intimate mingling of feelings of plentitude + emptiness
YOU WILL SURVIVE
look like I’ve been fed through an industrial paper shredder
this never would have happened if Dad was alive – no fucking way – he would’ve stopped you from doing this before you’d even started
“… be young and melancholy for eternity” – Breast and Eggs
The Death of Francis Bacon by Max Porter
in theory: my ideal read
in reality: nonsensical and not in a good way – unenjoyable
Tomorrow MUST be different
1. Primary school, the first day of the new school year, teacher always asked class to write “What I Did On My Summer Holidays”. And every year we’d write about all the pubs we went to with Dad over the 6 week holidays
2. Cavalier / Cat & Lantern / George / Lytton Arms / Alexandra ‘The Alex’ / Misty Moon / Bell / Tavern / Fox / Wheatsheaf / The Duck and something
3. Tally Ho / Weavers / Kitchener / Bell & Buck which was renamed… The Bailey? So many of them long closed now turned into flats
3. And all of the Kings, Queens, Princesses, Dukes, Lords, and their heads, arms, crowns, castles
4. The Magdala where Dad showed us the bullet holes in the walls made by Ruth Ellis
5. all the Holloway pubs I don’t remember the names of – Florence Nightingale? Dick Whittington? The Royal Oak. The Haringey Arms. Irish pub in Muswell Hill.
6. Mother always told us “don’t you dare write about pubs or tell your teachers you go to pubs” for fear of judgement. One year I wrote about all the pubs and mother was furious and Dad was delighted. He never stopped me from writing whatever I wanted to write
7. I forgot where I was going with this – judgement truth shame hmmmm
he comes to my house and has to play the game “blood or hair dye?”
he comes to my house and doesn’t notice [me]
he comes to my house and doesn’t see [anything at all]
I’m sad that I will never read the chapbooks that are coming out in 2022
I need to be stopped, why has no one stopped me?
“Sometimes in utter hopelessness I put my cheek on the table like it was someone. I wanted to wake my brain up and be loved.”
“The material of poems is energy itself, not even language. Words come later.”
– Inferno by Eileen Myles
“She felt sudden grief for all the wasted time, the sacrifice she’d made for [his] empty promise of security.” – Asylum Road by Olivia Sudjic – ha! wasted the best years of my life on him and his [exactly that]
I know he’s a better writer than rhyming forever, together and weather. Such a shame.
need to properly start chromatic treatise but all I can see and I know is grey
Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop you need to stop it now
You are ridiculous.