Monday, 7 July 2014


I wake with pants full of ants. It’s the thunderstorms. Or the old friends. Or the new benders, again & again. The slip and the slide.

I meant to get up earlier today; I meant to embark on the week as if the week were a pony and all the things that grip me in the night were merrily painted hurdles my week’s hooves could catapult over.

I slept late.

I meant to have a quiet night last night, but you know how those go. How could I resist anything? The Wagonplatz glowing fairy lights & film screens in the twist towards dusk. Those Sternis, those spilling of secrets. When I walked D home, the sun had already mustered itself in the corners of the sky, and it was balmy, and wheeling my bike was a whispered I like you in the ear of a friend. 

Today, the afternoon air is thick and carbuncled. It is starting to rain—the drops are like fists. I cannot stop thinking about hickeys. I want to wake up with so many neck bruises, so many bite marks in skin.

How could I resist anything? Why would I resist anything? I have large hands with scarred knuckles and gold nailpolish and I am hefty with want.

The thunderstorms make me think of A, because he is always talking about fucking in thunderstorms, and, of course, the thunderstorms make me think about fucking in thunderstorms.

(Scorpios. Obviously. Trouble & scorpios & kabooms & skin.)

I wake with pants full of ants and I feed the ants coffees and I refresh the internet and I write the same words over and over hoping that, in doing so, I can alchemise time.

I haven’t spent a night at home alone in so many weeks I have almost forgotten what the inside of my brain smells like. I want nothing more than to lock all of the doors and switch off all of the devices and lie underneath a skylight and listen to the thrum of the rain.

But I have made promises. But I am still dreaming of fucking in thunderstorms. But the world is built of large hands and scarred knuckles and sometimes the world is so grabby, so greedy—I get it. I let it take me. I try to hold onto my shins.

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