There’s a bit of me that always sort of wishes I would die.  

Just for it to be over. 

For the rest 

To relinquish my quest 

To call time 

To say no 

To let go 

To catch some zzzzzzzs

Fuck your thank yous and pleases

To close my eyes 

To unwind

To be done 

Because fuck fun 

It isn’t fun

What did I become 

I am undone

  1. Show me my way down to the people pound where the grass is  dark and the earth is wet and the bodies sweat and the planet eats them, nothing but teeth to distinguish, no blood, no skin, no English. No tribe, no wants, no goals, no souls… soul done left me.  Gone where it goes, left my skeleton empty.

But I’m just joshing with you 

Down here in the hole where the lawn meets the dawn   

Nothing to keep chattin bout 

Muscles gone, I ain’t got no clout 


Great Love 

What can I write about my great love?  I want to pen something of such sweeping wonder that will bring him to life on the page for you. 

 In truth though I think the best way to do that is just to tell you about him and about us.

“We were friends for a long time, and then we weren’t, and then we fell in love”, that line’s from When Harry Met Sally, but it about sums us up, except we were friends and then we were in love, and then rather crushingly we weren’t friends or together or any part of each other’s lives…and then one day we saw each other, and couldn’t stop seeing each other, ever again, because we have always been in love.  

We were apart for three years and for me those years were like wandering down a poorly lit road in the middle of nowhere.  I experienced both freedom and happiness along my solo journey.  But mostly I had just wandered further and further from myself.

A year ago we reconnected, I thought it would take longer but in honesty it took a day.  It took the first hug, the walking around talking, the second hug, the stolen kisses, it took seeing each other again.  Our love is a force of science really.  We are pulled together, the one orbiting the other in our own personal solar system.  Without the other all the light goes out, we fall away from our rightful paths, spinning into nothingness. 

 My Great Love is a man of humour and light despite his darkness. He is beautiful and funny and stubborn to a fault and can be relied upon to play the Devil’s advocate, a quality that never ceases to enrage me.  He will not put up with my bullshit, a quality which forces me to evolve myself.   He sees the beauty in most everything and hears the world in a way that I cannot fully comprehend.  

We had a thunderstorm recently which robbed us of Internet, so we held ‘analogue day’ and listened to records and played 90s video games consoles and talked.  I love to talk to him more than anything on earth.  He shares hilarious videos with me on Facebook though really he hates Facebook.  He loves football but hates those social ‘football men’.  He hates pubs but he loves puns.  I love both these things.   

Is there day to day and year to year work required in our relationship? Of course there is.  But my little planet is back on its axis, whooshing along on its orbital byway. My Great Love is mine and I am his. So it has always been, even when it wasn’t.


The crush

Not a crush

As in not the feeling of lust/joy when your loins/heart lights up for another

But the crush of feeling

When you are crushed 

When you can’t get your breath

When you are crushed to nothing

I am crushed

This is my crush


No Earl Grey, No Cervical Access 

Im sitting waiting in our rural Doctors surgery for my triannual invasion of privacy, albeit totally for the best.  I sit amidst old ladies with their old gents and a variety of mums with their unilaterally wailing offspring.  Today I woke up late for this appointment and so am wearing mismatched clothing and have wet unbrushed hair.  To say I stick out here would be putting it mildly  I guess, though for me, cradling my ‘central perk’ travel mug filled with steaming earl grey, this is not one of the things I currently care about.  Neither is the oncoming nudity with a stranger or the part where the stranger inserts into my vagina that thing that looks like it could grab stuff off high shelves for old people or the toddlers paintbrush apparatus they use to harvest my cellular matter.  I am however deeply concerned by the new chip I have just noticed in the rim of my travel mug… causing it to leak.  This is truly a bit of a rum do.  My dear faithful travel mug, my tea filled amigo, my consigliere… my poor fallen brother.  “Alas poor travel mug, I knew him well”…that’s what the line is right?  I’m being overly dramatic sure, and it’s possible I’m funnelling my unruly emotions into this one problem to avoid the anxiety of others, but I think it’s for the best. Don’t you? I mean hell! It works for me, it’s my way now.  This is my life now/currently; emotional displacement, light anxiety, a certain amount of cloudy humour and earl grey, always earl grey, saviour of all things. 


Singing my praises 

I was mopping my kitchen floor just now, singing aloud to myself.  I looked up to find my father standing in the door way looking stricken.  He had heard me from outside and was concerned that I was being robbed or otherwise attacked.

Not a great moment for me. 


Break Up – Up Date

Day 16 of the break up. The final stages have commenced. The orchestration of the returning of the stuff.

It’s a trauma for sure. But somehow it’s overwhelming feeling is one of loneliness.  Like somehow without his box of shirts that still smell like him, I will be lonelier than I am already, or than I was in our relationship. Somehow I feel the shirts will make a difference.  And his mug which I have carefully wrapped and placed atop the rest…without the mug I am sure to unravel completely. 

Perhaps, it occurs the me, I have been clinging to the day to day sight of these items, as though I can enjoy the last remnants of our love like the last heat of the day. 

It’s definitely time to give back the stuff. 


Break up

Here I am, day 4 of the break up, it’s a steady crippling pain that infiltrates everything in my entire day.  

There is a real brutality in ripping your daily companion from your life in just a few short sentences. 

That’s all it takes.  A few sentences and a continued effort to enforce the separation.  And so it’s over.  Two years and three months, lost into the memories of my life. 

And so I wait for the numb, the pain, the shock, the terror and the desire to implode to slowly ebb away. 

Fingers crossed