Circuit kills number 8

Distinguished and poised for a salute!
It's raining and break time is almost due.
The logical side of my brain is working like a smooth running machine..
Foucault and the philo's are beconing for some play time.
I saw a strange film, Grizzly Man... Herzog is such a freak!
So this is nothingness. I resign to gossip and flyaway topics.

On another note, saturday places me in a tricky spot...choice to cut away from the lethal one or to follow that horse?
Back to Adorno.
I will rush a gush when it next breaks.

Writing nothing - Saying everything

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding."

- Something lovely conjured up by Anais Nin

The greatest thing someone can do is to inspire me, for that I am truly thankful

Youth, power, desire and instinct, influence and persuasion, lies and illusion, truth and self, experience and conversation, will and action.
Fear and fault, weary ideas given new light.
Blossoming pleasure from once dry wells.
Static ideas, casting nets over uncharted constellations of existence and veiled wisdom.
Making new roads, coming across the challenging complexities of the universe.. it's constant evolution, deconstruction and repetition in all systems of life.
Thrilling new discoveries, inner worlds to travel, revelations and celebrations of greatness, mastery and imagination.
With great gusto I'm rearing to go down the rabbit hole to use my faculties and truly taste some new ideas.
Steams of thought, stacking bricks of thought, ideas placed one by one on top of each other, constructing a house of some truth. Each brick founding a new basis for the next philosophy, some less stable, others more substantial, weighty and difficult to place.
The family tree of history, the advances, the progression or digression, the relative the inconsequential.
It all is relative, fluid and changing, beyond the bounds of understanding beyond human processing.
The universe and all it's secrets, the constant coiling and evolving reality I live in.
To have a true grasp, a nugget of wisdom to make you feel secure, banishing fear and making light of existence and it's cycle.
One can go back to oneself, go to the source where it all begins.. the curiosity, the weaving of ideas.. all from inside.. To access some truth via a spiritual door, a personal and individual door to tap into, explore..unravel and question.
A note to play within the soul that can both illuminate what the world throws at you.

Chastity - The most unnatural of all the sexual perversions
Aldous Huxley

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

Under water he lives..

Murky sounds set across the skyline.
Like his murky eyes and his dabbling thoughts. They dispel with an erratic energy, centralised only by his constant praying.
He walks by in a half light. He is always in half light, not quite visible.
Distracted, he seeks a remedy for his internal stirrings.
She sees him blinking at shop windows, whispering secret messages to children in the park, handling bags of rice in the super market like a second appendage. Oblivious to the pity others have for him and his unknown course.
The autistic spaceman traveling through other dimensions like tasting different cheeses.
Each to a new spasm of sensations, enthralling, dreaded, expansive tastes to teleport this shadow man into yet another star, another light to touch and linger in.
He is a tourist who lost it, lost the words and lost the film to show the beauty and dread of his fantastic journeys. Alone but inexplicably connected. Wired up to another constellation, a network with a trillion voices singing in his ears, building towers in his sleeves and churning parchment from lost time from the touch of a silky cloth in the market place. A jesus of another world, taking in the sights. Conversation is through a locked glance, a fleeting rush of water down his face. The world talks to him, nature trickles into his veins as the air touches his fingers. A universe within a pair of eyes staring so blankly into me.

I am the dreaded quagmire demon lover dreamer

I'm losing time through eight windows that keep opening and closing.
The shutters are loose and it's all coming in, sun and rain but all the time, time keeps slipping away.
Damned and delirious.
I am the worst decision maker!
I say one thing that I mean then spit back blank words, I buy the map then walk the other way.
I'm driving to many ideas in three different directions. I wish I didn't have to be the dictator of all these things I'm pursuing. Too much to bear for two feet to walk them the whole distance.
What's the saying, jack of all trades master of none.
I am but a feeble jack, toiling with knives and scissors.. trying to make a masterpiece out of recycled ideas, out of recycled paper from a mind that has always been slightly adrift upon some lost river bank.
At least I'm not alone, my comrade playing on his Korg on a milk crate, desolated from the outside world in his bedroom, wondering at the moon with wide blank eyes, suffering blissfully but still suffering along in this soft killing of dreams.
At least I don't have to work mindlessly in a call centre. Or wait tables or do anything I don't want to do.
I just waste my time in a wasteland of dreaming.
Solace is good I feel the ache better, I kind of like it too.
Makes things happen. Desire desire, it's the will that over takes all.
Why does money have to change everything.. I should just go on my adventure..
I'm being coaxed back with money.. on the day of my supposed farewell. Like a rat with a lump of cheese, I don't wanna get whipped. Bah hum bug.. guess I got wait it out and see how where it goes.

6-legged terror

I was dead asleep when I was stirred back to the living.
I felt something in my hair, crawling, crawling through my hair.. I turned on the light.. it was a huge fucking cockroach.
I screamed and flipped out. The fucker ran into a crack in the wall. The little intruder escaped.

I'm so sleepy.. sleepy .. sleepy trees..swaying leaves... ever so sleepy sleepy sleepy

I was awoken twice last night, the first interruption of my sleep was the most horrifying thing I could imagine.
Afterwards I maniacally sprayed my room with insecticide then tried to get to sleep.
I couldn't get that sensation of something alive crawling around in my hair, that fleeting moment when I felt little it's squirming insect legs on my skin.
I had the fear.. the horrible fear it was going to crawl back into bed with me.

I got over this eventually as I was already dead tired.

After finally getting to sleep, and in the middle of deep deep dreaming I was awoken again.
This time it was the phone, I answered it automatically but was still asleep and was unable to make any sense talking nor make sense of what was being said.
It was Olly an X-boyfriend from yesteryear.. calling me up 3:30 in the morning.
I said I had to go sleep and I hung up.
But then I couldn't sleep because I couldn't work out why he called and his voice seeped into my dreams and into my thoughts.

Two pests in one night, one crawling in my bed, the other in my ear.. and bugging me in my conscience and in my dreams.

After a sleepless night and a busy day here I am napping on my computer screen.
Sleepy sleepy sleepy

It really was a big fkn cockroach, not to be toiled with.. trying to make a love nest in my hair for it's horrid offspring.
I just washed my hair too.

Eclipse

Two lovers laze in the sun on a grassy bank
They stare into each others eyes
Their souls marching forth from the confinement of their bodies

Along the double strings of their eyes they meet and finally merge
The world dissolves before them
Away they travel beyond reach

To find ecstasy, to stand outside oneself to discover a warm core within a warmer core within yet another warmer core
To express ones soul beyond the bounds of the physical

Cold blooded old times

If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed
I;m looking for the face I had
Before the world was made

What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.

W.B. Yeats

I found love in solitude : I found death in a warm house

Empty house

No water in the well

Barren land

Lone passenger

A dog without a name

A knife without a spoon

The cream without the jam

The mirror without a reflection

The day lost without the night

The sea without the sand

A body without a hand

She's reaching out
out out out into the black

dissolving the veils
an aching black heart

its

The cat is always watching.. always!

Hum drum bubblegum...

The surging roar of my night escapades.
Running down the street with guacamole, chatting to jagged silhouettes and that boy singing crass, howling the words from out a window high above my head.

I left the boy that lives in a dungeon down town, the one with magic fingers and his poor sketchy personage.. loose facade.
Your not fooling anybody except yourself. He'll climb back into his shell and make a new face, a new set of sentences to place at the bar for some fool to question.

So me the wondering fly, floating about these strange city webs and tangles.

I was in lullaby mood, hot bath, red wine, melting away my preoccupation with all things french and turning the page to something with an earnest quality. Listening to The wind cries Mary.. feeding my desires.. just wanting to feel more and more .. nothing to satisfy.. except some words and some songs.. but the night was coming again.
Guacamole and tequila was required for the evening.

The night was morning, the day was night....
Nights went by and I missed my bed... Tequila long gone.. but another night came.
Cats starved.. bread left to mould.. clothes on the floor and amps running on red for days.

The dungeon boy slept never alone and only with a brown jail cell blanket.
Silly strife and a stupid liking for this princely bum. What a face he pulls and what words he sells to the morning market, all the stupid towns people squawking and spurning their hips.
He wakes up to nothing except to his harsh alarm bell.

The 3rd day I awoke on a rooftop, Alexis singing with a sour slur, tattooed like a gay bikey.
She tried to take a slice at me. No honey for you.
She was a hardened biscuit cruncher, no milk no love for this girl.
Jealous birds should just take the pain and walk away.
Such a bitter bitter taste she leaves in every soul she prays on.
I remember later her dog weed on the floor of my friends apartment.
Anyway after the last staw I shunned her like she'll blank me tomorrow.

Back to the rooftop and clouds and sunshine making me feel intoxicated with this horrible morning where I havn't slept yet but feel alive so alive so alive.
Chris madhatter was talking of horrid things.
I wish he had a better go at growing up, I could feel tears swelling but made him slip into contentment when I asked him to sing me a song about the frog that breathed through its gills and the girl that breathed through the two holes on her face.

He squinted at me and gazed at my knees and then reverted his eyes to the graffiti on the wall.
"Love a stone, a rock will crumble"
What? "Jesus likes cock"
D-man was in the corner kissing the wind.
The hairy wranger with long limbs that danced with me was sneering at the blue sky and morning light piercing into his leather skin.
He followed me and mr. purple draws to this high place.
He seemed lonely. Later he dragged his feet down the stairs alone with his hands in his pockets.
I couldn't help but ignore him, he was too weak. Weak talk.. very weak.

He seemed distressed as he descended down the stairs where I secretly peed like a squatting cat in the dark except with much less class.
He stepped through my scented waters and down the stairs never to see his soft lovely but graceless face again.

I almost forgot about Sly Mr. Dandelion in his purple velvet sleeves and shiny eyes, twinkling like a prince of the new morning light. Eating a pie and quoting strange oddballs I never heard of and telling of his love for the turtles

And I, a frail creature bathing in the light with legs bare and head spinning. Silent and pretending to be unaware of the happenings surrounding me as I lay on my back staring into the fast approaching clouds.

Hours past fast, sunrays hitting the back of my legs. I wanted to turn down the volume of the world.. too much at once..
To the festival we went.
3 minutes inside and I'm losing my body in the wells of people swarming up and down the hillside.
Phone calls and lost contacts. Everyones going somewhere in a hurry. It's a Sunday remember?

So much smoke and burnt sausages making me hungry.
I manage to leave with all limbs attached, happy familiar faces greet me at the corner.
On bicycles with fresh ideas and refreshments.
It turns dark again.. I'm on another rooftop... with cynical young boys trying to maintain their cool and restrict any urge to say something with too much to linger on. Cynicism : every young boys best option for a protective guard against sowing any meaningful relationship with another person.
Mushrooms I'll call them, lovely vegetables but not much fun to talk too. Laugh with or at yes.. but no conversation sauce. It is hard to come by.

We went for a walk, I became a flower floating in the backround barefoot and unsure of our destination.
We watched a man stand above us on a rooftop infront of a beaming street light, causing a glowing hallow from his curly tendrils.. he didn't have to say much.. we just looked at his face as it twisted to make sounds and laughed as the skin made other faces when he smiled.

Hours past.... sleep became a thing of the past.. a strange hobby.. that I had forgotten about.. wobbly my thoughts became wobbly.. I drank tomato juice and vodka and far too much sauce.
Escapades and boys in dungeons.
The cats growled at me for leaving them.
We reunited and put it behind us and shared the milk.
Moral of the story: don't trust a boy who lives in a dungeon or a sunday festival nor sausages that taste too good to be animal meat.

The Beast - ongoing

A beast with all the fruits of the world to nourish his soul and body is a beast at his prime, but he grows tired with the ease at which he lives. He seeks adventure and takes risks. There is no pleasure without a purpose to satisfy ones desires. He fills his empty days with all the things he loves but he goes to sleep with the unbearable itch for something more. But what? He asks himself, what is it I want.. is it the nature of the human beast to always have an ambition, a thing to chase till the end of it's days?
His spirit was inflamed with burning desires, they swallowed him up. He thought the world was punishing him for his greed and selfishness. Miserable and dissatisfied with the never ending dragging of his existence he fell deeper into the well. He punished himself with excess.. he spoiled his most favorite things in life. He walked the earth searching for something to quell these feelings inside of his soul. Lovers and exquisite things, holidays in paradise. He consumed all the beauty of the world, yet still was ugly and dead inside.
His riches had no end, he enjoyed the very best that life had to offer, yet he would wake up with a dark cloud over his shoulder and the deep well of emptyness crept up in his dreams, it marked his face with thin wrinkles and deep grooves around his eyes.
His stare intensified, he recognised he was becoming a bitter old beast. A terrible creature that was not only a burden for himself but for everyone that surrounded him. A heavy weight for his wife to bear and to his children they only saw him as a forgotten symbol of what not to turn into. His pain scorched others, like the wreckless and erratic flames of the sun, burning burning at his side, engulfing him into a black and lifeless territory.
They found him on a Thursday afternoon, he lay on the beach his body was not heavy with the weight of all his past demons. He lay on his back on the sand, naked and still glistening from his dip into salt water of the sea.
His eyes were open and staring into the sky. In death he found peace, a beast with too much pleasure and too little hardship had grown his own melancholic cancer to suck him dry of life.

Delerious

Walking down Oxford street, walking to the alley round the corner of the Gaslight.
I hear a boy singing Crass, drinking sickly sweet wine from a bottle in a brown bag.
Smoking rolled ciggerettes, talking to Tulliver, the conceptual king about Marcel Duchamp.
"You have a lovely cunt," she said with charm to the man with the shaved skull.
Wearing poncho's sitting on the side of the road. meeting our friend at the big Q.
Biting cold winds at our necks.

What is this weekend life?
Vagabonds, drunks, tramps,

Sham sandwich

She's a soul dancer
A pole dancer

Swinging

Gazing Fool

The fool looked up at the stars and wished upon the moon.

"Oh pale moon, shine brightly tonight, I know thou dost anticipate my every need. Sustain me according to thy will."

The moon lay in it's sky and shone a little brighter. The night spun and wove it's clouds around the earth where the fool nested in his frank and blissful ignorance. Outside his mind, beyond the reach of his thoughts the world moved on.
The constant of time made slow progressive paces to the end of another life

The fool gazed again in awe at the sky and left his human shell to travel outside of his world.
A grumbling roar eased it's way up his skin. The lights darkened and a shade of lifelessness overtook his body.

Running in spirals his mind floated away up into the sky above where he once stared at for so long.
Motionless travel into living paradise. All the dark spaces he knew where cast away by the airy open rooms of new worlds.
He opened what he thought was his mouth but it had no opening and it had no ending. A desire to taste this new plane of existence, to let it into his very soul. A gushing rush of flickering truths like a sea of stars embraced him. Golden sands bathed him in pure bliss. Breaking into another day, the fool broke apart into every small entity that made him what he once was. Now he moved with the constant into infinite new directions to find new parts to make new thoughts to create another gazing fool.

Vampire Weekend - Self Titled Debut

Listening to Vampire Weekend it’s difficult to associate this four piece from New York City with anything to do with night walking bloodsuckers. Quite to the contrary Vampire Weekend’s self titled debut album captures the colourful spirit and exotic flavours of a summer’s walk through a bustling market place with reggae-esque dancing drums, afro-pop guitar and magical vocals from Ezra Koening, this ‘prep band,’ is sure to put the bounce back into your stride.

Opening with ‘Mansard Roof,’ singer songwriter, Erza Koenig’s vocals echo a whimsical quality of the likes of Singing in the Rain star, Gene Kelly or The Shins James Mercer. Self-produced and engineered by Rostam Batmanglij, who plays keys, this 11-track album was recorded in a variety of inspiring locations from barnyards, cramped NYC apartments and a storage space-cum studio christened Treefort.

Number two, ‘Oxford Comma’s’ comical memorial lyrics ‘take the chopstick put it on your lips chap and make a smile,’ will have the kids singing in the shower and ‘Walcott’ shows Batmanglij’s skills in weaving a diverse mix of instrumentation; from flute to strings. This fabulous first album is sure to get the indie kids swinging their hips like hoola girls down the beach.

Life is a beach

No woeful tales today, just an amazing day at the beach.

Lonesome, nope, just in absolute heaven!

Tomorrow is my birthday, another year. I've reached the age when years are sprinting ahead of me.
I can't believe it's summer again.
Summer love!
I want summer love, I love summer lovers!
I was feeling it today, completely high on pheromones, literally flowers bloomed from my every stride.
About to pop with a million trillion endorphins jumping in my body.

Bought a sexy 50s' swimsuit.
I look so Brazilian... except without a brazilian...more like a state forest down there.. hehe

MASKS

Truth be known. I am a complete hazy dreamer.
The type that frustrates business men and women on the bus.
Early morning troopers off to the big city to make their bread.
While the dreggs of lastnights parties crawl on with great difficulty, finally making their way homeward bound.
Those types that seem either completely on planet bliss or utterly destroyed...staring out into space..drifting along in life.

I feel their eyes stare. A curious distaste.

A reckless amazing life.

That is how I am.
But I'm also a hard stitched scathing judgmental prude.
I'm reckless but only when I wish to be.
I let my guard down and let in all the demons.
I never let it completely consume me like so many others.

It's hard having all these ideas, ambitions in your head when your ever so young and naive.
I feel like I'm always taking a leap, walking over hot flames.
Doors will open sometimes.

It's too easy letting yourself down.
Too many times I've degenerated into this thing but like all of life, the cycle continues and I get back up, the sun rises, breakfast, casual conversation.
The normacy of life.
Without a blink your dreams can escape your grasp.. with time wasting on dull dealings.

So many investments made in all the activities you make. People especially, relationships, investments that can reek havoc. Emotions, obligations, wonderful things yes.. but they can taint your ideas, tire your spirit and kill dreams.
The subtle invasion of your inner self.
It's a sacred sacred place where all creation takes place and once inflitrated by these taxing

Even now, I tire.
I have worked for six hours.
Spoken nothing of importance.
My boss with his beady eyes and menacing bully ways caught me drifting into space whilst doing a million things, pouring drinks, cleaning, unpacking, exchanging money. "How are you, fine thanks, yes, no, $23.40 please, just a moment, can I help you?"

Can you help me? Can you help yourself?

I'm good at pretending, though I slip up ocassionally.
My boss as stuborn, as small minded and stuck in his shallow ditch as he is.. he still senses my falseness.
Oh but everyone wears a mask, I especially.

Gracious mask, the almost perfect facade.
Only thing is somtimes you become the mask you wear.

www.myspace.com/gashgashgashgash

INSANE SISTER MUSIC - LISTEN TO SEX LIES