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Originally I was meant to be flying out of Paris to London today.Instead i schemed life number 427 over a cup of tea in a teahouse in northern Spain.I've been travelling in Europe for 3months now and have been collecting alternate lives like entrance tickets, these are bulging in the back of my diary making all a write rise in the middle like a word hill. No427 involves a london work cash-up stop then more travel. So not home then...in fact all of my lives are steering away from home..allusive home I'm always searching you out.
Long day made up of relief, hours of driving(a huge speeding fine) and yet another life changing tea conversation(all momentous things happen with tea). Results; clarity and sadness. I know what i must do also know how much it'll sting to do it. When you are learning to ride a motorbike you're told if you see a collision coming, throw yourself to the ground attempt to slide under or away from the appending crunch.Logical, yeah, rather than take the head-on try to avert it...but to self induce this gravel grating pain goes against all natural instincts.
Tonight I heard Spain, listened to her sounds and it shook me up made me crave the language and her motions.Maybe its my foggy Spanish ancestory; A man on a ship going past the Cornish coast crashed, shipwrecked, found and married a Cornish lass my great,great grandmother Maria Yeo.I know little else of this partnership but something in me wants to shove my fingers into this earth, i want to hear the stories.I'll live here at some point, plant my own olive tree do that solid handshake with the ground, maybe lick a rock or two.
He's infiltrating all my thoughts I can't clear my head of him and truth is I've no desire to.Four days was all it took i was enchanted, now four weeks have passed and I'm smitten as a schoolgirl.Addicted to his words, he's a wordsmith you see a mastercraftsman, a storytelling hero, perfect for a tale hungry girl like me.There's so much to him volumes, I just want to lie in bed and read him for days. He is eons ahead of me and old insecurities snap back. ...ahhh I'm a bad soapie this wasnt meant to happen..
It's ridiculous how many lyrics to bad songs i know.Why does my brain retain such useless matter but not the morning paper? A few songs though can make me well up with thier near perfectness, give me shivers every time.One song I searched for achingly for over 7years only knowing a vague tune, a few chorus words.Promised every partner i would love them more if they could find it for me. In the end me humming it with a furrow in my brow, a friend gave me the name...i cried streams when i finally heard it.
Travel is an odd, bendy, sometimes wobbly thing.To plan it seems straight forward enough then something does the magic floppy pen trick to it and you dont know what your looking at.Terrible analogy I know....My head is vacant from driving and hunger.Arrived in Portugul today, drove for about five hours giving the head too much time to wander and as seems to be happening with worrying frequency of late my main preoccupation centres around a magnificently mad New York boy.Beguiled I am and curious as Alice to know where this white rabbit may lead me.
Allora; What shape the events that change your life are never what you think they'll be.Not the big momentous occasions of drama and thunderous soundtracks.Today in a murmur one of my lives ended, I thought it deserved a larger noise but indeed it was fitting, perfect in fact.It was a lovely life nothing wrong with it at all..comfort its only fault.Im damn sad to see it go and fucking scared.Truthfully more than those I'm excited.Whatever I do is mine. If I do fall I'll be the one picking the gravel from the graze.
My head hurts, eyes puffy, stomach churning..mmm so this is my freedom.The sky turns pink over the Portuguese coast, waves crashing in, me on a rock balled up. An appropriate amount of drama to the scene.I do all the obvious weep, scribble teary words in my journal.I have a scrap of paper in my hand with his name on it, I will sail it in the ocean.Good lord I'm a cliche but its all so far away and i need a ritual of sorts to let go.So this is it, not original I know...
The beach is so restoring, empathetic and I wonder why the fuck I ever moved away from it.Stilted words from hard to reach places were spoken today, tears let loose on a public phone. My hearts still achey with the sadness of it all, head heavy like a bowling ball.I wish there was someone here to hold my hand, but instead and better for it I hold my own.People keep saying they're proud of me but I dont know what for, I havent done anything yet. No idea what I can do, maybe not much at all.
Salty Lips, hair ringlet tight with the ocean.Drove down from Lisbon to Lagos today.Reading 'the Art of Travel' written by a British tosser, mostly pomp with a few good thoughts if you can stand the bore.One of these briefed down is; large thoughts require large spaces, new thoughts new places.I have ample of these Portugul's flat expanses seen through the windscreen rolling my thoughts along with the changing scenery.Tender and new I still am but eager too.A lot of this keeness is charged by knowing he is around the corner days away now JavaBoy.
My throats sore, hair manky an evening in the Old Tavern bar in Lagos.A horrible tourist meat market that shows the worst of both sexes. Here I sat with my bud waxing lyrical..not the venue for it.Apparently as a woman in this bar you're up for it and not the first time on this trip I wished I had a penis.Ohhh the freedom, being spared the oggling and pathetic pick up attempts, to be able to look the room with ease.Not to have to dodge eye contact.Give me your converstion lads that I'll swallow.
I'm sick of email talks, tired of one way converstions. I want real people actual banter, not have to explain or watch words.A face, your tones.Left Tavirna's island beach for Seville, almost the last border crossing of our trip.France next then to London.Can't seem to get my head around what comes next, don't want to swear to anything have no idea how I'll feel when the motion stops. Bunker down in London hold still for a while, get ready for bursting of the banks.
"I'm as riddled as the tide.
Should I stand amid the breakers?"
The bliss of sleepy travel life, slow mornings, aimless meanderings and so much to see if you want it. Woke in Seville in a white room. Spain I love it, a night of flamenco dancing and clarinet mastery and now i want to learn those too.So much i want to do, work in london shall leave me little time for much else. I always seem to be sacrificing things for cash.What can an unqualified girl like me do? Bare my wrists to tables, listen to the till toll..maybe it should worry me more than it does.
This last month has been one of heavy daydreams and huge introspection. The openess of the land here invokes it, long drives watching olive groves meet white washed towns that slip into the ocean or sink into the hills. Thoughts like darting fish shimmy around, nothing for them to catch on they reel off uninterrupted. More often then not inanities and fantasies are the product, starting to feel the need for a task. I realised I havent rushed anywhere in four months.
"everytime I race I lose a minute.
everytime I slow right down i see whats in it" TZU
I'm a girl of few friends, sure I know people, good people, lovely folk..But I never seem to take the extra step to truly connect. You're either in my life all encompassing or kept at skirting distance.Maybe its a side effect of moving a lot, knowing at any moment you might have to pack up and leave..never letting things develop enough that you might miss them. Preferred my own company when i was little, had an imaginary friend for a year.She was vivid and small like me. Maybe all this is just a shy girls defensive.
"life aint nothin but a good groove,
a good mixed tape to put you in the right mood"beastie boys
From Granada to Allicante through some crazy beautiful landscapes of red earth eroded mountains, homes built into the sides with chimneys poking out like teapot lids, bare hills 'cept for newly sprouting olive trees, that remind me of birdseed i grew on a windowsill in damp white cottonwool when i was so small i could barely reach it. After a month of contemplation I'm emerging out the other side with vigour.
In four days I'll be kissing his forehead.
Three more days and I'll licking his tattoo's, if I can just find us a room. Taking up all my thoughts want to scribe words to him all day, cant think past barcelona..What the hell is he gonna think of me this time round..It'll be different now..What more shall we confess? So much already there I'll try not to covet him..Swam in the warm salty floaty sea of Allicante looking up at a fortress.Then to Valencia..too many ciggarettes must stop filthy habit..feeling shoddy, couldnt be pmt already? No-no just tired and grumpy.
Is there anything else I can think of?! He's leaving tommorrow. Everything feels like limbo now.Now is Valencia a bit too much hustle in its bustle for me. A hectic city is no fun unless you know it, can grope its underskirts.Frantic phone calls searching for accomadation in Barcelona ended up giving some man named ignasses my credit card details for fuck knows what sort of room...hope it's okay.He is this man Ive met splendid..our tale already extrordinary, chance is amazing one of those things I cant think about too much like de-ja-vous...wigs me out.
oh-Oh-oh he is riding in a bus somewhere coming to me.
Long bus travel, arggggghh, I use to do regular 12hr trips from a beach town (byron bay) I lived in to the city (Sydney).I must of endured crappy video play of "Grumpy Old Men" at least five times.The shock of the crisp inky night air when given the chance to pile out, billowing smoke clouds across surreal brightly lit servo's.Everyone with creases pressed into their faces,possum- eyed, avoiding contact not wanting to risk being locked into unescapable conversations.
Riding over,Crossing countries to see me.
Missed it, too absorbed by his presence-I lost a day. Lost it lovely. It disappeared to embraces, laughter, kisses, stories and brilliant sex. His face again up close is how i remembered it, still gets my heart skipping. Fuck butterflies I had winged serpents in my stomach waiting to greet him.He is all bliss, never felt like a stranger,we had to learn each other over again visually. He did all I wished then some.Told me something that would've normally hurt instead it just poked, with him all the rules are new, the whole play is truth.
I'm listening to his pen scratching now.Tis heaven this..a stillness and confidence in his touch makes me quivver.Relaxing into us I'm wrongly already missing him before he's gone.Know it's coming, tis what needs to happen but ohhh I do like him..its got me all twined these feelings for him, they were not meant to happen certainly not now...and as i trace words on his back lines he cant read i wonder where we're going with this.I know there could be a fall scheduled in there somewhere for me but I cant stop climbing.
The sleepy comfort of one content, and i feel it tonight a simple flat base line of pleasure.A tuneless hum thats causing reverb in my marrow.Listening to beats under a full moon spied between terraces and i showed it to him standing on a curb, in a courtyard of a cathedral white birds circling the night sky, all seems melodious. His hands round my waist,i lean back on his chest the franticness of prague has gone and left a gentler love..oh did i say that?
Trying not to grasp it, but not wanting to stop touching.
owwww sore feet.But ahhhh at the greatest cause. Herbaliser played in Barcelona tonight and they gave me their second pure music moment.One of those cheering, fearsome this is sound,peaking perfection moments. To my ears. Finally got to dance, a release four months in the waiting, perculiar human need. Barcelona is beautiful, I watch the crowd full of life buzz and grind around me; i must come back. Maybe with him,,, he holds my hand all the time, doesnt mind my constant contact, held my hips when we danced and i wanted to wrestle him to the ground.
White clean towels, clean sheets, gaudi, beaches, ice-creams, falaffel, breakfast in bed,sweet things, good intentions, late nights, disturbingly great sex and stories told by a man who has captivated me entirely. There'll be tears. I knew i had to see him again after Prague, know if was just some kinda crazy timing, need thing or if it was, as it felt, more than that..now this and this is more again..and there it is love huh? I feel the only resistance I've felt from him there, where all else is open i can feel the fear around that.ohboy..
Five days of indulgence, well by my skint standards. Travelling creates such a pace an eagerness in daily motions that would otherwise be drab, a bounding immediacy for life.Gets your inner bits racing too-intimacy sped up to an intensity that would normally take so much longer to reach..an urgency, an honesty, making me bare all but rather than leaving me exposed i feel shimmery revealed. Ego's down, shyness dispelled i think i said too much.. fuck I saw those eyes dart.. damn it girl calm yourself down. Now he's gone again and I'm wondering what he's thinking..
Today we clocked 20,000km's and recklessly sped at 190km.I personally ate a record amount of chocolate mousse-god bless europe and all its dolces,posstres and general sweet thing goodness. Whirlicious indeed, cant believe four months have gone by and we must return the car tommorrow.We'll be in Paris two days then off for London.To be met by two strangers who will hopefully become friends or at least cool housemates.Start it all over for real.Fuck must work..hope my brain still functions, time to reintergrate with the world come out of the travel bubble.
Some say love is precious.
Sometimes I guess it is.I dont want this cautious kind of love, dont want to huddle over it guarding it from breezes.I want a racous, avalanche like love that tears shit up and can withstand a storm. Dont want to wear white gloves to handle it, dont want to have to shield or protect it.It should have more than feet to stand on. A god damn boulder like creation.The kind that would fling the first punch if insulted, use caustic wit and then nod sagely at the elements buddha like as it walks amongst them.
You can keep your precious love.
Life is shimmering now.I'm used to the temporary, got to like the cold casualness of cheap hotels, new bed to lay my head in every night.Home being a silver car full of shit and stink.It'll be another sad bidding goodbye when I fly out tommorrow.I like not understanding what people say, Love the daily mime of communication.Yeah I'm tired and the the thought of clean clothes excites me more than it should but I dont want this to end.It aint though i gotta remember onwards, london town new city, --Ill sleep for days.
yep I'm in london.In a giants bed fi-fo-fi-fum. Its a house but not a home, i forgot it wouldnt feel like home. Has all the bits but not the comfort.Tonight I want encircling arms around me, Im all feary. Someone to massage my shoulders cause damn i caused some damage hauling two 25kg packs round.I miss him tonight, wish he was here to sit on my feet.In some elses lounge room craving my own, truly homesick for the first time. I put my arms around my bud and hold her we're both feeling the oddness tonight.
Where am I then? London ,yes, apparently so. Must be my bank balance is shrinking at an alarming rate.Feeling particularily wobbly and uncertain.All elements of my life are open and exposed.Crunch time. There are two places I could run too, must choose where I want to walk first.Supported and loved I am, good folk behind me telling me sweet nothings down the phone lines.I miss my friends, my family..and miss love.
"Love, love is a verb
Love is a doing word
Fearless on my breath
Shakes me makes me lighter"
- massiveattack -teardrop
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