Tuesday, January 31, 2006


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Clouded Over

Clouded over, moonless, this ravaged sky
While below, we long for lucidity
This is our single, unquestionably
Exquisite fixation, mired in mildness
Clildless. Our judgement is pure
We neither nurture nor cure
Those dark skies above, they tremble
Our dull convoy slices through ferocity
Dim as fury, haloed heads tilt upwards
The sea expand inside us, oceans in which
The carcasses of sailing ships founder
Then sink; violent giants nestling
In the depths of our souls and grey waves
Roll as the day struggles into life.

Things I Should Have Done

Crazy what I would have done.

Doctors
Post letter to Insurance Company
Contact QEST
Contact David
Set up Paypal Account

I managed to get around to Task No. 1. I am still hiding. Refusing to answer the 'phone. Opting out of the world. Pumped up with Valium. Will you give me some?* Work (they are sending me on a 'networking course'), doctors, medication, catnap (on the sofa with Bella the Cat). The day was concluded with a documentary about the murder of Mancunian gangster: Desmond Noonan. Hmm, I wonder if he was a relative. If anyone asks, I shall say 'Yes'.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Cross Bella


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Storybooks

Those storybooks adorn our shelves
In which we sail across rough seas
And sit astride storms, stubbornness
Will not defeat these avenging oceans
With a slow, cathartic release of emotions
These romanticisms become cancers
Lies disguised as candour, diving
Into streams of blood and flowing
Through our veins and this is the fluid
In which we meet each other
In which we greet each other
In which we embrace. These salutations
Are out of place

Discordant in these dark days
In which death is an omnipotent,
Limbless sea creature that slips
Beneath the skin and worms
Its way within. We grow thin
And the strip lights grow dim
We are paying for every sin

Committed on this granite planet
In a world made of stone
And splintered bone
We will die alone.

Underdogs

'Must go. There is an underdog at the other end of the universe I have to save.'

Why do I feel the need to do this? Where does this 'saviour complex' come from. God knows, it does me no good. It just makes me unpopular on Forum X and Forum Y. Always swimming against the tide.

Two parcels arrived today: a sensible pair of 'red or dead' shoes and a pair of 'sketchers' trainers. Both free. Lucky me!

Sunday, January 22, 2006

As I Lay Sleeping


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Tourists

American tourists
In long trench coats
Walking on the river bank
Far from home

He dumped her in the river too
Under ice in winter
Dead as can be
Under bracken in summer
Is she lonely under there?
Or is this the kind of detachment
That she had always longed for?

Delusions

Am I deluding myself?
Literature is a kind of opiate for me. I inhale the scent of fresh print on newly printed books. You and your kind are obsolete, they say.
Someone bring me some hemlock.

'Do not go gentle into that good night'
I'm afraid I already have.
For I live in perpetual night.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Stop the World


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Friday, January 20, 2006

Accosted By Angels

The darkness writhes before my eyes
Flickering dispatches from another world
angels who worship their mother, the night
Their halos blind me and their radiance,
Makes my own shadow wither and everything
Around me is unreal. The candle
Has burnt down. It has capitulated
Succumbing to the onward march of the night
And, menacingly, the air gathers around me

And that dawn with its slivers of light
That penetrate the thick draperies
Is a long time coming

Most People are Liars

'Most people think you look good'
'Well, most people are liars.'

'Sassy and a little vulgar', were the words someone used to describe me. It's lucky I'm not really bothered about what other members of my species think of me.

Participating in a rather heated discussion on *New Forum*. One member is an American student in London. He is finding it a hostile place. 'Well, what do you expect when you study in that there London,' I told him. For the record I personally find New York a lot less scary than London. God knows what I'll do when I do my PhD at UCL. I will have to commute too. What a way to overcome London Phobia - is there a treatment programme for such a 'condition' I can't be the only one suffering from this malaise. (Note to self: 'You have to actually get used to leaving the house before even contemplating a commute to London. I will not allow my world to shrink within four wills (of neglected debts and stolen stereos - Del Amitri) Incidentally, one thing New York has which London does not, is that delightful parallel universe known as Central Park. An oasis in the centre of one of the busiest cities on the planet - a place to envelop yourself in.

Maybe I'd feel differently if I had to go and live there.

And, in the meantime, The Bill is about to kill off one of its most popular characters. Sun Hill is a blood bath. Maybe it's because it is situated in 'that there London'.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Moon Face


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Azure Imagery

Gold paper stars stuck to the ceiling
He takes her in his arms beneath the lamplight
It is getting late. A distant bell tolls the hour
Sleep separates them and they are washed up
On a beach of dreams, of visions, motionless
Broken, before a sea of glittering imagery
Emerald waters against a backdrop of grey
The sky descends and the tide surges in
Colours are diluted in this world within

And menaced by malevolence, azure images
Unravel under the shadow of nightmare

New Dawn?

Resolution no 1: Stop avoiding people. January is makeover month. I didn't realise how much weight I had gained until I saw myself in the mirror at the hairdressers today. Depression and dispondency followed. NO MORE BINGES - I shout at myself in my more forgiving mirror at home. EXERCISE EVERY DAY, is the second command. Ugly, round, pink face. The only good thing is that I look younger than I am. RAISE MONEY FOR PLASTIC SURGERY - the third command. Oh, how shallow I have become. Or maybe I have not been shallow enough.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Malevolent Music


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Sunday, January 08, 2006

Songs of Bedtime

No grand happenings, no great dramas
Just the memory of the fair-skinned babysitter's
Firm handhold as we,– my siblings and me
Danced around the mulberry bush
Everything floods back in a kind of rush
We sing the Songs of Bedtime

The past stands stern, stubborn
Inflexible as an absolute monarch
It rules over this land inside my head
I hear the sound of scents and smell the colours
The wild colours of this bright day

That draws to a close with the songs of bedtime
I have never slept so soundly since
Where has that impenetrable black curtain gone
There is nothing to shut out the day
There is nothing to suppress that white, bright light

Almost to intense to exist within
I miss her touch, that rustic firmness
In the afternoon of her effervescence
I bloomed too, I grew, too big for her
Too big for you. And I knew

When we were through. You took
My expectations, my dreams and gave them voices
But that was then when day was day
And night was night but now everything is congealed
And it is my dark future that is concealed

The Return

I am home, laden with presents and, of course, New year's resolutions which will no doubt, be broken within the next fortnight. (Well, that's half the fun, isn't it?)

All doors are firmly shut against me.
And I have a mystery to solve.

New Years Resolutions in my 'Rambling Diary'.

Currently reading: The Time-Traveler's Wife.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

The Evil Emerges


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Revolution

Basking in a sense of camaraderie
Of refinement, of delicacy. We walk
Through meadow after meadow
The long grass yields beneath
Our feet and a solitary cow grazes,
Soon to be the red-brown meat
Who will be the star of our dinner table
And those picturesque peasants captivate

Until revolutionary fervour proliferates
And our tenants become a terrifying tribe
Clasping blood-tipped swords
That can slice the head clean off
The aristocracy with a single blow
Resentment overshadows the land
It flourishes as the fog descends
And we are rendered superfluous.

Dispirited, we are helpless
In the face of this venomous advance?
And every day more bodies
Are dragged out of those great houses
Those bitter peasant boys attack our land
As we flee down endless country lanes
In sapphire, satin ballgawns, torn and worn
Trailing through the mud

Blue blood flows
There is no adoration left for us
They have taken the key
They have scrambled the code
A million times more bold
Than they have ever been before
They snatch back the land
And still we do not understand.

Debate

The No Platform policy for the B.N.P. is supported by most Student Unions across the country. It makes them look victimised and persecuted. They go underground and there is a risk that belonging to such a mysterious organisation would be rather appealing for some emotionally weak undergrads. I'd rather de-mystify them, to tear the curtain away and see what lies behind. And, more importantly, the No Platform policy adopted towards the BNP also serves to deny a platform for those who wish to oppose them.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Dream Girl


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Some Dark Hurricane

Some dark hurricane clamouring over the ocean
Whipping up its white-tipped waves
This is the day, yes, this must be the day
When the brittle facade of civility
Is abandoned and the sea turns against us
It is black, malevolent and advancing inland
It reaches the harbour where the battleships float

She, the daughter of the sea, tires of stillness
She feels compelled to walk towards those great waves
Not caring what lies beneath. She feels as though
She is standing on the edge of the world and there
Is nowhere to go but onwards, into the stormy grey
Hue. She raises her eyes, looks upward and encounters
A yellow eye- it is the sun. She is swept away by the deluge

Washed up, she lies, face down in the rock pool
The sea has no need of her anymore
Death was not kind to her. She did not emerge
Unscathed. She did not leave a beautiful corpse
Neighbourhood kids cheer and laugh
The grown-ups have no energy to chastise them
They turn away from what they cannot understand

Uniformed men do their work. swiftly, competently
The villagers follow the upward curve of the mountain path
Asking, 'How did this come to pass?'
For they never heard her cry
They never heard her scream
Eyes meet eyes but have no answers
Only questions, questions, questions.

Just for the Record...

A question: If a woman is prepared to set fire to her own flat while her baby is asleep, then what isn't she prepared to do?

Answers on a postcard, please.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Alison


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Cracked Heart

The shards within us
Are concealed weapons
Deadly as scalpels

We are prisoners now
The guards open the doors
And count us in

My cellmate and I
Perform and awkward ballet
Dancing on the cold stone floor

And we wonder
Who cut the thread
That linked us to the world

Fear

Fear grips me in its beak.

Where is this groundless fear coming from? Why is it so acute that I can taste it. What daemons are presenting themselves to me? A multitude of questions crowd into my head. A vicious hiss emanates from me. Mostly I blame my mother who is not really to blame at all. She can't do anything to change the past. No one can. Yet still the bile rises like bile into my throat. And it chokes me, it chokes me.

Am I beyond reprieve?

Monday, January 02, 2006

Violets


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Daemon Daughter

Daughter dear, do you not fear
The future, the enormity
Of the world, the vastness
Of the universe

Daemon Daughter, haunting me
Will you ever set me free?
For I crave liberty
But you remain tied to me

Anchoring me down
You wear the crown
You are the monarch
Of my life

Your speech is grandiose
And eloquent. You are
So tiny and yet,
You fill a room

And I envy you
I do, I do.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Something I Can Never Be

She needs me more than I need her and that is something she cannot stand.

That and the fact that I was not born a boy.