:41 pm.
On my ten minute break
I drag the chair to the window so i can read in the light,
look past the bleach bottle on the sill and through the smudged glass
At the tree across the street, splitting the humble sunlight
into small, irregular pieces;
holy, as trees are, with the air of being made

shapeless yellow day, i cast my poem into you
once you were the unimaginable future
and when the last one who saw you is dead
then you are lost without hope in the river of time
(though pegged, by some dark hook, on history's line)

I will not be the one: I am twenty-two already
And many sand grain days have passed unnoticed through the pinch in me.
count

Thursday, January 4th, 2007

Subject:before we get too old
Time:6:31 pm.
it is ten years since i swam in the sea.

the young do not know, that this is life, we thought it was a preparation for something
a lengthy dress rehearsal in which our little errors do not matter and our costumes may be incomplete or pinned together.
someone should tell us no, there is no rehearsal, and no return. this is the river you cannot step into again.

i am tired now, i am tired for the first time. i have been wearing myself out in the rehearsal for seven years. I want to live. i want to shut my eyes and wade into the sea. bare feet on white stone and sand. i want to walk into the sea up to my neck, and forget the world.
count

Thursday, December 28th, 2006

Subject:a thought on the road...
Time:8:37 pm.
I think of England
Before there were kings, only forests
Bronze and green, thick with deer.
Stony bones
Crumbling out of the flesh.
And all the hard bright beautiful things
Cut glass and girls' glances,
The glaciers that carve the smooth new world
Are dead as cash and asphalt to my heart.
count

Friday, December 22nd, 2006

Subject:december
Time:12:06 am.
The shadows grow long in Japan
And I walk in the dawn
Crushing the frost on the grass blades
And the lacy wreaths of leaves;
Their maps of bone

The hot stone in my chest
My white breath
My black, boiling blood
Are lies.

I am snow on the grass
Ice water on the stairs
I have swallowed my secret
It lies in the clear pool, smooth,
Dull. On the surface
The fixed stars shake,
Dropping their names out of the night.
count

Monday, November 6th, 2006

Subject:frozen lemons
Time:9:27 pm.
today we had dinner (impromptu, but i am always dressed for dinner as I believe it encourages people to offer) at Little Tokyo. (this dinner cost me two shifts at work.) I ate a mountain of the most texturous flavourish mushrooms, it being Autumn and I adoring those succulent handmaids of vegetable death.

but what is so Japan and so much the poem of death is the bowl they sent the ginger ice cream in. friends, the bowl was made of ice, with rose petals and lemon slices frozen inside it. atop the confection was an orange flower printed paper parasol such as perches on horrible tropical cocktails. i installed this in my hair.

speaking of that poem, please watch this beautiful short film (Deutsch with subtitles):
Das Rad
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Thursday, November 2nd, 2006

Subject:i only spent £90 in topshop today...
Time:8:40 pm.
according to this site i am the 670,173,539th richest person in the world, and am in the top 11.5%!
way to go poor-student me.
certainly makes me feel that i should be more generous in general.
richer than you think?

wish you were richer?
leave a comment and tell me one thing you'd love to buy, and one thing money never could.
2 stars|count

Wednesday, November 1st, 2006

Subject:literature 1936
Time:9:13 pm.
friends, there are times i cannot face the world without a book. Some books are dreadfully deficient in this area of being companionable, but stevie smith's novel on yellow paper has got to be one of the most companiable books ever written. I urge you to return to British literature of the 1930s! Our poetry was beautiful and natural then before we lost our culture and socialism...

'This book is the voice that runs on...'

It seems to me that writing is the world soul talking to itself. it is only when i read that i can transform a shadow of a thought into a sweet idea. And since we have been speaking the tale goes on being said, from one head to another, as if something more than language were required, some light emanation shining from literature flows into the next contributor and the power comes to channel the electric dreams in your own skull - they say there are only four plots but when the world soul is talking is speaks in your own words and your own bolt of lightning illuminating...
2 stars|count

Sunday, October 15th, 2006

Time:11:10 pm.
in the cold mineral blue
the half moon is like a bone half-buried.
burnished in the desert
by the stars' unceasing light.

i close my mouth and the moon is a skull, a soul, a ghost someone touched
through an airtight glove

i recite my life, i take refuge in water
dry moon, sister
your face is between me and despair.
count

Monday, October 2nd, 2006

Subject:space photo
Time:9:01 pm.
pale blue dot
count

Monday, September 25th, 2006

Subject:september
Time:11:08 pm.
Sweet sweet season
weeds blossom and love
love through the windows
the roof and my body
in cotton, in love.
Now the stars come out like bones
at your death, the trees cry.
And the city night knows no difference
And the drunk girls know no difference
Their shoes are the same
The street hums and hovers beneath their heels.
Let's dance, for tonight we are one day deeper
Into the year.
In the morning, the crow tries its winter voice
on my roof
Blood, it says, dry blood
count

Monday, September 4th, 2006

Subject:alef
Time:9:27 am.
O mighty alef!
Is any letter more noble?
Does the ear of god bend more readily to any other sound?
No! No, western infidel*, it does not.

Nothing can follow the alef. After alef we must start anew.
It guards all exposed lesser vowels
One even stands silently like an immortal solider in front of Iran itself!

O uneducated ones, the alef is not the letter a. It sounds more like the letter o. Say it something like the 'a' in 'salt'
But with emphasis! Great emphasis.
Shout it, for it is the elemental shout!



*myself included
count

Saturday, August 12th, 2006

Subject:muzik every day
Time:10:56 pm.
look, i know no one reads my journal, but i have just downloaded this thing called last fm and i think it could be a really good thing to have.
not because it might help me meet more annoying people, but because it might help me meet more groovy music!
and of course, it's free as in freedom and free as in beer.
10 stars|count

Monday, July 17th, 2006

Subject:philosophy
Time:7:25 am.
"Didn't i tell you so?" said Flask; "yes, you'll soon see this Right Whale's head hoisted up opposite that parmaceti's."
In good time, Flask's saying proved true. As before, the Pequod leaned steeply over towards the Sperm Whale's head, now, by the counterpoise of both heads, she regained her even keel; though sorely strained, you may well believe. So, when on one side you hoist in Locke's head, you go over that way; but now, on the other side, hoisyt in Kant's and you come back again; but in very poor plight. Thus, some minds for ever keep trimming boat. Oh, ye foolish! throw all these thunderheads overboard, and then you will float light and right.

-moby dick
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Wednesday, May 31st, 2006

Subject:for the future
Time:10:00 pm.
31st January 2006
0525
Train stops in endless night
lights on stalks and tracks
gleam sodium monochrome
0745
Ultraviolet tunnel from station to terminal. Moving walkways & silence, suitcases rolling smoothly. It is the future imagined in the 70s, it is a beautiful space-dream, Martian colony. I travel in slow motion.

and the restCollapse )

cobbled together site of my project
count

Subject:listen:
Time:9:59 pm.
Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time...
count

Wednesday, April 12th, 2006

Subject:peter's houseboat
Time:9:49 pm.
3 stars|count

Tuesday, March 21st, 2006

Subject:this morning i have:
Time:8:42 am.
sunshine
sweets
seeds
songs
smiles
salutations
spring!
count

Friday, November 11th, 2005

Subject:there is a light under the ocean
Time:12:05 am.
i had to read the first page of 'one hundred years of solitude' three times
there is nothing contrived about it, it dances into your mind like the words of a friend, it is joy

at some times, in some seasons, words come. welcome visitors.
they fly in, mysterious birds, i examine their feathers: black, iridescent
searching for messages
i struggle to please them, to make them comfortable
but they won't stay, in spring they fly off to find colder hearts
1 star|count

Friday, August 12th, 2005

Time:9:07 pm.
horas non numero nisi serenas

motto on a sundial near venezia
count

Wednesday, August 10th, 2005

Subject:on an unrelated matter
Time:9:49 pm.
i was told that in jerusalem you have the most beautiful visions in your sleep. god talks to you. muslims fall asleep in the christian quarter and become christians, and vice versa

(as a child, i was most of all moved when they said 'god is everywhere'
perhaps god is a weak force, like gravity)

there's a pleasant curry restaurant on the main street, i usually walk home from work through the street that runs behind it. sometimes i see the beautiful asian chefs, in their striped aprons and tall hats, leaning out of the spacious, high windows. the other day i smiled up, and a man who was already laughing smiled back just slightly. being a part of the perfection of a sunny afternoon i skipped on, thinking how easily, how very easily people might be good enough to one another, if the world did not make us hard, how unnatural our relations are, defined utterly by forbidding metal currency. and that somewhere people are laughing at us, working and scraping for our petty lives, saving up pennies for cars and caribbean cruises and school uniforms and sofas. and the most consoling thing anyone has said about it all is 'this is just a ride'.
count

Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005

Subject:falling off fruit crates
Time:5:54 pm.
today read in big issue 60th anniversary hiroshimanagasaki
(vows renewed and rebroken)
yesterday we sat in a meadow between pylons and towerblock eating hummus walnuts apricots elderflower
the sun refused to come out as we photographed flies, flowers, swamp mud, algae&desolation, city pallid in the background, mouldering and diseased
a thousand faces at windows
still dying of hunger in africa cancer in japan
throw fruitstones into long grass brambles catching skirts & life overflowingbutterfly
cannot think only blind & sick, crying in the shop over atom bomb
& return home to bottomless wealth
count

Friday, June 3rd, 2005

Time:2:31 pm.


and then?Collapse )
3 stars|count

Thursday, May 26th, 2005

Subject:pointless picture post
Time:12:17 am.


random sleeping kid... so the boy should be in focus, not the tv, but i haven't learned to use my digital camera properly yet...

here i am using some REAL photographic equipment...Collapse )
4 stars|count

Wednesday, May 25th, 2005

Subject:the box
Time:11:53 pm.
i can't believe i saw just saw an advert for sky TV that told me "your time is precious. use it wisely."
surely they're shooting themselves in the foot with that one?
I haven't had a TV for two years. There's things i like to watch. late night movies, the simpsons, newsnight (and newsnight review, which is useless to all non-london residents), but when i go to someone's house and see what's on i just thank god i don't have one.
thank you lord, for making me too afraid to steal and too mean to pay.

when i wake up early in the morning i stretch up my arms and feel the stars brush my fingers, crackling static. i feel like a part of the universe.
most of the time i forget i'm alive at all, a ghost might recite my part well enough.

silver and iron transcribe light
i am obsessed with traces, physical traces. loss and preservation.
2 stars|count

Sunday, May 15th, 2005

Subject:city at morning
Time:5:52 pm.
unspeaking,
the suited ones walk to their offices
their faces are shut
for the daytime, purged of hopes.
sweet yellow sun caresses steel and glass, throws long human shadows like walking dead

the air, heavy and pure with the night's silence
receives the sound of their shod feet on stone
politicians wake in a cold sweat.
count

Thursday, May 5th, 2005

Time:11:07 pm.
When the first time traveller goes into the future
(i hope it is some dignified person, i am nostalgic for the gentleman amateur)
whatever kind of world is waiting, they will know, and will be waiting
you'll step out of the machine, blinking
and see cheering crowds or ragged scientists or children holding rocks

because they'll know you were coming all this time.
count

Thursday, January 27th, 2005

Subject:sadness
Time:2:13 pm.
just developed a roll of film of me and my mother and brother at the seaside. i rated it wrong and it's underexposed. we're all there, smiling, faint ghosts. i was nineteen then.

we have the keys to our new house. first it had a koran and a mirror, now it has UHT milk, tea, coffee and mysterious boxes. even before all that, it had 3 bedrooms, a useful cellar, a new kitchen. we brought the dehumidifier two days after the koran, which now, due to the damp, has slightly softened, wavy pages. it is in english, perhaps i will read it, when there is somewhere to sit.
4 stars|count

Saturday, January 1st, 2005

Time:2:46 pm.
loneliness is terrible
even a glimpse of it seen through lace curtains chills the soul

i have a wonderful view up here, last night everyone let off their fireworks at once, i could see them for miles
they are ugly, fireworks. i don't know when i realised.


MADALI, i think you would enjoy the film 'old boy' it's korean, and showing in a few british cinemas now. try and find it, if you're reading.
2 stars|count

Tuesday, December 21st, 2004

Time:8:14 pm.
it is impossible to remember the past.

impossible to remember
without hearing some music or other
the present is silent, i turn it into movie everytime a song plays
to rushing out: smells like teen spirit
to running down the street: frantic iranian violins

and in the future, exotic strums as we chase each other over white sands by a clear green sea
in a music and language that i cannot even hear, for both are lost

george orwell's essays are the one of the best things i have ever read. find them.
& maryam; expect my photographs to appear one by one, starting mid-january = )
2 stars|count

Wednesday, November 24th, 2004

Subject:airsick
Time:10:08 pm.
there should be more visions today than ever before
where are they painted?
where are you writing them?
and we all lay down in the street

occasionally i see visions on closing my eyes at night.
flash
printed on the memory in terrible clarity, various things, monsters of a sort, strange eyes and iron fences
originals, which makes them strange
my mind is retentive and responsive, not creative

where are our seers now?
what drunken night computer flash bluetvlight &shadow days burnt hollow by repetition & comfort
has swallowed their holy disease?
2 stars|count

Friday, November 5th, 2004

Subject:feeling unreasonably angry?
Time:9:52 pm.
bonfire night is the worst festival of all. yes, i too enjoyed going out to a big outdoor party on a cold winter night wearing two pairs of socks as a child. the hard, clear stars were at their most beautiful, and the town fireworks displays were glorious. but it still sucks. firstly, it's a national festival, and the english have no right to have national festivals. i can only be thankful that it has virtually no national identity. when brits have get that national identity feeling, they drink lager and eat foreigners, and run through the streets going ARRRRUUUGHHURRRRRRHHHHHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHAAARRRRRHHHHHHHHH. unless they're middle class, in which case they have a garden party before getting down to the serious ARRRRUUUGHHURRRRRRHHHHHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHAAARRRRRHHHHHHHHH business.
but seriously guys, a bunch of guys plan to blow up the Houses of Parliament because of their religion, an insignificant member of the group gets caught and tortured (it breaks my heart to see his signature on the confession), and hundreds of years later we're still burning his effigy?! isn't it enough already??
and those bonfire gatherings really bring out the worst in british food. what's the most inedible, stinking, gristly, stomach-churning thing we can possibly make with the most disgusting fatty dirty animal we can think of? they actually bring out a commitee every year to discuss this question!
and people all complain constantly about it!! for like three months all you hear all day is "it's so noisy, my dog is so scared, i can't sleep, blahblahblah". even more boring than the constant complaining about the worsening weather.
AND, why not give deranged young men an excuse to set things on fire and make stuff explode?! what a great idea!! last year, someone put a firework in a street drain. that was really nice. thank you england.
7 stars|count

Tuesday, November 2nd, 2004

Time:11:14 am.
before paint and plastic, the leaves still turned red and amber and yellow.
you could blacken your hands with the fresh skins of walnuts.
beetroots bled arterial puple
red threads of saffron turned water to gold.

the pounding of pigments
the art of their mixture
this is magic.

even photographic film is made of silver and bone.
count

Friday, October 22nd, 2004

Time:8:12 pm.
now you have to join my community told or written
2 stars|count

Saturday, October 2nd, 2004

Subject:eulogies
Time:2:13 pm.
today dry leaves gathered in the street, rosy fresh from their deaths

old paintings of space, replaced by photography when possible and tacky computer simulation elsewhere, were wonderful
great draughtsmanship, science and imagination!
science fiction is the real realism
i got laughed at in high school by soap opera watchers
the truth of us is thought.
1 star|count

Tuesday, September 21st, 2004

Time:8:07 pm.
i feel very silent here.
folded in like mouths, huddled
winter's coming

i remember spring, its gradual but utterly distinct arrival. taste of new vegetables.

i love winter, the long shadows and yellow light

i'm living with my boyfriend's family. the house is cold but never empty. i cook and clean when i feel like it. i work in a health food shop & university starts tomorrow. i feel blind. i don't know myself. i stare at the television.

i don't know how we made it through last winter, i really don't. i can't remember it, long grit of teeth, ramen noodles and cuddles.

i feel so much older, the beginning of the centre of the long spiral of life.

last night, i leaned my head back and the stars were out and strange. i don't look out of the window any more. where i work i can't even tell what the weather is like.

i'm living at the minimum. starvation rations for the soul. i could almost go to church, i need to schedule in spirit.

happy. crazy happy.
count

Saturday, September 11th, 2004

Time:1:08 am.
write? make sense of experience? luxury!
grapejuicehalva plum unsulphured dried ready to eat apricot sa'at chande?
vacuum telephone distant vision
samira's gums & freckles angelic and rose petal picnic melon cooling in stream, beautiful children.
sexy jokes intense conversation bad subtitles
my mother sends her regards dehydration student loan notification minimum full fee payable###########
food supplement a list of my favourite fruit induction booklet overtime pay
sharing single bed in secret
this cannot last

casino
casino
casino
£500£1150£400£62£17£160£67£2000£200£65000tax!
i have escaped money! i browse in supermarket smiling at fruit juice and cheesecake, boxes of cherries, fat aubergines, capsicum & plum, coconut & butternut overpriced icecream
every day i buy a different flapjack, black cherry, date & walnut

how distant her voice is
2 stars|count

Friday, September 10th, 2004

Time:6:39 pm.
customer: you go to church?
me: *negative shrug*
customer: you read the bible?
me: *negative shrug*
customer: ah see, you readin playboy magazine playgirl magazine you wanta be movie star-ette
count

Monday, August 9th, 2004

Subject:in the present tense
Time:6:27 pm.
in the laundrette i read doris lessing
pink towel leaps and dives in the dryer like some chinese dragon
every day there is a different person next to me reading harry potter, it's like starbucks
i'm going to get through everything she has written sitting on that wretched bench
she's making my spine ache
give it another twenty pence worth, i'll get to the next chapter
the laundrette lady is indian, nice but aloof, because students are filthy dogs.
in crisp perfect english and western dress, her heavy lids are modelled on those of certain deities; she is beautiful and her sons bewitch me
doris lessing has no time for the charm of the exotic. she is a person of insight and intellect
was born in Persia to British parents in 1919 and spent her childhood in Southern Rhodesia
it is an undignified place, other people's underwear can be seen airbourne in those huge drums.
the unwashed enter expecting to be praised
an hour melts, two
the smell of baking cotton...

if i were a writer i would connect one thing to the other,
i can only observe them and the separating distance:
the secret light of the book in my hands, the world opening everywhere into it like a set of portals
in london flats and leeds laundrettes, in bars and cinemas everywhere the same things go on, lives
and the point is to view these happenings through the magical prism, the hungry thoughtful self
(we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides!)
that makes them tales with divine protagonists, figures in paintings that speak
count

Sunday, August 8th, 2004

Time:6:52 pm.
i, robot is a wonderful film
(i must first admit with shame that i haven't read it yet)
it was full of impoverished conventions
and will smith played his prejudice irritatingly hard. he was no columbo, and i found him a little hollow as a detective, but i know the film did not have time for more than a handful of spielberg persuasions for him to carry, and i am sure it is my fault that his wise cracks fell flat for me.
there was a commercial for a certain shoe brand in it, which made me sick
as for his female foil, she was far out-humaned by both the hologram and the robot.
and naturally it suffered from that blockbuster direction which treats you as a small child who must learn: 'look! HERE!, here is what you must notice!' blanketing every detail.
but i can easily forgive it, it was glittering with questions.
the robots' smooth faces, calm human features like egyptian masks, but quietly mobile, living
they terrified, they were so small and strong, lithe and quick, deadly creatures.
the drawing from the dream
the problem of slavery
it was too short, there was masses more in it

(asimov added a fourth law, to prevent the revolution)
2 stars|count

Monday, August 2nd, 2004

Time:11:31 am.
got photos back from Yorkshire Sculpture Park and chatsworth. my family looking really evil and middle class in a fairly artistic way, and me looking about 70 years old because of my mum taking them and the way xp2 film reacts to shadows. my brother has a really terrible habit of lifting his head for photographs which shows how much weight he's gained, how red and and spot-pocked the lower part of his face is, and how his beginnings-of moustache just makes him look ugly. i posed him for one shot and he looks great, but in all the others he looks like a fat greaseball like my cousins.
nicole! i have one (in fact two) of you that came out model-portfolio quality. buy me a scanner now so i can send it to you and you can make millions.
everyone join this community and give me stuff.

i saw Silence Between Two Thoughts and i must say it looked bloody awful, i was really pissed off about it being confiscated (though that was probably the only reason it was shown everywhere; it was the barest, more barren film i have seen yet, much barer than uzak or takhte siah, or that french film i forgot the name of that nothing happened in. it was like joy division.)
it was great though, i loved all of it
'nobody ever sins'

what else should i be seeing?
4 stars|count

Tuesday, July 6th, 2004

Time:10:39 am.
She later moved to London, and in
1911 met and married Ernest Smith, a
sculptor; they lived in Chelsea, and
had no children. On 16 March 1920, in
her 49th year, Edith died tragically by
drowning in the Thames at Kew, while
gathering buds from chesnut trees.

count

Tuesday, June 29th, 2004

Time:7:47 pm.
just saw the turkish film uzak
(the people behind me were talking about silence between two thoughts)
i think i frowned for two hours
after cultivating such sensitivity, the street outside shouted its signs at me, each weathered pavement stone loaded with meaning.
the older one woke up and looked out at the white light of morning. he got out and his feet were bare. he gasped at the light, i thought it must be a small hour to be so white and terrible, but he went to the other window and knelt at the radiator, and saw the snow falling heavy. snowlight.
i think i am incomplete for never having been lonely like that.
1 star|count

Sunday, June 27th, 2004

Time:10:17 pm.
there was a girl who lived in a pink and white perfume den in the highest tower of a tall house
you could hold your hands out of the little garret window in the rain
smoke and perfume
i can't smell that perfume without thinking of her and how i wished to be one of the beautiful aloof girls
car sunglasses moving to the beat

the truth is nobody is shallow. those who subscribe to that myth congratulate themselves on having weird inner stirrings; passions and rages!
well, the ditziest girls have those too, and the dumbest football beerlads
everyone has nights when they speak tirelessly with another about the past and the thoughts and the future and feel themselves to be walkers in heaven
the division is between those who only look inward, and those who are interested in the world too, the great trembling breathing world ouside

the night comes quick now
at two minutes to ten there was dusk of such pallor it passed for daylight
in fifteen minutes it was black.
3 stars|count

Thursday, June 24th, 2004

Subject:two dollars twenty seven cents
Time:11:08 am.
hello prettyflower

thank you for coming.
leaving messages for you because as yet no one is listening and i can be entirely pointless
i wish that i could come with you on the train or something
people shouldn't have to come back alone from things
i always leave my heart at the station and have a cold feeling where it should be, soul-nausea
sometimes it makes for interesting writing
(life being a flight, seers and prophets are airsick)

but anyway i thank you for raining in our lives
i can only think of it like that
the soft holy rain that wakes you in the morning and leaves everything clean, the rain i think comes directly from god
thank you for raining and shining and partaking church silence and sushi and music and indefinable numerous small pleasures. i won't forget.

be fearless for me
1 star|count

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