A list of my injuries since at Unitec.
1st year:
Left knee - medial ligament strain.
Right knee - strange joint things happening (suspected chondromalacia, probably a muscle imbalance).
2nd year:
None that I can remember. But pretty sure I had eight split toes at one time.
3rd year:
Left wrist - stressed joints.
Right arm - partial tear of medial ligament.
Right achilles - fluid sitting around the tendon.
Left foot - dropped metatarsal head.
My initial reaction to injuries is frustration and anger.
Probs crying.
Then I kind of absorb them and they become part of how I dance and things I know about my body.
Each new injury seems linked to a past one.
At first realising that has the same feeling as realising you've made the same mistake twice.
Like a bit stupid/foolish and angry at yourself for not having more foresight.
But then it's kind of nice also to realise that you're one complete thing; you are not lots of tiny little scattered parts but actually one whole functioning organism that is interconnected and works as an entirety.
That's quite reasurring.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
seven or ten
There are gaps in us now
our heads are stretching
I'm thinking, 'are we out of breath or out of ideas'?
Maybe both
It's a semi-accident
You can't blame anyone, or at least
I'm told
(we're all always told)
You Shouldn't Blame Yourself.
I imagine that statement would make a good slogan
for some marketing campaign
targeted at a larger per cent of the population.
Like we're all a river of people
that's what I thought as I looked at us
and smelt us
and felt the circling wavepools of the larger
world wrapping around me
and crushing into my sides
into my rib bones
and it wasn't just that familiar jest
that play-fighting
it was Something More Serious.
I didn't even know if we won.
There was too much else which I was losing.
Two new posessions,
a sad seven dollars sitting in run black paint
somewhere
I mean, it doesn't really matter
right?
But there's others:
sad clear company
I was recognised
I said, yes I was here before
do you remember me?
Of course you do.
You remember my weight.
There's others:
fresh words
I later borrowed
two fresh words sitting in my mouth
You're going near where I'm going
but we're going to get there by different means
I knew after two intakes of you
We know things pretty qucikly, we do
or at least I do. I assume it's the same for others.
And sight and sound,
and sight
and sight
Lovely sounds
keep talking at me
I'll stare at the footpath and breath it all in
I'll look up occasionally
I'll anchor my weight right, as usual
Would I put myself there even if you were to the
left? Probably.
Sad truth.
So every morning I'm thinking, last year
here we are at last year
or here I am
solitude feels like last year
but it's nice to remember
so just me, there's possibilities
that's why I disappear
sometimes so stealthy
sometimes an exit speech
and dramatic flailing
it's all for effect, honest.
You know, I'm asking question because I'm curious
but that's Not Allowed.
Nothing normality, we can't
all be straight all the time
I'll prove to myself there's still some yesterday in me
and maybe I'll venture back there again
Should head south more anyway, right?
That's where it all starts.
our heads are stretching
I'm thinking, 'are we out of breath or out of ideas'?
Maybe both
It's a semi-accident
You can't blame anyone, or at least
I'm told
(we're all always told)
You Shouldn't Blame Yourself.
I imagine that statement would make a good slogan
for some marketing campaign
targeted at a larger per cent of the population.
Like we're all a river of people
that's what I thought as I looked at us
and smelt us
and felt the circling wavepools of the larger
world wrapping around me
and crushing into my sides
into my rib bones
and it wasn't just that familiar jest
that play-fighting
it was Something More Serious.
I didn't even know if we won.
There was too much else which I was losing.
Two new posessions,
a sad seven dollars sitting in run black paint
somewhere
I mean, it doesn't really matter
right?
But there's others:
sad clear company
I was recognised
I said, yes I was here before
do you remember me?
Of course you do.
You remember my weight.
There's others:
fresh words
I later borrowed
two fresh words sitting in my mouth
You're going near where I'm going
but we're going to get there by different means
I knew after two intakes of you
We know things pretty qucikly, we do
or at least I do. I assume it's the same for others.
And sight and sound,
and sight
and sight
Lovely sounds
keep talking at me
I'll stare at the footpath and breath it all in
I'll look up occasionally
I'll anchor my weight right, as usual
Would I put myself there even if you were to the
left? Probably.
Sad truth.
So every morning I'm thinking, last year
here we are at last year
or here I am
solitude feels like last year
but it's nice to remember
so just me, there's possibilities
that's why I disappear
sometimes so stealthy
sometimes an exit speech
and dramatic flailing
it's all for effect, honest.
You know, I'm asking question because I'm curious
but that's Not Allowed.
Nothing normality, we can't
all be straight all the time
I'll prove to myself there's still some yesterday in me
and maybe I'll venture back there again
Should head south more anyway, right?
That's where it all starts.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
conversation
To: enq@naturesorganics.com.au
Subject: re: plam oil in product
From: Natalie Clark
[mailto:natalie-c@windowslive.com] Subject: re: plam oil in product
Hello,
I was delighted to discover your range in my local supermarket in NZ. I just wanted to inquire about the palm oil you use in your shampoo - where it comes from, if it is 'guilt-free' i.e. not contributing to deforestation??
Regards,
Natalie.
I was delighted to discover your range in my local supermarket in NZ. I just wanted to inquire about the palm oil you use in your shampoo - where it comes from, if it is 'guilt-free' i.e. not contributing to deforestation??
Regards,
Natalie.
From: help@naturesorganics.com.au
To: natalie-c@windowslive.com
Subject: RE: plam oil in product
To: natalie-c@windowslive.com
Subject: RE: plam oil in product
Dear Natalie,
Thank you for
contacting us. We share your concerns with the supply shortages of palm
oil and the impact this is having on old growth forests in south East Asia and the resultant devastation to the habitat of
the Orangutans and other at risk animal species.
Although we do not
purchase palm oil directly from plantations we have obtained written
confirmation from all our ingredient suppliers ensuring that the palm oil used
in our ingredients is not from areas cleared of old growth forests. We
have also banned any surfactants produced from palm oil which has originated
from Indonesian and Borneon plantations. This ensures that any product we
produce does not have palm oil derived ingredients which have come from newly
deforested areas.
We are continuously
looking into alternative sustainable materials but our choices are limited to
what is commercially viable and readily available in the global market. At
present, the only plant derived substitute to palm kernel oil in
cleaning/cosmetic production is coconut oil. Unfortunately there simply
isn’t enough supply to meet demand and there are not any suppliers
willing to guarantee a sole coconut source due to this lack of
availability. There is also a compounding issue in that coconut needs to
be grown in the same climate as palm oil, yet one hectare of coconut palms
yield less than one third the amount of oil as one hectare of oil palms.
The obvious conclusion if everyone stopped using palm and started using coconut
is that over three times the amount of land would be needed to produce the same
amount of palm oil. The only other alternatives to palm or coconut are
derived from petrochemicals or animal fats.
Manufacturers in the
food industry are able to substitute palm with other oils, for instance canola
or soybean oil, but we cannot use these oils, as they don't contain the
required fatty acid composition. The food and Bio Fuel industries account
for 90% of the palm oil usage and their increase in demand has led to the
deforestation issues.
There is no requirement
for us to divulge the type of oil used to produce our products. We choose to
state our ingredients openly. Many manufacturers do not provide such
information on the labels of other products. Palm oil is in fact classed as a
vegetable oil so any product containing "vegetable oil" as an
ingredient, including food products, could potentially contain palm oil.
We have been using palm
oil for our cleaning/personal care products for over 30 years, as have many
manufacturers in this industry. This palm oil was sustainably grown and no
animal species were at risk. The problems that have arisen over the last 10
years are due to the food industry utilising this ingredient because it is much
cheaper than other food oils, and the rapidly expanding biofuel industry.
Cosmetic and cleaning companies use less than 10% of current palm oil
production; the biggest threat to the future of the south East Asian
rainforests are these other swiftly developing industries.
We are in the process
of reformulating all of our products with some new sugar and corn derived
surfactants but this takes time and these new ingredients have only recently
become available. Unfortunately, at this present time we cannot get away from
the fact that all surfactants and detergents come from petroleum, animal, or
coconut and palm derived ingredients. We are ensuring, however, that our palm
derived surfactants are sourced from sustainably grown plantations.
Natures Organics can
assure you that we are committed to protect the environment and all of its
creatures.
Kind regards,
Emma Butler
Customer Service
Natures Organics
31 Cornhill St
FERNTREE GULLY
VIC 3156
Tel: (03) 9753 5577
Fax: (03) 9753 5177
The information
contained in this email and any attachments may be confidential. If you are not
the intended recipient, you must not copy or distribute any part of this email
or its attachments. If you have received this email in error, please
notify the sender and destroy the original transmission. Natures Organics
does not represent, warrant or guarantee that the integrity of this
communication has been maintained, nor that the communication is free of
errors, virus or interference.
Please consider the
environment before printing this e-mail
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
bus stop
It's like all these people know all these things about me that even I don't know. Like they've been keeping me secret from myself. And every time I move, think or speak I realise, "yes, I know who that part of me came from." I can't identify any parts of myself that originated in me. Do people even have those parts? Or are we all just untidy, scattered palimpsests of each other?
But still, the first 'thing' had to come from somewhere right. Where did it come from?
But still, the first 'thing' had to come from somewhere right. Where did it come from?
Sunday, October 16, 2011
arcadian dreams
Why aren't you sleeping with your piglet?
You should be shitting in your silver bowl which matches identical to your other silver bowl - the one they keep your water in.
Your piglet is experiencing heatstroke.
Do you know that? No. You don't because you've abandonned your crate.
24 apple parts
growing out of straw
They should be strawberries
There's some collarbone in me
On couches and city ledges
In lounges
In old-blue and new-red
blankets
I've got to have sun on that open shoulder
Neck
Neck-and-crate
The wrong one's got his fingerprints out.
"You know what?" I say,
"No I
Don't
want to sign your petition.
And yes I do smoke occasionally. That's exactly why.
Take off your shirt, man. You're no better than the others. The only difference between you and them is that they've got gold amongst the green on their t-shirts."
But I save this for a hypothetical occurrence. Just in case.
I've always either planned everything or acted much too irrationally in a flash of sudden idealistic spontaneity.
Luckily he never approaches me. (Of course, this is New Zealand and I am blasting summer eight.) He just keeps circling, fins tucked into his ribs.
I'll have some other please.
So in number three I go and
stick my fingers into some man's cheekbones
wipe the fluid from his eyes across those
beautiful collarbones of mine
Saturation in holy water, I imagine
dripping off the side of what they call
a 'plinth'
I worry about you, darling ice skull
You're not centred
you're not balanced
(follow my advice, I'm a Libra, I know all about balance darling)
If you don't straighten up
your pretty little head is going to
tip right off and
shatter all over that well-sanded wooden floor.
Then the thirsty little piglet next door
trottles over
laps the ice skull all up
licky licky licky
laps up the melting eye sockets which I tried to
deepen with my fingers, but failing
let the ice seep out of my own cheekbones instead
(or collarbones).
No collar.
No alcoholics.
I'm going to leave you lying around.
Just outside the piglet crate, probably. You'll be fine for twenty four days, with twenty four apple-parts to ration.
Good things happen on the twenty-fourth day.
And after twenty four days I can do what I like. I can venture out of the piglet crate (or into it, if I decide I've never been into it in twenty years). Twenty. Only twenty.There are no add-ons. Pudding and pie,
jumping over the moon
and so on,
And cows. Lots of cows.
Bovine mysteries.
Or diseases.
Cows in crates. And on
teacups, and in
money banks and
t-shirts and
ice-cream scoops and
in breakfast
I just want to scream at everyone, "Yes, it's all true!"
But they say, "wonderful.
Stand-out creation."
I say defiantly, "Its not a fucking
script!"
And the older friends says, "Is that true?
Was that one true?"
"Bloody hell", sighs me dramatically. "Do you want me to write a dance about it? I'll draw you a fucking ballet if that's what you need."
I'm real patient now.
"I need taking care of!"
I don't think anyone read that part.
Unfortunate really.
Else they'd have cradled me under their skin
the moment I changed my stage skin.
Or else, I have forgotten to recognise cradling.
Instead they all say, "great, great." "Stand-out." That's a common one too. It's just like these campers though, right? And the news, and the charities. Everyone will empathise. Some will even speak. But no-one's going to do anything about it.
"So are you going to employ me then?" I say. And they look at me not saying anything for a while. And then they say,
"Well we've got to go home now even though we live just up the road. This space is just getting a bit too crowded for me
Too many ideas floating around."
I just cross my arms and wonder whether I should look at them (every night, I did that every night)
and say, "Yeah, three's a crowd huh"
even though there are four of us standing.
Amongst other numeric idioms.
Then I apologise.
Sometimes get reprimanded for apologising.
Sometimes not quite heard, apologising.
It's ok because
if you're lonely you can always go and sleep with the
piglet.
Or make out in public places
(avoid racist comment here).
"Your bicycle's going nowhere"
I tell Matt
- no, Marcus.
Neither of them know my name, but they invite me inside anyway.
"Ah, I read about this yesterday," I say.
"It didn't end up so good. There was blood and other bodily fluids involved."
"I've seen this twice before, actually," I tell them.
"What are you on about?" says Marcus.
"That bicycle's going nowhere," repeats me. "It's a bad omen. You should get out while you can."
"We've done this before," he says. "And there's seven more days to go. We'd be letting everyone down if we stopped."
"Naahhh," I insist. "Number two and the piglet's friend have already left and number three's slowly melting away. No-one'll even notice you're gone, trust me.
I try to talk all the time and people still don't hear me
They just clap their hands
So what's the point?
Take that typewriter with you and
go."
Then I leave. It's awkward being that intimate with people who don't know your name. (They'll probably turn up on a KFC ad in a year or two.)
As I'm leaving I read on his wall, with my fast and nervous eyeballs,
"Congratulations if you've read this far."
Which seems like an appropriate theft to insert here. Well done, Natalie. There's no prize but well done.
(Some more hand-clapping - which really is just self-abuse, isn't it? Just whacking one limb against the other like, "ffarrrkkk, you just did something better than I could conjure".)
Oh dear. She's losing the plot. Let's hit ourselves.
Well you can't hit me anyway, can you? That's against the law now. You can't hit the piglet either, that's socially unacceptable and will be Frowned Upon.
"When does this end?" everyone's breathing. Well, you know, you don't have to stay in it forever. You won't anyway. You don't want the end and
you don't want whatever this thing happening now is
So what do you propose we do?
I'm just going to say, "I don't know I don't know I don't know"
over and over again, which is fine 'cause
I doubt it will be
read anyway. I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know. There's things on here which maybe I am the only person to have ever laid eyes on in the world. Out of six billion! That's pretty special huh.
I don't know how you could say, "me too," that's pretty astounding. Though I guess when you make nine o'clock plans it's no suprise
In bed by ten
in love by ten thirty
or in 'like'
I thought I invented that one
but apparently not, the internet tells me.
Your fourth cigarette and your eighteenth cup of tea --
That beats me, even
and beat yourself
two limbs
unbeaten
"Unbeatable Cleaning Power!"
and prowess like collarbones
Poor piglet.
I keep forgetting about you.
No piglet, you have great collarbones too.
Yes, honestly.
No honestly, you do.
Noo!!! I'm not just saying that.
Piggy promise. I mean pinky.
Yes.
Yes.
Yeah really.
Really. You do. Seriously!
Shut up piggy. Go back to your heat-stroke seizure zone.
You should be shitting in your silver bowl which matches identical to your other silver bowl - the one they keep your water in.
Your piglet is experiencing heatstroke.
Do you know that? No. You don't because you've abandonned your crate.
24 apple parts
growing out of straw
They should be strawberries
There's some collarbone in me
On couches and city ledges
In lounges
In old-blue and new-red
blankets
I've got to have sun on that open shoulder
Neck
Neck-and-crate
The wrong one's got his fingerprints out.
"You know what?" I say,
"No I
Don't
want to sign your petition.
And yes I do smoke occasionally. That's exactly why.
Take off your shirt, man. You're no better than the others. The only difference between you and them is that they've got gold amongst the green on their t-shirts."
But I save this for a hypothetical occurrence. Just in case.
I've always either planned everything or acted much too irrationally in a flash of sudden idealistic spontaneity.
Luckily he never approaches me. (Of course, this is New Zealand and I am blasting summer eight.) He just keeps circling, fins tucked into his ribs.
I'll have some other please.
So in number three I go and
stick my fingers into some man's cheekbones
wipe the fluid from his eyes across those
beautiful collarbones of mine
Saturation in holy water, I imagine
dripping off the side of what they call
a 'plinth'
I worry about you, darling ice skull
You're not centred
you're not balanced
(follow my advice, I'm a Libra, I know all about balance darling)
If you don't straighten up
your pretty little head is going to
tip right off and
shatter all over that well-sanded wooden floor.
Then the thirsty little piglet next door
trottles over
laps the ice skull all up
licky licky licky
laps up the melting eye sockets which I tried to
deepen with my fingers, but failing
let the ice seep out of my own cheekbones instead
(or collarbones).
No collar.
No alcoholics.
I'm going to leave you lying around.
Just outside the piglet crate, probably. You'll be fine for twenty four days, with twenty four apple-parts to ration.
Good things happen on the twenty-fourth day.
And after twenty four days I can do what I like. I can venture out of the piglet crate (or into it, if I decide I've never been into it in twenty years). Twenty. Only twenty.There are no add-ons. Pudding and pie,
jumping over the moon
and so on,
And cows. Lots of cows.
Bovine mysteries.
Or diseases.
Cows in crates. And on
teacups, and in
money banks and
t-shirts and
ice-cream scoops and
in breakfast
I just want to scream at everyone, "Yes, it's all true!"
But they say, "wonderful.
Stand-out creation."
I say defiantly, "Its not a fucking
script!"
And the older friends says, "Is that true?
Was that one true?"
"Bloody hell", sighs me dramatically. "Do you want me to write a dance about it? I'll draw you a fucking ballet if that's what you need."
I'm real patient now.
"I need taking care of!"
I don't think anyone read that part.
Unfortunate really.
Else they'd have cradled me under their skin
the moment I changed my stage skin.
Or else, I have forgotten to recognise cradling.
Instead they all say, "great, great." "Stand-out." That's a common one too. It's just like these campers though, right? And the news, and the charities. Everyone will empathise. Some will even speak. But no-one's going to do anything about it.
"So are you going to employ me then?" I say. And they look at me not saying anything for a while. And then they say,
"Well we've got to go home now even though we live just up the road. This space is just getting a bit too crowded for me
Too many ideas floating around."
I just cross my arms and wonder whether I should look at them (every night, I did that every night)
and say, "Yeah, three's a crowd huh"
even though there are four of us standing.
Amongst other numeric idioms.
Then I apologise.
Sometimes get reprimanded for apologising.
Sometimes not quite heard, apologising.
It's ok because
if you're lonely you can always go and sleep with the
piglet.
Or make out in public places
(avoid racist comment here).
"Your bicycle's going nowhere"
I tell Matt
- no, Marcus.
Neither of them know my name, but they invite me inside anyway.
"Ah, I read about this yesterday," I say.
"It didn't end up so good. There was blood and other bodily fluids involved."
"I've seen this twice before, actually," I tell them.
"What are you on about?" says Marcus.
"That bicycle's going nowhere," repeats me. "It's a bad omen. You should get out while you can."
"We've done this before," he says. "And there's seven more days to go. We'd be letting everyone down if we stopped."
"Naahhh," I insist. "Number two and the piglet's friend have already left and number three's slowly melting away. No-one'll even notice you're gone, trust me.
I try to talk all the time and people still don't hear me
They just clap their hands
So what's the point?
Take that typewriter with you and
go."
Then I leave. It's awkward being that intimate with people who don't know your name. (They'll probably turn up on a KFC ad in a year or two.)
As I'm leaving I read on his wall, with my fast and nervous eyeballs,
"Congratulations if you've read this far."
Which seems like an appropriate theft to insert here. Well done, Natalie. There's no prize but well done.
(Some more hand-clapping - which really is just self-abuse, isn't it? Just whacking one limb against the other like, "ffarrrkkk, you just did something better than I could conjure".)
Oh dear. She's losing the plot. Let's hit ourselves.
Well you can't hit me anyway, can you? That's against the law now. You can't hit the piglet either, that's socially unacceptable and will be Frowned Upon.
"When does this end?" everyone's breathing. Well, you know, you don't have to stay in it forever. You won't anyway. You don't want the end and
you don't want whatever this thing happening now is
So what do you propose we do?
I'm just going to say, "I don't know I don't know I don't know"
over and over again, which is fine 'cause
I doubt it will be
read anyway. I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know. There's things on here which maybe I am the only person to have ever laid eyes on in the world. Out of six billion! That's pretty special huh.
I don't know how you could say, "me too," that's pretty astounding. Though I guess when you make nine o'clock plans it's no suprise
In bed by ten
in love by ten thirty
or in 'like'
I thought I invented that one
but apparently not, the internet tells me.
Your fourth cigarette and your eighteenth cup of tea --
That beats me, even
and beat yourself
two limbs
unbeaten
"Unbeatable Cleaning Power!"
and prowess like collarbones
Poor piglet.
I keep forgetting about you.
No piglet, you have great collarbones too.
Yes, honestly.
No honestly, you do.
Noo!!! I'm not just saying that.
Piggy promise. I mean pinky.
Yes.
Yes.
Yeah really.
Really. You do. Seriously!
Shut up piggy. Go back to your heat-stroke seizure zone.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
standard
to have choice in what you remember
such luxury
to discern the pieces of information which don't suit
to de-clash the clashing
to unravel the wound
and the wounded
in piece and in place
in task and in tasking
and in handling
handle this very carefully
handle with carefully
with care
take care
take caution when you farewell
your farewell might not be remembered
your farewell forgotten
forgotten fare, well--
so you've no choice in the matter
you don't choose your choices
foolish farewell
foolish, well
well but foolish
or unfooled, but sick
sickful and careful
carefully sick
farewell sickness
I have been careful with you but
you have chosen me
many times with remembering
fool
and full of fool
or fool of fool
not foolish
but full
full of carefulness
take care
and taking care
then a farewell
that's how we all go
eighteen years or so
less in my case
(more in others)
premature farewell
farewell without care
and so I thought
or thinking, in my case
thinking well
and thinking carefully
stuck in some silent mantra
satiate
and say she
farewell
take care, carefully
due choices and choosing
premature decision making
and understanding: a prerequisite
a prerequisite to farewell
and those who farewell
fare well
farewell
such luxury
to discern the pieces of information which don't suit
to de-clash the clashing
to unravel the wound
and the wounded
in piece and in place
in task and in tasking
and in handling
handle this very carefully
handle with carefully
with care
take care
take caution when you farewell
your farewell might not be remembered
your farewell forgotten
forgotten fare, well--
so you've no choice in the matter
you don't choose your choices
foolish farewell
foolish, well
well but foolish
or unfooled, but sick
sickful and careful
carefully sick
farewell sickness
I have been careful with you but
you have chosen me
many times with remembering
fool
and full of fool
or fool of fool
not foolish
but full
full of carefulness
take care
and taking care
then a farewell
that's how we all go
eighteen years or so
less in my case
(more in others)
premature farewell
farewell without care
and so I thought
or thinking, in my case
thinking well
and thinking carefully
stuck in some silent mantra
satiate
and say she
farewell
take care, carefully
due choices and choosing
premature decision making
and understanding: a prerequisite
a prerequisite to farewell
and those who farewell
fare well
farewell
Monday, October 10, 2011
sunday mope
I get pretty lonely on Sunday nights. They make me feel really awful actually. I'm usually super tired and drained but fighting sleep, maybe I'm waiting for something to happen - yeah, I'm dissatisfied by the lack of energy Sunday nights have so I keep trying to find where it might be. But it isn't anywhere and then I just get more tired doing nothing. Nothing productive.
Sunday nights follow Saturdays nights (Rebecca Black much?) and so there's this weird anxiety to be around lots of people and having 'fun' or something. So there's just me in my downstairs room feeling sorry for myself and wishing I could go wandering without the threat of potential danger. Or having to walk up ridiculously large hills. Yes, there should be lots of people around me all the time. And listening to music which is pretty much heightening the problem and it's like this small, compact conflict over pushing the play button - needing to hear these songs that I know are going to make me feel worse than I already do and yet sound so wonderful.
Wah wah.
So much tea. Like trying to nourish myself since there is no-one to keep me company. Or even just a body in the next room. Bloody hell. There is a mannequin in the next room instead.
I feel so restless. And especially on Sundays. Especially on Sundays which follow closing night of your last show with a beautiful group of people and a hectic nocturnal trance and knowing there is two weeks ahead of your own head and some vacant sunshine (maybe if we're lucky). Hijasjnavdjvnakh.
I want to have adventures. Of the July kind. '08/'09/'10/'11. Warum werde ich nicht satt?
Sunday nights follow Saturdays nights (Rebecca Black much?) and so there's this weird anxiety to be around lots of people and having 'fun' or something. So there's just me in my downstairs room feeling sorry for myself and wishing I could go wandering without the threat of potential danger. Or having to walk up ridiculously large hills. Yes, there should be lots of people around me all the time. And listening to music which is pretty much heightening the problem and it's like this small, compact conflict over pushing the play button - needing to hear these songs that I know are going to make me feel worse than I already do and yet sound so wonderful.
Wah wah.
So much tea. Like trying to nourish myself since there is no-one to keep me company. Or even just a body in the next room. Bloody hell. There is a mannequin in the next room instead.
I feel so restless. And especially on Sundays. Especially on Sundays which follow closing night of your last show with a beautiful group of people and a hectic nocturnal trance and knowing there is two weeks ahead of your own head and some vacant sunshine (maybe if we're lucky). Hijasjnavdjvnakh.
I want to have adventures. Of the July kind. '08/'09/'10/'11. Warum werde ich nicht satt?
Thursday, October 6, 2011
open
I wonder if they get used to us rushing past
puffed, large exhales
they probably don't even hear it any more
just some 'normal' drone
background noise
They probably don't even feel the air
swift past their black clothes anymore
top off before you're even backstage
lost hair-tie
hair-tie stuck
we're so afraid
not just of normal things but bizarre things
although its probably of greater concern to be afraid
of bizarre things
though they'd have you believe
being afraid of normal things
is more abnormal
It's not.
That's why they are 'normal'
and normal to fear, too
I don't ever want to sleep
That familiar niggling is returning
in familiar and unfamiliar places
is that normal or abnormal, that niggling?
is it normal to feel the niggling at all?
normal here
not normal, here
and here
not normal at all
except in this profession
so healthy and unwell
pizza and gas marks
are all signs of the profession
if you can call it that, more like an occupation
yes it occupies all our time
I live here now, in this place
I live here
this is my home
my only home, my body
and your body
and yours
and yours
I'll sit in your side
with my head pressed deep into your waist
more flesh in your absence of flesh
more crunching in my toes
more folding in my top lip than in my hip flexor
I don't know, is that right?
it feels right
And we'll get along just fine without the other
we are who were then, when we
wished we were the people we are now
circular
arms folded into each other's waist
circular
celestial
with glitter stains on our unshaven legs
too busy to perform normal hygiene routines
still stick my fingernails in your leg anyway
still give you purple marks
purple love, Mark
so beautiful to see you chaotic
(am I allowed to say that?)
it feels right
I almost told you in person
Yeah, they were definitely men
men, now
"not now", to quote
(I love them really)
some unbalance in our teal-rimmed dress cult
animal
in a dress
or creature
creature
like eating eyelashes
I can talk now
I can see
I still don't hear as well
but I know things at any given moment
I am knowing
yes, there is more to know
but I am knowing a lot now
now, not now and know
and knowing
the knowing is the best
we should all know things.
puffed, large exhales
they probably don't even hear it any more
just some 'normal' drone
background noise
They probably don't even feel the air
swift past their black clothes anymore
top off before you're even backstage
lost hair-tie
hair-tie stuck
we're so afraid
not just of normal things but bizarre things
although its probably of greater concern to be afraid
of bizarre things
though they'd have you believe
being afraid of normal things
is more abnormal
It's not.
That's why they are 'normal'
and normal to fear, too
I don't ever want to sleep
That familiar niggling is returning
in familiar and unfamiliar places
is that normal or abnormal, that niggling?
is it normal to feel the niggling at all?
normal here
not normal, here
and here
not normal at all
except in this profession
so healthy and unwell
pizza and gas marks
are all signs of the profession
if you can call it that, more like an occupation
yes it occupies all our time
I live here now, in this place
I live here
this is my home
my only home, my body
and your body
and yours
and yours
I'll sit in your side
with my head pressed deep into your waist
more flesh in your absence of flesh
more crunching in my toes
more folding in my top lip than in my hip flexor
I don't know, is that right?
it feels right
And we'll get along just fine without the other
we are who were then, when we
wished we were the people we are now
circular
arms folded into each other's waist
circular
celestial
with glitter stains on our unshaven legs
too busy to perform normal hygiene routines
still stick my fingernails in your leg anyway
still give you purple marks
purple love, Mark
so beautiful to see you chaotic
(am I allowed to say that?)
it feels right
I almost told you in person
Yeah, they were definitely men
men, now
"not now", to quote
(I love them really)
some unbalance in our teal-rimmed dress cult
animal
in a dress
or creature
creature
like eating eyelashes
I can talk now
I can see
I still don't hear as well
but I know things at any given moment
I am knowing
yes, there is more to know
but I am knowing a lot now
now, not now and know
and knowing
the knowing is the best
we should all know things.
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