Nighttime crises.

July 31, 2016 § Leave a comment


ain’t nothin but a tired cow, yawnin all the time

Ever get that feeling, when you’re trying fitfully to fall asleep, that your closed eyes are merely wide open, lidless eyes looking up into darkness? I’m getting that right now. It’s somewhat disturbing, I decided to give in to my body’s evident desire to keep me painfully awake. As I look at the screen, it’s kind of shifty, blurry-like. Maybe that’s a sign I need to go to sleep. Ha! Called your bluff, body. I know you won’t let me. Wanker. I know you’re a wanker ’cause I’ve seen it myself. Another thing you like to do without asking my opinion first. Well, I’m pushing it a little. You know I’d never stop you from doing that. Except maybe that time I really didn’t feel like it, I was reading that awful article, you know? About American politics and how frightfully clownish it’s all gotten? And you just had to go and… anyway. Let me bloody sleep already.

And I feel I should do something productive, like finally get around to writing an outline of a story or something, only I feel that would only wake me more and intensify my budding headache on top of it all. So I suppose I should go on with this “stream-of-consciousness” nonsense, excuse for a writing style, and maybe lull myself to sleep that-a-way.

Go on, body, you know you need it, you need it bad. Well, not bad, per se, I’m not like, sleep-deprived or anything. Just well, I will be if you don’t hurry up and let me go, ’cause mother’s gonna wake me up early tomorrow. And you know we don’t like that, neither of us. Particularly me. You’re just a sloppy mess, and I have to put up with it. So don’t, just, don’t, okay? Christ!

Hm. God, you know what’s really embarrassing and absolutely sinful about my inner self? I am so angsty about literally every single last one of my old friends doing some fancy master’s degree after brilliantly finishing their fancy bachelor’s degree, back in the fancy old town where I grew up. I suppose I’m pretty brilliant as it is, but couldn’t at least one of them go off the rails a little like me? Can’t they make me feel like my decision of “doing a crappy little music degree and then moving on to NOT study further and just live some sort of life” was not such a terrible one? They are all so sorted, you know. So… employable. I can’t see myself in any sort of high-paying job, none. I have no skills to offer the high-paying. Except, of course, my body, she said with a tinkling laugh and eyelash flutter. But god no, I suppose it’s too easy, and also too shame-upon-the-family-name-ish.

Families. Don’t get me started about families. In fact, I won’t start. Really, my family’s pretty all right. Like, I’m pretty god damn blessed. God damn it, I’m so god damn blessed, I could so have had a cushy masters degree in my old cushy town in its cushy country with its cushy free higher education. And here I am with my blessedness running down the side, kind of glooping off into a puddle on the table and then leaking, just one long gushy drop of blessedness, leaking off the side of the table onto the floor. Just beginning to stain the floor, only a small section of it, but it’s a slow and terrible process which I’ve been in the process of beginning ever since I decided to do that stupid art school foundation year and then that even stupider music school diploma year, and then that stupid degree which I should have known would be stupid.

Look on the bright side, though, I’ve met some awesome people and been through some awesomely exciting stuff, at least compared to my old town life. Ehh… even that’s not convincing me so much. All my most deeply-rooted nostalgic memories are of that old life, growing up. Though I know the mind is so tragically deceitful, and I know when I move on somewhere else, I’ll have those same nostalgic thoughts about my life right now… and I’ll only ever be happy in retrospect. Curses.

…Only ever happy in retrospect. Good theme for a song (NOT a theme song), or name, or something. Or a bo–

No. I have not one idea for a good plot. I can only ever write what pops into my muddled brain, or whatever someone tells me to write about, provided the necessary materials. (Any newspaper peeps hiring? Nudge nudge!)

Anyway, here we go, pip-pip, off with me, the coyka* is calling.

*my personal little russky addition to the Nadsat dictionary, meaning bed


Ode to Dog

July 30, 2016 § Leave a comment

There is practically nothing more precious to me than this little being, so delightfully alive. She makes my heart cry just to see her big black eyes, so suspicious as she looks up at my mother and me after we betray her with yet another bath, or eye-cleaning, or other intrusive procedure. She makes my heart burst with laughter to see her cocky stance and pouted-out black lips as she looks at my mother, ready to prance and bark her heart out at nothing when given the command.

She’s lying there, looking at me with some bemusement and distrust in her eyes. She doesn’t trust anyone as much as my mother, and particularly not me, as I was young and impatient and tried to train her with all these techniques I learned online. I was the obnoxious parent always trying to “do what’s best” and not earning her favor in the least. It pains me to this day, but I am so happy to see what a beautiful relationship she has with my mother than I’ve stopped minding so much.

She’s the flightiest little creature I’ve ever met. Unless you have food, good luck getting close enough to so much as touch her on the back. She doesn’t need attention or cuddles, in fact, she’d rather be left alone, except by my mother. She has bouts of absolutely unbelievable playfulness, digging in the covers, pushing pillows off the bed with her tiny, thin, black muzzle and her tiny, thin, wet, black nose. When playing with toys, she gets possessive and almost aggressive, but always seems to come back for more; I’ve yet to tire her out. Only her doggie friends have managed to do that.

Twelve years of life is no obstacle for her, I still can’t see symptoms of ageing. I like to think I helped with that by insisting on feeding her a raw diet throughout her life, though recently she’s been demoted to (high-end) kibble due to stomach troubles. I didn’t listen to vets’ and friends’ fearmongering and read numerous books and sites on the subject, and I’m so happy to see that BARF is becoming a mainstream thing in pet nutrition.

But I digress.

She is so funny. Afraid though she may be of strangers, she is a bossy little napoleon when confronted with big floppy dogs like her friend Kikko the Pitbull or Bratan the Doberman. Bratan whines when she is under the dinner table because it’s a no-access zone when she’s down there. She seems to respect dogs her own size a bit more, but still tries to hump ’em good (for dominance reasons), in spite of sometimes dangerous remonstrations. On a walk, she’ll avoid any dog in her way; she’d rather not talk to strangers, thanks very much.

She’s so fragile and small. Such a tiny skeleton under all that fluff and attitude. What nightmares I have had about her being in danger. Children just don’t do it for me; but I know what a strong mothering instinct I have when I think about her. I had it since I was a teenager and she’d sleep in her crate in my room; the tiniest noise of distress from her little bed and I’d be awake and fretting. And I’m no light sleeper. I can’t count how many times I’ve woken up to be heavily disappointed at missing an awesome thunderstorm that morning. But this little creature… even now that I haven’t lived with her for nearly five years… she still haunts my dreams with her sheer preciousness.

And finally, her smell. My god, that smell! I will choose my next dog by smell and smell alone. There is nothing to calm me quite like that homely aroma that just rolls off her when she is quietly sighing in her crate as she sleeps. Nothing like that gentle aura of warmth, for it is the absolute definition of warmth, to me. When I hold her and she gives in despite the annoyance of being held, her flexible, full and bony little body just emanates this warmth and this smell so powerful that I can hardly distinguish one from the other. It is THE smell of love, and cuteness, and warmth, and body heat, and life. Call me crazy? Yes. You probably will. I wish I could capture that essence in a bottle (without having to do anything gruesome like Grenouille in Das Parfum) and keep it with me at all times… although maybe I wouldn’t, because the smell is just so connected to the body and the being, and the WARMTH!!! How many times can I use the word warmth in one paragraph? Count and see. Even the word “warmth” is lovely and represents well what I’m trying to describe.

Warmth, warmth, warmth. Nothing better! God, I love warmth. God, I love this dog!

Just how can anyone resist?

My Little Stone Roses

July 29, 2016 § 3 Comments

Taken during a solitary outing I’ll never forget, a three-day trip to Exmoor National Park in Somerset, getting hopelessly lost through twisting paths and asking the kind man from the corner store for help while passing through a tiny little  village in between fields and hills.stonerosesFinally I got thoroughly lost in the wild, mountainous woods and found some miraculous builders to not only show me the way, but drive me to the bus station to get me the hell out of my predicament.

Hardly an easy predicament, I think, looking back… It was wintry, cold, and empty of travellers, ten or twelve locals around at the most… It was so breathtaking I could not even smoke my usual spliff! That is for the din of city life–it’s a burden when absorbing such pure air and trying to figure out what the hell to do with nothing but a notebook and a camera.

I found this precious little stone nook, and took a load of other photos as well as videos of myself walking and singing in the woods.

Time… to move on.

July 28, 2016 § Leave a comment

For six years of my life I wore one solitary watch on my wrist without ever removing it. It accompanied me to the seaside, to the shower, in my intimate moments, throughout high school.
It watched me as I didn’t do my homework, and slowed down as I waited for the teacher to call me out on it.
I boasted to the other kids about my watch. It had real diamonds on the side, I said, and it had a pearl interior. It never died on me no matter what I did with it! I never took it off!

I later found out from a local jeweler that the diamonds weren’t actually real. There that went. It started breaking off my wrist repetitively after high school. Like it didn’t belong there anymore. Like I needed to release my wrist from captivity, unburden my mind from constant timekeeping. I don’t know what the little nuisance was implying.

So I just started wearing other, prettier watches. One in particular, an ancient beauty of my mother’s. Then my boyfriend gave me another one. Now I alternate between those two. They never could take as much water and battering as the original, and so my timekeeping suffers in the middle of the night, in the shower, or during a shift at the pub.

I slowly moved on, but I still got ol’ reliable in a box somewhere, and one of its bracelet links stored with hope in an airtight bag, thinking maybe, one day, the ultimate jeweler will come along and fix it for good.


my gorgeous silver number caught in a private moment of vanity

This is what reading anything other than glorious escapist fiction does to me.

July 28, 2016 § Leave a comment

Many things are unstoppable. Things such as stubbornness, ambition, and stupidness. I say stupidness, I mean stupidness. I mean the entire realm of stupidity, including Buzzfeed, social media, unbridled passion, extremism, ordinary media… The world is crumbling before our very eyes, and though perhaps it has done so for many centuries in the eyes of many disillusioned young adults, it just seems worse somehow. Maybe that’s just a reflection of my own scattered life and state of mind. But all these fights against terrible things, they somehow seem stupid to me, too… they breed venom. For every bit of good feminism has done and continues doing, there will be an avalanche of stubborn, ambitious feminists tearing down everything that’s not in their way and making the whole movement look bad. Same for vegans, same for any activists.

So what’s the way? What can I do, in my own rational way, without just being full of empty words? My god, if I could find a clever way to spread cleverness… shame I seem to be short on it myself. I’m clever enough to know the world needs cleverness, but I’ve hardly got enough for myself, let alone the entire world.

I say activists, really I mean any mass movement. Anything, once it involves the masses, must be dulled down to a blistering volcano of idiocy. And, yet, at the same time, that same anything needs the awareness of the masses to even exist as a movement!

I guess this is just one of those tricks the universe likes to play on us unsuspecting mortals. That eternal balance bullshit the spirituality activists are all going on about. No yin sans yang, no up sans down, no me sans pretentious wordings. Okay, maybe not that last one. But how is anything supposed to go well if this constant equilibrium maintains things at extreme shit vs. extreme excellence level? Perhaps the terrible things happening to more than half the Earth are necessary to maintain its correct rotation in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps there is no way to iron out the inequalities; it sure seems so, if one looks back in time. This is all so easy to say when you are part of the lucky few in this wonky unisphere. Do we have more awareness than those who suffer throughout their entire lives? If they are not told of all the riches and human rights that exist elsewhere, will they perhaps accept their fate as we do ours?
If Muslim women are forbidden from education, are they then basically brainwashed into fully accepting their fate as child-bearing sex slaves? Does this make things better or terribly, terribly worse?


As long as there is education, humanity will lumber on to its weary fate.
Without it, humanity will crash straight into a bloody, raging wall of hate.

Edumacation is the only way forward! It won’t eradicate stupidness, but it does seem to make everyone more equal in not being dicks to innocent people.


July 27, 2016 § Leave a comment

I made a few attempts at songwriting… didn’t work out so well. Only thing I was really proud of were my lyrics. So here’s my first.

Won’t you just hear me out
birdshadow.JPGYou know there’s no doubt
All I speak is truth.

You can rate me
By what I create
Well I can tell you now,
I’ve created nothing.

I’m feeling brainless
Feeling grey
Oh, what am I to do today?

Seems pretty hopeless
Still unchanged
Oh, what a happy day.

It’s easy, baby, as 1, 2, 3
All this shit just frightens me
My mind is so in touch with me
Full of self-pity

This is my complaint:
All I can ever hear is my repetitive brain.
Leave me and I will stay
Stay  unchanged for another day.

I wish I was crazy
Wish I was dumb
Why must I have opposable thumbs?
Seems pretty hopeless
I’ll never change
Oh, what another wonderful day.

It’s easy, baby, as 1, 2, 3
All this shit just frightens me
My mind is so in touch with me
Full of self-pity

Woe is me…

An old man walking alongside a brick wall.

July 27, 2016 § Leave a comment

An old man walking alongside a brick wall.oldman.JPG

An old man walking alongside a brick wall.

Where Am I?

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