September & October, 2025

all you can count on are the raindrops

september 6th, 2025

darling darling darling

i am trying to remember the last time i admitted it; i am doing it all so that one day i will be little girl blue and you will tell me that i am the best at it all; counting my fingers like yours and raindrops, just as she told us. it is finally raining and we are reminded of intention. this place tells me i should be calmer, more hopeful of my purpose, but i can know nothing, i can trust nothing except what i’ve known which is nothing; nothing about life except your living. it’s so beautiful. it’s so beautiful. it’s nice to know that you are out there doing what i could never tell you to do. it’s nice to know that you are timeless. i can count on you being so lenient, being so wise, being such and such is all i need

i am sorry for it all but surrender now to the kiss. the kiss of a kiss of a kiss of you, cheek-to-cheek, loving upon crisp moon-turning-the-pillow, i would do nothing about everything if it meant i could believe in your turning round and facing me as you left my sight. i want it to be you pottering around the garden and showing me your dirty fingers. you is mythology, and what a wonderful, gracious gift it is to tell your story for you. before i know it, everybody does! what a pitiful way to say that i am good at nothing else. this morning i thought i’d write, but i forgot, i forgot in the middle of doing another thing, and i cannot remember the brilliant word i had in mind to begin with. beginnings, endings; fresh mortifications, empty relief. they have brief meetings that kiss. so what are you? what am i to you?

the ramblings of a lifetime

september 5th, 2025

these are the ramblings of a lifetime. i am walking the floor of ugly and sweeping beauty away with a dishrag. we once had a beautiful fishpond and it would freeze over in winter. a thin, magic layer. the rainbow is tickling the leaves on the tree outside my window and making it’s exit toward me. slapping the side of my face at four in the afternoon. isn’t envers a much more titillating way of saying toward? english is poor of expression. art is simple witchcraft. moment-to-moment i am always changing and stretching. i look at myself in the morning trying to un-scathe my naked age, my degree of living that will have to go on anyway without my participation. colouring finely the images with a crayon. risk-free. what a nice term. even without this, my point being is sitting and trying to make itself, to make me a human; i am one, i am one, i am one with self and the battle of separation. what an irrational twist of fate, and i didn’t even say a word to you all day. these two girls used to be best friends, and now they have no time for each other. so much time wasted. so much time used up. what else can you do with time but use it up? you can forget it, try it, sleep through it. time’s a useless art form. i’d much rather rot the rose in my water glass until i know it’s use in my bones than dissect it because it is in my hands

today is all charm on collarbone

september 4th, 2025

this is spring with the sun shining in, empty pretty, and the dogs are mad at me; they’re hungry and they don’t know why. i know why but can’t prove it

i’ve forgotten everything about myself in three days. i was getting used to getting older and then they took that away from me too. now i am the same age on and on, the same feeling, same bad reason for it; i’m tired. i might as well be. tired of believing in things. it takes a lot of work to be a religious man. it takes a lot of work full-stop, yeah. is this the way that we say things now? virtual. binaural. abrasive. i get it, though. we’re dumber and slower than we ever were. why look at it any harder than you live it? why read up about it when you could see it ahead of you, views of views of views. inside of a view. packaged up; a view. where is it then, really, if not right in front of you? but ahead, ahead. i am getting ahead. of myself. but i wet my fringe today before i cut it and can’t see anything; got to scrunch the curls out before i kill them. it’s an excellent day to disappear into yourself. i have forgotten about all of the writing, but there was a lot of it once. i know that, but don’t recall why i stopped doing it. business; busyness. i cannot be too angry at myself. i have got to watch my necklace swing in the dark of my screen as i type like an amulet, like a pendant, like a needle of hypnosis, i shall be half-conscious about all or nothing, and today i am choosing all. today is all charm on collarbone like knocking on wood, small hairs sprouting from the hunch in your back. tomorrow i will say, this is the birth of enchantment, of truth i am living and sing a song, and roll the ball up the hallway for the dogs. god have mercy on the living as much as you do on the dead. this is all i want to say, as nothing is too difficult to prove but belief

the brief and the devastating

september 3rd, 2025

i get home from a long, amazing day and i want to cry. i want to explode so there is a reason for the moment which is arrived at most both brief and devastating. thank you, thank you. i want to kill you for this life. i want to remember you as we are tonight. i remember me when i was this age, this tall, this whole, this uncentered, this upset, this justified. us and i, if ever. you are not a value or a figure so i cannot manipulate your length; i cannot scream on any roller coaster as long as you are holding my hand. when you drop it, i have a plan that i’ll swim good, honest strokes to heaven, and i know you will be waiting with yourself, with your fingers spreading out again. i regret having not said it more

i have nothing against fields but

september 2nd, 2025

on tuesday we’re making fun of fields; how there’s someone always standing in them or saying something about how nice they are. what if they are just as far as you see them? go to the stairwell and see it as it is; it’s just a field of vision, a floor you groveled on versus the one you skipped over. so skip over it, what doesn’t make sense. fields don’t. backyards are sad, scary places a lot of the time. the fenced ones, anyway. what a way to say that i’m not over being alive to see you get mad and apologize and struggle and survive; that’s all. is this the brave thing? to be here for someone else cosmically, they have no need but it’s second-nature-now. nasty stuff to get yourself into. the kind of irreversible change we suffer from is enough of a reason to be this angry. but i am not angry. i am going to stick around to watch you sing and dance. it doesn’t matter what i do because i know what’ll happen already; i write before i know i am doing it. just as you play, learn, and breathe. i envy your material for love

tell me one good thing about getting old

september 1st, 2025

this will be quite the month for me; school-wise, life-wise. same thing? this day a year ago i started school in france, and now i am sitting at my desk, procrastinating. my back is hunched. i have a succulent in an elephant pot that needs to be watered and i will do it now. i am happy to be here, even with dry lips and a sore gut, knowing so much has happened in a year. i am happy to be going out with my girlfriend to the beach today in the biting cold wind, to have gone out to a lazy guiltless breakfast with my mum and her best friend since high school. i am happy to know that i have [redacted], who one day i may not see for eight years, but who we will live it through together, see it through, and not be torn apart by distance, but creation; culmination, growing, growing again forever

i turn seventeen this month. can you believe it? i sit my five mock exams. i leave for palau. my ess ia is due soon and i am working hard on it, even if i am not working, working. i am not resting. i want it to be good, to be proud of what i achieve. i am worried about my graphs for it but i will finish them this week at school. i will correct my statistical analysis and make my diagrams polished and exact. i am so lucky to be worried. i am so lucky to be here and to see spring come that nothing else matters. this time will be with me as long as i have it. i am getting ready to lie around beneath the day and not succumb so much to night. winter is grouchy; vegan. i get up earlier now. at least in the summer i can forgive myself for all the ready-made mistakes. hard-boiled eggs i don’t eat. i put myself in the oven so much; i want to come out as i remember myself. as i remember being relieved at the sight of my body, my brain