Sunday, 19 November 2017

gazing in the rays of the solar

I'm writing this as I listen to King Krule's new album, The OOZ.
I am in love.
His sound has brought me back to this lazy, wavy feeling that transcends the seasons. I've been having many late nights this week, and fatigue affects my mental health and just makes me an all-round moody, pissed off person. But The OOZ soothes it all. Especially Biscuit Town, The Locomotive, Slush Puppy, Logos, Lonely Blue, The Cadet Leaps, Midnight 01 and La Lune. Check it out for the slow, punky jazz, indie jam vibes.

I've been having. a weird ass time. (and it was all rounded off with just half of an edible brownie last night - bad idea, stay away! Never do it! Or do it, but just know that you will regret it when you're peaking and all you want to do is sleep.)
I've been doing random pieces of writing since the beginning of uni, and I'm sort of just adding to it whenever creativity comes to me, and I've realised that it has taken the place of my physical diary. It's just a collection of thoughts, creative prose or lil bits of poetry. Here are a few pieces I've written so far! I don't write these that regularly - between each piece is either a good couple of weeks, or a day. Enjoy. 

(All pieces written by me.)

It was like the moon deeply missing the sunrise, like an old feeling dredged up from a notebook, song or colour, the irony of miscommunication, the feeling of letting something go, like your voice box not having the power to articulate your thoughts, like the realisation that this wasn’t worth it, that half-way through, your feelings, once passionate, disappear. It was like lying for no reason, a silver-lining not silver enough because of your dishonesty, like a face that tells a story of love, a glance that can spill a secret, inadvertently. It was like the deletion of an admission of love before it was read, deemed useless after consideration and embarrassment. It was like embarrassment itself, and its closing corners of cold setting sun. It was, after thought, after a lesson in fluidity and introspection, like falling in love on the last day of summer.

Realisation can come in many forms. It can be like a blow to the heart. A cut-throat to all of the false gods and goddesses of pleasure and lust. You’re pretty sure he only wants to lick the crevices of your female genitalia. It is a paradox in itself. Should you be happy that one would like to consume you and provide you with pleasure? (false, not real.) Or should you recoil and turn cold with grief because masked behind that physical thirst is the forgotten gem of indulging in the soul. The heart. The intellectual. It is a shame. You are being frivolous and reckless with your body. Should you care?

I am crying over suits and paper and a boy I shouldn’t be messaging. My body doesn’t have the capacity to bear the weight of unrequited feelings, which I know are bound. But I’m lonely and he wanted me once so why not again? I need to feel validated. I’m tired and I cannot be bothered anymore. I hear my phone sound but I don’t check the screen because I know it isn’t him, and what motive do I have if it isn’t to make small-talk and jokes that really mean something else? (I want you.)  It’s the height of pathetic-ness. I will always be a sensitive spiral, so whether it’s for a day or miraculously longer, just know that I have seen it through to its end. I couldn’t care less about the state of my finances, I don’t even care about money anymore, I just want to live in the wilderness and snack on fruits and bugs and focus on surviving and living. Not paying rent and checking up on application processes. Fuck that. Fuck everything. If we didn’t always try to get something out of each other, if there wasn’t a need to ‘gain’ or ‘receive’, wouldn’t exchanges happen a thousand times faster in life? There wouldn’t be obstacles driven by self-interest, it would just be pure interaction. Quick, easy, selfless.

My psyche is wound.
There is no such thing as “psychological pain”, (not figuratively at least),
when my brain itself is a lump
of distorted thought, memory and unseizable capability.
Sliced in      
half are
the many chains of remembrance
that haunt the landscape of my conscience
like a wound that refuses to close or fade,
continuously into this corrupted mass.

Isn’t it strange how feelings can come and go? It couldn’t have been more than a day ago that I self-sabotaged and snipped off a piece of myself to give to another, knowing full-well what I was doing and that I’d regret it. Now it’s merely a crumpled piece of intense emotion floating about in the weightless sphere of my lower conscience, squeezed of all its intensity and left to disappear into the abyss. Feelings are recyclable though – the vigour it possessed was flushed into the starry stream of my pre-mature conscience, waiting to filter out into my main block of vision and be dedicated to someone else. And his name is _____. I’ve autocorrected every thought about _____ to _____. Just one button and the significant can become insignificant. 

*       *       *

I don't know if you guys see/read my musings of the month which are just random pretty pictures with a positive or thought-provoking statement on it to reflect on, but this month's one is 'SELF-SABOTAGE IS DIFFICULT TO RECOGNIZE' - and I don't even know if I agree with that? I can see how it can be hard to acknowledge or realise, but I've actually noticed, personally, that I'm pretty aware of when I'm 'self-sabotaging,' (and this can range from silly things to serious things), but nevertheless, I hope people resonate with some of the messages! I just really love the artist of the piece too, if you don't recognise them their name is 'Kot  Bonkers' and you can find them on insta or on their shop! Just a lil bit of appreciation: (All credits go to Kot Bonkers)

Anyways, I'm tired as hell. I cannot wait to be asleep because I know it will be a deep one. The theme for the rest of 2017 is just sleep tbh. Hope everyone is doing well! :) 
 ~ peace out ~ and c u in the next post! Zoe xo