Lemon-laced tequila with a twist of salt at midnight

and a yellow sugar-brushed meringue in the morning,

it looks set to be an awesome day!

Neutrality

Co, thank you for trying to vanquish my demons, but rebellion can turn feisty hearts to tired hearts and I would hate to see either of us there. I prefer to assume the position of ambivalence towards all the dissension, for there is security in unpredictability, knowing that nothing is certain and no hate arrows can navigate their way through misted veils. (I know I'd do the same for you too)

Acceptance

Time shows us that all that ever mattered
all that ever mattered leaves us in the cold
If you ever believe this what you need
it will spin around and shatter
throw you to the floor
as it leaves us in the cold

The layers peel away like moulted skin, the exposed surface of heart with sutures laid bare, spools of thread unravelling to reveal the darkness within. Recent experiences this year have led me to believe that this could be my moment, choice and a previously prohibited world, newfound freedom and the beauty of night. There is optimism and there is the confounding emptiness, the bleakness that festers in the chasms in the corners of a soul and the lack of resolve to confront it. Dancing in backlit rooms to industrial music as a form of release, identifying with the recluse, the oppressed, a black parade (being one with the darkness and thus overcoming it.) Appreciating the languorous feeling after a shot of absinthe, realizing that people can come together without inhibition, experiencing awakening from the bottom of a glass (there is no discrimination or taunting here, friend.) My intent is to help people, erase hurt from steel-grey eyes and liberate, albeit in an atypical way. It is not a façade or self proclamation and the rendering of a lifestyle which may be hard to accept. I can no longer mask myself from the wiles of this chaotic world and be content with naiveté. Take this, take my state of mind right now,as rebellion against pretence and eradication of my darkness (nothing more, nothing less.)

  Hey there, blue skies

Foreign - the feeling of awakening in streams of sunlight, bright beams pressed softly against cheeks like rose petals . Myself, latched onto the habitual chasing of the last fragments of proverbial sunrise in the eaves of the day and observing a world bathed in hues of blue upon first glance - eyes uncertain, unused to waking in the bright. All the languour of being free and alive, with the Kings of Convenience as the soundtrack for life, basking in days without heady dreams and intricate plans.

The other day I took a once well-trodden path down backroads and byways where I used to live. The towering trees glancing sunlight off their leaves and leaning slightly to form a sheltered walkway were a poignant sight, the freshness of nature away from city living, revelling in lofty childhood moments and the discernible tingle down my spine upon mention of the dilapidated ghost house on the street corner. The luxurious apartments and the compound reminiscent of tennis lessons, roller-blading and short, cropped hair as a young girl then tales past midnight with drinks in the company of close friends as I got older. Stories exchanged without motive and the sole purpose of being told, the world around me glittering, golden, unadulterated by greed, money and despair. It saddened me that the once whitewashed walls had turned a shade of green and the compound itself had taken on an air of ageing, it saddened me that memories once so precious could be withdrawn into a stockpile of other memories, where they gathered dust and faded into obsolescence. I allowed myself one last glance at the frailty of the fortress of my past, then walked on (new memories were to be wrought elsewhere.) 

CK's house was a beauty tucked away in a pocket of the street, the dark wood panelling, trishaw that looked almost cantankerous and mosaic pool added to its appeal but the presence of friends made the whole experience perfect. It was one of those gatherings so talked about in school, that we'd meet up after a number of years with stories of our lives to share and spend the afternoon together with some English tea - or a steamboat for that matter. We watched Michael Jackson dancing before death, reclined in lounge chairs by the pool with good natured banter and laughed about how "jaded" we'd all become. After such a flurry of change, it was good to return to something so comfortingly familiar. 

The words ceased to flow, so I retreated to the music; and found myself again

The days have been seemingly endless, long drawn-out nuances where I am in a room full of people but tuned out of their frequency and latched onto the sound of silence. If need be I close my eyes and imagine my happy moment, where Conan and I watched the psychadelic banner and phantom light bonanza from the comfort of our room and then the headaches ebb less and I think of Novembers. I - the silkworm - encasing myself in a barrage of silk, layer upon layer meshing limbs together till I am pressed like a dried leaf and all I feel is numb. I seem to have lost myself for a while, displaced not disillusioned, transient but barely here. Perhaps these eleven days should take their leave, and the world would right itself again.     

Five o’ clock and a fire escape symphony
Spilling out across the road and the square
And the sky’s the same as your own, do you think of me?
Do the parks and trees and the leaves reach you there?

Sophia, Sophia, I’m learning that some things
I can’t go without
And one of those is him.

Nerina Pallot - Sophia