keep catching my dad doing senile things... like basically these two ducks are using are pond for a vacay from the next door neighbour's lake (happens all the time) and my dad suddenly catches sight of the little mutts eating the lone, flowerless water lily none of us ever noticed grows on our pond. so over he hobbled to show them what's-what banging on the window shouting "VANDALS!! VANDALS"" Yeah dad, get 'em good, these ruffians...

He's also becoming a menace to my intellectual progress! Today I was revising and, foolishly, thought he was working at the other end of the table when I hear shouting and cursing from his direction and he's waving his Mac thing (the really small new ones I'm too scared to admit anyone I know has), so naturally I ask in my soothing tones what the matter is. But all is not as I feared, turns out it's just his hilaaarious app where you throw a piece of paper in the waste paper basket - but the cool and modern new twist is that it's all on your computer screen! so you don't have to turn around and actually throw anything anywhere!

I'll hand it to him though, he's pretty good at the game

I would say I'm worried but it's more of a self-satisfying, quiet amusement I get out of all of this. And the realization study leave really needs to end right now.






here are some nice songs from my Summer mood:












and this woman's voice is the maddest I've heard yet. I'm always jealous of singers who can do that thing where you sort of grunt and sing. So cool

Greasy birds

These photos from the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico are so bizarre..









(this one kinda looks like a turd?)

blogging again at 2am

I'm told by the experteses of naomi, nik and rosie my lack of sleep is due to exercise before bed. I know, i know what you're thinking; 'wow, she could be really going down the wrong path, if it's one paved by hip-wonder machines and all over super-fat-burn-busters'..truth is, I wonder what it is myself that makes me feel compelled to exercise before bed, and can understand it only as a foreboding stench over my otherwise pleasant mindset. The good side of things is I get to do weird over-tired things like peel grapes with my teeth whilst simultaneously trying to absorb as much juice as possible from the grape. This leaves me with a pale green, sort of fleshy lump with a large portion of the juiciness sucked out.....it's the real pleasures in life that count. And the light that is right there in front of me; the computer screen.

Another thing I'm gonna do now is post another poem I've written recently. They're no-where in the direction i'm trying to go in but hey who needs poems that sound good read aloud, right?!







(I don't know any eggs that crack like this..but if I did I think I'd be more of a baking woman)

This little number is called Breaking the Egg


looking at the inside of a shell
like a fantasy

I stand. And crack
it on the edge
of china

too yellow for sense
absurd yellow heart,
yellow, puerile, slow
stability gives way to
cracks, like shellfire

a round dent, a moon
feeling its lunar curves
split, watching the remnants
get sunny, all dazed

The egg in my fist
felt like night

fragility, hidden in curves
closes in on itself

reflections
loll lackadaisically
over and over
the bottom of the bowl

Spain

I've been meaning to post some more photos from my Spain trip for ages now...

Spain was bangin, between three of us we ate a bag of about 80 oranges. I was PUMPED by the end.

these are film:







this is the only photo i have of me in Spain...i wish naomi would learn about the focus














these are giant perfume vats, disused for about 30 years now...there was a disused factory nearby that apparently used to produce a lot of lavender perfume. the lavender was collected and crushed in these vats for the oil, which would run down the hillside
I've got a few more of them but I think snappy snaps didn't put them on the scan disk...YET another example of hampstead snappy snaps slippin


a few more digital:

I just got a text from Google

and they were already in my phonebook. Talk about big brother much?

total insomnia complete

I haven't slept for more than five hours at a time for the past couple of weeks. This is dire.

I've written a poem about it literally fresh off the last minute, it's sort of a diary but of a jumble of times. I think I'm just going to put it here and not really bother editing it

1

Insomnia is a gift: they, the big they
just want you to see everything,
know the gritty side of things
and not just the self-assured
eloquence of imagination:
by two am you’re mature enough
to understand the cogs of
automatic darkness -
spooning chocolate spread
straight from the jar, no bread needed,
tricked by the smoothness on
tongue, all this done
enough times to make it look
like ritual, to make it look
like day, to make it look like
not the remains but just
a continuation. Everything flummoxes
back up the stairs and a pause
at the top like a knot in time’s
thread that looks and looks and
looks through everything you do.
At the top of the stairs I stop
And imagine if my house was a map
I might be at the edge of a cliff
and contemplating what I’m not now,
I’d be reliving the steps to how I got here
in an incantation, a declaration that I will not
move forward. The sky is only a stopper,
mayan blue stopper in the neck of a bottle
of time. If it were a modern man, a Post-tridentamodemisticistic
man, a Post-man, it would be documented as a footnote
to the abyss. Yes,
if my house was a map I might be
at the edge of a cliff and contemplating
what I’m not was, I’d be reliving
the steps to how I got here
in an incantation, a declaration that
I am not move forward. But it’s not
a map so this puts me nowhere.

Walking along the hall of
no stars and reached my computer.
Unmoving herald: obedient
to Whoever comes by, always
offer the lettered keys and
no judgement. No reckoning
in the clicks of your neon chambers,
unbeknown to the hands of time:
a universe of perpetual programming,
seeing the voice of everyone write on the face
textured by numbers:
causing no sensations, causal to nothing
except the demand of a single moment -
incandescent,
save all

driving

in true road trip style, we stole the grandparents' truck for some casual cruisin' in Spain

being four-seater and filled exclusively with women, our oestrogen-powered fun express proved popular with the Spanish farmers of various description