Time

Maze of tiny golden grains
Sand of aged wizards and these
Merlin-concepts of wishes
Repeated and lost
Repeated and lost in swelling
Magnificent undulations of thirsty history
Hungering always forever for
The next moment- or last
Until spun out into milky-way
Nothingness
Space of supreme stillness
World of no time- not left
Nor to come, just peace always
Elusive chrysalis of self, rare
Locked inside for the time when
One is only time.


Music- Florence And The Machine- Cosmic Love


xxx

Je Ne Parle Pas Francais

From burning train tracks framed molten in rustic rusting glory
To oracular globes of sweat, glassy in claustrophobic Parisian rooms,
I come to an edge new and real, am reborn groin first into
Relief, which even in this heart-wilderness is pure potent pleasure-love
And the acrid smell of raw humanity heavy in air, the sex of lungs.
These premonitions of failure- apocalytpic nonchalance bringing us
Down again to cling to wrought-iron balconies, dizzyling high over
Screaming mopeds in throbbing veins of city backstreets, pendulous over
Fathomless depths of red debate.

This fleshy fragility masked in pools of smoke which faintly warm
Latuin Quarter bars ceaselessly visited by strangers who leak in and out
Of our lives, like the wine through the cracks in our crusted lips
And collapsed smiles, finding forever to play the struggling artist,
Disgustingly in our game of affluence and amateur politics.

The body, the mind, is all of these things and yet none;
Lost in lonely singular peak, one moment in the prairies of time and
This hope you search for endlessly in my futureless eyes.



Music- Inna- Hot

xxx

London In A June That Feels Like July

90s music and 90s culture.
Finding someone with a prescription and no morality.
East end towerblocks dissapearing into blisteringly blue skies and the heat haze.
West end life.
Reckless acquisition of responsibility.
Smoking with the best of friends.
Nostalgia for the Heath, secret alley ways of impossibily good ice-cream and old world bookshops.
Student poverty.
Picnics of fresh bread and French wine.
Longing for the freedom of driving through the streets of Hackney.
Missing friends who gave you the best of times.
Frustrated arguments on suffocating sunny days.
Frivolous make-up sex.
Desperate youth.
Self-acceptance in girlish beauty.
Brave hair and cowardly desires.
Finding welcome in unexpected places.
Secret crushes.
House hunting and money making.
Expanding one's intelligence through intellectual interests.

From the couch to the counters in my kitchen.

This will be a summer of exploration and excess. I intend to take full advantage of my youth.

Let the games begin. I endeavour to win.

Why do I feel so destructive?

Music- Sneaker Pimps- Spin, Spin Sugar

xxx

Your Sex

Those hands, powerful and mighty and yours,
Bound emasculated wept in knotted silk duress
Long to reach out, clasp and claim the dream
Of those smooth white lines, hairless and supposedly
Beautiful. But you are caught, forever seperate from
Exquisite agony.

I wish for you to revel in violent laughter
Sexual and mine, so we will get high from each other
Intensity magnified like burning light spot under the glass
Burning so hot that the world is melting and
I am tiptoeing on molten desire.

Maybe we are a little love a little lust and a little lost
But caution doesn't care when scalding soft skin
Is under rosy red fingertips, finding you there and
Ballerina lips playing note after note after note to wring
From deep inside the core of you that chord of joy
That rumbles from the centre of being which is so private so yours,
Where not even I can go.

With a kind of gentle resentment I loathe this
Sex of yours, your sex always that I cannot join
In blinding intimate pleasure- the beast that steals you
From me heart and soul. This is what I am after, what I claw for
Yet can never reach, ruined in halted moment of cliff top climax,
Hated in silent brutal fear of disappointment.



Music- Bon Iver- For Emma.

xxx

Laziness

The slow stagnant movements in bed bog and
Deliberate tongue twisters procrastinate
Our many imaginary illusioned chores
Limp limbs heavy in unwashed filth
Sweat- slightly alcoholic and lazily vitriolic
- And the smell of old cake wrapped in
Belligerent blankets and a yawning mind,
It all seems insurmountably inefficient effort.
If only we were to draw draw draaaw up
The blinds; around midday it would be
Stupendously sunny outside and maybe
We would feel like going to the Heath.



Music- None.

xxx

I

Glowing growing haze like the life-blood
Beauty of fireflies burning explicitly gentle,
Knotted in gold wonder to lanterns of fragile paper,
Crimson in magenta god.

Then flying wave after wave after wave
Down brick brackish roads so earthy in
Warmed Spanish stone, burnt by sun-orb
-Out into antithesis of night insects
Internal in other world fragility. The

True truth

Free so lamentably free to find
Morbid white demise.
Gone, to forever be life.



Music- None.

xxx

Music and Photography

I like music that is exquisitely painful; music that is nostalgia, love, loneliness, and the heart of the traveller. I like photography from instant cameras, the kind which document the sunshine days with their cracks and their flaws- perfect moments that are truly, awfully, unbearable because they will never again occur.

And, most of all, I want to wander in these places of the heart and the mind- to have chords and the strum of a guitar embedded in my soul, to have film and still images forever blue-tacked to a crumbling white wall. I want to have these moments of my life so that when I am old and wrinkly and wish to die, I can look at them and remember how absolutely I felt alive.

Music- Third Eye Blind- Motorcycle Drive By

xxx

Mortality Irreconcilable

Now: a singular moment of torturous agony strung across
Galactic time in web of tiny sparkling phosphorus gems
Nostalgic present chasing love and climactic happiness
Through smoke confusing clarity as sharp as knife stroke
And the blood-wine droplets from severed inner eye
We will not regret this gasping ecstasy of youth and
All the mistakes left rotting under bleeding fingernails crying
After odd hands which run forever to the horizon and the shifting
Sands pushing ever forwards to grey decay and botox bills
Unreal delicate years filled with soft skin thick lips wild eyes
As we try to capture exquisitely painful lash-flickers of
Beauty in bell jars of infinity and excessive living
Each moment a bubble filled to burst in aching upward
Expanse until it is smashed, shattered-
We are no more.



Music- Third Eye Blind- I Want You

xxx

Eroticism

Clinical imagination dreaming up a laboratory
Of infatuation an obsession with magnification
Bodily specimen of genetical humanity and
Androgyny on microscopic magic stratum
Sweat in beady billions from minute craters
Salty foreign lakes on moon-scape of skin
Corporeal contours to charter under lips and
Tiny finger tips, instruments to record and
Memorize the pattern of these thighs calculating
Down to a decimal point impeccable yesterday's
Disposophobic ecstasy.



Music- Foals- NEW ALBUM AMAZINGNESS! :)

xxx

Euston Square: Part II

And it was the strangest thing, a virgin bloom dewy and
Dangerous with new life, found in favourite footsteps on Hampstead Heath
A depth of unanswered infinity in something known so well
Sudden contours of difference and possibility aching burning to
Soft touch tentative in majestic noble childlike terror.

This yearning silence gently broken with drops of maybe-love
Hope in honest eyes and words that for once can be said in
Great blinding freedom, truth in how we felt and how we kissed
So distant from early hours and early days in Bloomsbury university rooms
This time so close, I was full of delicate precious smallness in your arms.

Now a beating drum, shared heartbeat of a pebble dropped in perfect placid
Lake forming ripples that change this calm world unalterably
Dissolving mirrored surface to fathomless deep, an accident neither
Was prepared for in endless exciting city drinking, these night-streets
And smiles no practice for transcendant wishes for your soul.

Today, the sky expands brilliantly azure reminding of the
Promise of youth, of more than skin under our whirlpooled fingers
A fragile solid happiness growing rising on beating wings to reach the heat
Of summer sun, pure white enchantment that we have succumed to,
Finally, in this London of ancient mortar new bricks forever home.



Music- Massive Attack- Dissolved Girl

xxx