being blithe

We’re flying down the A401 lit only by the headlights of the car and the moon. I think we're in the middle of nowhere and I’m thinking it wouldn't matter if we broke down now because we'd be together. She laughs that she can see "fuck all" in her rear-view mirror. She shouts to me about shipping her belongings over the beating wind from the window I have open. I’m her drunken curled up smoking passenger. She talks about the hypocrisy of the Vatican. We hit the M25 and then its reassuringly bright orange. I spark her up and I point out the speed cameras and we're heading home but I realise there is nothing here for me anymore. I’m more at content in the middle of nowhere with her.

glitter traces on worn out faces

hannahannaandy
Originally uploaded by my mind and me.

oh but when it was dark and i was drunk i didnt notice the state of things. i was quite content.

worst hangover yet

It's just as easy to be good, as it is to efface any goodness. Blink it all away. I once knew this criminal and all I wanted to do was tell them how bad they had been, but I knew that they're only defence would be to remind me that I too am crooked. So I find I have nothing to say to that criminal and almost nothing to say for myself. Nothing means anything. I think it doesn't count. It's spilling over but reaching for a new something, grasping but slipping. Got to leave a spillage behind. Making my victims. I've got to get out of here. I don't know what the hell I’m doing now.
I laid on the shed roof and looked at the blue nothing and I was tired of it. so fell asleep, woke up, puked, trying to get it all out of my system.

some summer

I’m gathering the scraps of paper, flashcards, receipts and travel cards with all the scribbled brief thoughts and they don't fit together. Where do I start?
There was one night where I lost my remote control over what I was doing. He said "maybe you should think about this in the morning" but I wanted to listen to talk or listen to my ipod but it was making too much noise. Though my breathing was louder it was still "a bit selfish". Then tugging on my underwear. What’s selfish? The next morning I tiptoed around but I pressed close on the lift and the doors knocked his keys out of his hands and I watched them fall and slip down the shaft. He couldn't understand why I was crying. He says I should keep thoughts like "I should have just left last night" to myself.

Other allegories are more messy and sore than this. But would involve worn out heels and getting dressed in the dark. Bloodshot stains on my thighs that have faded now. They involve the sickening disappointment at realising the truly superficial nature of elusive characters I was once infatuated with. I’m so indecisive these days. But my vision's back to normal and I can see more clearly than I could weeks ago.

Moving to America has been dwarfed by the fact that my family is dispersing also. I’ll have no home to return to. I’m lost in my living room.