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This is horrid. A seedy fucking room on a bunk bed, smells like fish. Whenever the person under you moves you rock with them. Reminds me of the shamrock hostel in Brisbane. Don't let the goodluck charm fool you as I did. It was a pub but more, doubled as a titty bar. Aha. I have to ask the bare-breasted girl behind the counter about my bed whilst old queenslanders leer. I was the only one in the girl's dorm not surprisingly. Jammed windowed, stained mattressed squalor, the heat so intensely suffocating humidity squeezing me in a sweaty bear hug.
The hostel is dreaded seedy, the odour it seems is not fish but urine. Its emanating from the large black girl in the next bed. Below me is a man from ghana he's proposed,wants to take me to Africa with him..left a note on my pillow while I slept. Disconcerting. Eating a baked potato in Brixton, texting my lover in Prague waiting for a friend to come then going to a bar down the road. Meeting his friends there and, always generous he has invited me along. They're a friendly and interesting and I'm a girl desperately seeking a connection.
As seems to be my catchphrase..Im sleepy. Turned into a rather late night. Could barely hear above the music and conversation was what I was hunting, still nice to be amongst a crowd. Danced a little smoked a lot(idle hands). Nestled in a couch yelling words into peoples ears. Slept on the lads couch avoiding the dorm, dubious amorous offers to stay in their beds I declined. Spoke to my last love who told me of home, all our clever friends doing great things. I miss being amongst it, must collect my thoughts to take home larger than my backpack.
What was I thinking that it might be okay here? It's putrid and sad, a half way house not a hostel. All night listenin to a middle-aged Iraqi man telling me his life story, uninterrupted, without input..arrogant full of alcoholics lying bravado. Trapped whilst he picked a fight got ugly, well uglier. I don't want to witness this..tried the experience angle but I think its one I could do without. A tale is well and good but inane ranting is another thing. I know its bad to miss someone when your down but damn I wish I'd gone to Prague.
Lot to do, I chew my cheeks. It's kinda gotten so bad here it's funny, but not of course before I thoroughly complained to all I knew, oh poor J. The city is crackling in showers its all a sparkle tonight. Guy Fawkes night. I remember before fireworks were banned in Australia. The neighborhood bonfires on vacant blocks. My favourite the parachuteres, they exploded then let down little white tissue paper chutes that flurried wind-caught to the ground. I would make chase and pocket them. Secretly I'd later unwrap their blackened cardboard cores, inside finding Chinese newsprint baffled totally by it.
I've adjusted to the dankness, it hasn't improved I'm just baring it better. So bad its humorous if you can look past the sadness of the guys stuck in there. A real curiosity as they all claim to be professionals of some sort, talk up elaborate lies. The trick is to spend as little time in the hostel as possible, get in late leave early. This means lots of street roaming after work, checking out London. Good to be forced to do this as the cold weather and darkness normally would send me in, so an enforced exploration scheme is good.
A blue crisp sky, and tunes humming in my head. Busy for once at work and felt vaguely useful. Some cheery mail and even London's blustery wind couldn't sway me. At four watched the storm clouds break, missing the rain, sunseting over the common. Packed my bags with glee and round to mates for dinner who lets me hold his hand with no intentions. Cab there and back cost me but what the fuck so deep in debt now ts'all the same. To the country tomorrow Withnail and I style. Then to the new house … cheers from the crowd
On a bus to Oxford to see my cousin. Been 16 years since we really hung out. Use to share a room with her at Xmas when the family went back for the relative rally. Playing grew as we did from mud pies to sexual experimenting. Sharing baths we'd touch each other and giggle, pash our pillows at night trying to be grown up, skim through mills and boon to the dirty bits. She was always the clever one, constant stream of awards and trophy's, I grew to hate her for it. My poor mum never had any news to tell.
Left London with things undone and a jitter. On the bus the view was gone by 5, just my own reflection. Closed my eyes and conjured Jeff, more specifically how my body would take hold. Been battlin of late with the notion that what we've had is all we get, are these emotions for him of any worth if this cant go any further. When we have contact he hits me somewhere charmed but in life beyond holiday stints, could we work. Maybe my draw would fade, stories all told. But oh he does it to me pure and strong.
Toured the town in a lazy fashion. Buildings grandiose, smelled old books in gust from a drain, climbed a tower in the spires kept secret with a massive iron key, wandered a museum of museums, strolled through prestigious colleges a world so unknown to me, had a high tea. Talked of blood ties, our inspiring 95yr old grandmother and our grandfather who died when we were too small to remember, comparing what we could retell and giving our 26yr old take on it all. What we'd heard of each other through the family grapevine then what the truth really was.
Back on the bus. Haven't been able to contact J. I'm all refreshed, renewed and assured. Not so scared of how I feel, not so concerned by our current time limitations. Tis splendid that we met, yeah we'll not get much, sure I'll be wanting more but its not the time. We've other things to see to. Enamoured by his affections, graced by his care and I want to give it all freely back. No halves so he heard it all wish it could've been more of the favourites less of the least. There's more to unveil if he's still wanting.
Bursting with love one day burst the next.
A call, "I gotta tell you something" t'snever good. He's been with someone else, like we said we could, he has, is, will. I'm crowned the stupidest girl on the block, a letter I sent that he received in the midst of the scenario, Lying as a paperweight to my girlish foolishness. Hot angry tears. ..he'd been waiting to tell me…how long? Correspondence had dropped off to give me some space, yeah right. And I'm as bitter as they come. Hurting in rolling sloshes nothing so elegant as waves. Pyrite Love.
Fuck Prague all right, almighty Headfuck.
Mr Fucking Righteous (sweep of the arm, collapse on the bed, more tears.) Melodramatic I am heart furiously scribbling the play. I know this spring this tightness, cant stop shaking my head in my own direction. He's trying so hard to do the ‘Right Thing' not wanting to hurt anyone, its damn frustrating as he stammers out apologies and words I've heard before. Just want to shake him, spill out the truths.. Don't want simpers gimme lung filled clarity. Got to box it up Japanese style origami like, wraps and layers to beautiful to open.
It settled in me today, I rifled through my headspace drawers, found a spot to put it. Whilst I don't like the fact he wants to fuck a Young girl called Jill (up they go for their pale of water) I don't want to stop him. So I slotted him in somewhere new, somewhere a little further away from the heartstrings where it shoulda been. It irks me and as all good women scorned I hate her. A tier of stupidity layers my cake. ahhh the quirky ass way of fate cant help but put a twist in my grin.
She looked different when I opened the door, couldn't pin it down exactly..Stunning and charged bright-eyed full of tales and momentous ones they were. It was good to do some time apart but damn I missed her. In our brilliant new home we relay days on the cream couch. So pleased to have her back again by my side, she makes me solid and not just a whispering figment. Clarifies my thoughts, raises the pebbles of the brain bucket to the top. Friends since we were 9 I hold her above all else and now I hold her every night.
It's hard to get use to the darkness, the coldness I can adjust to but day-night? Always feel like its time to get inside, bunker down in this sublime abode I've scored,,, curl by the fireplace drinking tea. I'm just going through the motions at the moment, lot of just waiting to see how things settle. Life here, life at home (?), and throwing my heart in the air to see where it lands. Was I more than a Jill, little bruises changing colours, how to play it all I'm so uncertain. Still want to see him again.. no definates
I want 20 lives and I want to live them all simultaneously.
Chance encounters with someone you really connect with are so enchanted, awing they remove you from the middleland raise you up from just daily pleasantries. Grant you that feeling, know you've been given something rare and fated. A chance to take a lesson, a lesson on chance.
A bitch I was for wanting to deprive him of that. The girl is lucky indeed hope she appreciates him. I'll see beyond the shades of green. Hope when my stone was upturned the scuttling beetles didn't scare him away.
Does everyone daydream as much as I do? Daydream isn't even the right word for my imagings- I constantly stream stories through my head. Some memory driven, some spurred by strangers, others come from the comic girl within. Fantasies churl and idle chats turn into dramatic saga's. Know it's got a lot to do with a boring job where my brain can happily concoct bubbling crucibles of thoughts without interruption. Of late though they are concerningly spilling over, starting to involve speaking roles for my id and I catch my mouth moving and wonder whether I've spoken aloud or not.
A night of Mark's. Had conversations (proper ones) with four people tonight, at a friend's film screening in a great loft studio. Three of these people were called Mark the other Marco. Odd enough to make me think I was trippin and that I'd gotten all their names wrong. Tube this morning looking down the carriage every 2nd person holding a tabloid headline bold "Terror on the Tube be Alert" was a little freaky. News last night showing evacuation procedures for London. Suspicion everywhere: ‘Be Vigilant' ‘Keep your bags on you a all times' a barrage of voice-overs making everyone edgy.
Went out last night met up with the old house lads. Lovely they are and gave me hugs and words of reassurance. Not drinking is a curious thing for me and all concerned. Doesn't bother me too much, but it can become boring and send me reclusing. Never can use the ‘But I was drunk' excuse where others can let there guards down with an infusion safety clause. Would've loved to have comforting sex tonight, fall asleep on someone's chest. Instead I'll count words. Pent up frustrated. The stale smell of smoke caught in my curls rather than post-involvement aroma.
In my weathered Czech army surplus medical satchel marked ‘69' I carry goods worth more than most earn in a year…could I feign a heist? ahh I wish but I'm a terrible liar. Money woes and I'm tired and java jumpy.
It passed over I think, patched up quilt like. Still not sure about Xmas meetings, low in cash and festive bookings making tickets scanty. He says his feelings haven't changed for me and I trust him- but he has had to make space for someone else and I wonder what was cleared out in that clean up. Hard refuge
Bzzzzt push the button, shower, dress, bagel tea, walk the green strip past the flats, smoke, fumble for tube pass, beep, down, gaze at the Australia ad, mind the gap, scuffle, read, change trains, pass the buskers, gust, board, dream, up, fumble, beep, walk, turn, scan id card, beep, push clink, upstairs, through warren, buzz x2, click, tapping keys, coffee, call, post, lunch, smoke, eat, smoke, beep, push, clink, buzz x2, pick up, drop off, type, tea, down, nod to the security, down, fumble, gust, board, swap, board, up, past the evangelists, bus, ding, walk, fumble for keys, clink, home.
Ears ringing all that vague echoey, where sounds get morphed into others. Thought there were birds twittering outside my window but wait this is brixton, just the squirrel's only wildlife that I've seen in London. Found a spider in my book the other night, I was shocked not by its spideryness but by its existence here. I've not seen a single critter..no insects of any kind. It's 5.30 I'm muscle tired, but sleep is still eluding me. Night at a club a joint at home I would've fled from but here with new friends so I can't scowl too much.
Made eye contact with a relatively good-looking guy in the club last night, Don't want him in anyway but good to feel desirable? Mmm ego repair job. After the bashing it took the last couple of weeks it helped pull me from my frumpy state of mind. So it was nice to get a glance but not all the other approaches by more confident fellows, unwanted untuned to signals. Not good at rudeness, bluntness sometimes required to maneuver out, don't want to insult or offend but fuck step back check my language a smile on the dancefloor aint a night invite.
Feeling outsiderish with no tango for mingling tonight. The scratchy conversations titter around me making noise but little else. I twist my tongue inside my mouth rub it over my new tooth as has become a habit, dig my fingers deeper in my pockets. It all feels repeated, and unimportant., say my lines and head out. The local warm and comfortable good tunes and a kind crowd still cant put me in the right mood and I look on. I take a seat and try and for a chat its forced though and pull the rip cord on the night.
A flaky wooden screen with a red curl of spraypaint the tail of a tag. The town hall clock tower covered in scaffolding griding and meshing time. The underground leaning on a stranger whilst our coat-tails hold hands. Arm of a crane on top a building- block of concrete in its claw I hear its mechanical chuckle as I imagine that its imagining what would happen if it just let go. A sticker claims an escalator step as Lionel Richie's. Artificial breeze tickles curls against my cheeks, a busker with an angel's voice sings to me ... the drugs don't work.
Is it the java, cigarette late night ways that's causing my stomach to fog-probably. Oh sleep slut you want me in the day then dash at night. I try to picture London all big dresses, corsets and top-hats squelching down muddy lanes..try to find some obvious beauty. But now with such compact people and all express its tricky. I knot my scarf tight round my neck, tuck my chin in. Chris is playing soccer in the park under the dusky early summer of home, no doubt his dog waiting by the sidelines. Salt of the earth, too damp for that here.
A soft clapping of hands in front of the monitor…my life fronds unfurling. Lying on a rainforest floor looking at a canopy, swimming in a red lake… It's all from the same place. India has suddenly appeared, a job surfacing amongst all this travel my life lining up lovely. A magic marker making things appear… how did they work those books text forming under the nib of a texta. How is this working? Trying not to get to pacey and keep letting things happen. "England Ireland Scotland Wales inside outside donkeys tails"..jumping elastic pulling red marks on young girls thighs.
The month almost gone I'll be glad to see its tail exiting, to exhale a new icy filled breath into a December sky. Like a healthy dog my nose is wet, ears pricked as I walk out my gate. Waiting for the tube ‘delays due to a person under the train' that doesn't sound good but no one blinks. J's story comes to mind. Its going to be a brilliant book, flattered he's included bits of me and us in there…wouldn't show them to my mum but beautifully retold. The novel is full of him a map to J Central.
The now familiar high-pitched wheeze of the underground. My bud sitting across from me head resting on the Perspex, sleeping. The city is jumpy yet trying to be indifferent. My world is coming together nicely without a strain. Know I should be more concerned about cash but im not, know I should be pushing more but I don't want to. Enjoying the lazy evenings, going out, getting friendly with the locals. There's passion for those who let me touch them, chestnut roasting warmth in a kiss before bed. Will he come and see me stroke the Yuletide from my hair?
The Tip Jar