6.21

I’m in a limbo, I’m not there, I’m not here. I’m leaving again. Another set fo friends, another set of people, another set of clothes, another set of hair do’s. I’m leaving another set of nail polish, another set of cafe’s, another set of poems about one time.

I woke up and realised that the clock didn’t strike 6.21 this morning. It doesn’t strike 6.21. I need 6.21.

6.21

6.21

Stop jumping to 6.22 I need to know I’m alive.

“My boy builds coffins”

I am utterly inlove with Florence and The Machine’s music.

A lot is going on. I want to pack myself in a box and be shipped of to th land far away. This is my 6th move in 2 years. The second move to another country in 2 years. The second time I loose friends, see who my real friends are, cry over friends, being happy over leaving, excited, scared and wanting to call people cunts.

Maybe I’m just born to never settle in one place. I staretd moving when I was 3. Even if I wanted to stop I wouldn’t know how. I can’t think straight so I just have My boy builds coffins on repeat and trying to make time stop. Just…trying…to…make…time…stop.

skangers, whores and hustlers and then there’s you

There’s something so decadent with Dublin 6 in the morning when it’s raining and I’m on my way to work and see the local junkie trying to open a door – only to realise he’s standing and trying to find a door that doesn’t exist staring at the brick building wall and desperately trying to find That door.

And I walk there and rolling my cigarettes in my hand, trying to find a filter in my jacket pocket and looking at the time. It’s 6.21. It’s always 6.21  - I’ll make the bus now. Everything will be okay because the time is 6.21. It doesn’t matter the conflicts that go on in my head, the body that lies in my bed.

And I go to work, I take the emails, I sit in the meetings, I smile – I even laugh.  I’ve lived here two years tomorrow. 6.21 is my lifesaver, it’s my tie to life, as long as the clock strikes 6.21 in the morning I know I’m alive. I know I’m up and standing on my feet, my jeans getting wet by the rain, me cursing about why I never find my umbrella and wondering did I leave it on the bus two weeks ago or not and it hits me life never turns out for the better. It’s just there 6.21, 6.22, 6.23 while he keeps singing “And if you’re ever around, In the city or the suburbs of this town, Be sure to come around” (-Placebo)

skangers, whores and hustlers and then there’s you.

I’m reading poems in front of an audience in a week. I’m nervous, I’m terrified. I’m not good at reading out loud, I’m goo at writing in silence. I’m good at living life through music – not myself.  It’s the first time I’m up on stage in 5 years. It’s the absolute first time I’ll be standing on a stage as myself.  Acting was easier, I went on and became someone else. I have stage fright. For the ten first second I am shaking and convinced I will faint but then it disappears and I’m somewhere else. I’m not me, I’m a character – someone else, someone better, someone that doesn’t have fears. The life is laid out and I know what her next words are. She might be living in the 18th century or she might be a man. – either way she’s not me. That makes acting fun – the fact that it’s acting.

Poems are different, they’re my heart. I don’t stage and act my heart out to anyone. So I detach myself from the poems, they stand for themselves. I never read them out loud because of this fact. But this time I thought what the hell why not. Why not try something new for once instead of my bitching and moaning. So this is it, in a week I’ll be on stage again.

Brian Molko ripped my heart out and put it back in again. The best and purest love there you can find is the love for music and lyrics. Because there is something painfully wonderful with the feeling Placebo drags out of me when he sings; “I am the bones you couldn’t break, break, break, break, break, break…”

Long time no see….

Long time no see, why are you a stranger the mirror spoke back to me.

Life’s spinning fast. I dream about work, I wake up and keep saying how I couldn’t connect to peoples computers – how I couldn’t connect to people.

I listen to music, a lot of political music. I watch the news – I’m a news-junkie. I want to write twenty four seven.  I have this intense feeling of something inside wanting to pack and leave – I’ve been here too long. Up and down and sideways – inside out and back again.

How much can a person take?I need to write again, I want to write again. I want to do something else than answering a phone. I’m meant for other things – I’m meant to write. Yet I woke up to a mediocre life and am too tired to change.

Long time no see, who did you believe you could be the mirror asked me.

Meetings with God

I meet with God everyday. And I ask him the same question every day.  People find it very strange that I believe in God. i don’t follow any religions but for me every time I’ve needed proof for a form of higher powers existence I’ve gotten it. It gives me a sense of relief thinking that everything happens for a reason. It has to happen for a reason because then why else would we live?

We had big meeting in work yesterday. I took today and tomorrow off. I need a break from that godforsaken place where small people get a bit of power and think they’re God. Outside, after working hours no one cares who they are, they’re the same as everyone else. I strongly believe that on our deathbed it won’t matter how much money we have, how many expensive steaks we’ve had, how many parties we went to and how many powerful people we know. At your deathbed all that matters is how much love we have managed to give to others and feel ourselves. On our deathbed all that matters are our memories.

I’m not rich, neither will I ever be. What I want in life is just to be able to wake up happy, have people around me I can count on and have my little house with a garden that I’ll grow myself. I like gardening. The girl that could stay up late and dance on tables likes gardening. The girl that burnt pasta when she was trying to learn how to cook can re-plant a flower and keep it alive. I’m proud of that. Maybe that doesn’t count in work when all they want is for me to stress even more, maybe it doesn’t count in a world full of degrees and money driven imbeciles but at least I have heart and don’t get off on putting people down.

“while you wait for the others
to make it all worthwhile
all your useless pretentions
are weighing on my time”

- Grizzly Bears

Are you sure where my Spark is?

Some days you wake up and you realise that people just do not get you. People don’t get me. But there’s always one thing that never lets down, that always gets everything and that’s music.

Music gets me every time, never asks me anything and just knows what to say and what to do for me to not give up. I’ve never claimed being better than anyone else, in fact my problem is that I’m never enough. My mom once said   that people who communicate better with animals are bad at maintaining human relationships. Well fuck me  I suck at it then because I would pick spending my day with animals and listening to Tori Amos over people any day and I wonder fucking why ey.

“Shes addicted to nicotine patches
Shes afraid of the light in the dark
6.58 are you sure where my spark is
Here”

- Tori Amos

Me ♥ my violin

I bought a new book today called The Timetravellers Wife. I was standing there picking between it and The Bell Jar and realised that I always read very weird books. They cast between light and darkness and somehow that always makes me feel less alone. I like books to move me in some way, any written word has to move me in order for me to appreciate it. I am what you would call obsessed with language and the written word. Everything and anything about language makes me shiver in the most pleasant way. But I also believe that language is so much more than letters that are combined next to each other in order to form words that form sentences. I hide behind words a lot. In the writers world that I create I can be free, I can be anyone I want for as long as I want. That’s why I will always love and hate my writing at the same time.

I been paying the violin a lot. I wish I could practise more. I’m so utterly in love with this small piece of instrument. I’m not amazing at it so I can play Mozart but I have to admit I play a mean Twinkle twinkle little star!

Remember it takes 72 muscles to look mad and only 14 to smile. Obviulsy the fucker that said that had a big dose of happy pills.

It’s the worst feeling neding a hug so badly and getting “get over it” as a response.

violin – the devils song.

They call the violin the devils instrument.

Ever since I was a small child I loved the violin. I used to wonder how the devil that was supposed to be so evil could be tied to such a beautiful instrument. I decided at an early age to not care. I decided that if the devil could be tied to something so beautiful surely he couldn’t be so evil?

I started playing the violin but I also gave it up. For years I’ve thought about playing again, dreaming about how it would feel to hold the bow again and hear the sound streaming from the strings. Every time I saw a street musician playing the violin I would wish I played again. Over the weekend my heart was craving to play at the most. We went in to a music shop and they had a wall, the most beautiful wall I have ever seen with violins on it. It was magnificent.

And I looked at them imagining how it would feel to play again.

He surprised me with a violin this weekend. I started crying. I started crying because it is the most beautiful present I have ever received, because it is something that took me back to Me. I cried because I feel so lost nowadays but for that time where I have my chin resting against it and get to play; I feel like I belong. I feel like it doesn’t matter how bad everything else feels or how mistreated I have felt lately. It doesn’t matter who’s my friend or not, who I can trust or not. For the while I play it doesn’t matter where or who I am.

Because in that moment, where I make love to the music the world stops spinning.

So fuck all of you that thought you’d ever get the better of me.