Anonymous said: I wish I could find a man that's just like you. You're perfect. Something about you makes me want to know more.
This is an adorable thing to say.
Hello and I’m back. Two years ago I stopped posting my words here and a lot has changed since: I’m more settled and I have a new companion (Bukowski). This year, I’ve felt victimised. I don’t know why. Internet, can you help me? Old friends, can you help me? All I can taste right now is burnt tongue and all I feel is the weather’s sublime cure to my sadness. I need a change of scenery and a new life—I want Big Sur, I want the sea’s talk and teary-eyed sunsets. I want Luna goddess of freedom-almost and giggles upon slats and slats and grass, soil and the Glynde Reach river. I’ll shake hands with the dying earth, I’ll kiss every blade within these serene fields and fuck you upon them. I’m tired of people asking me what I study, I don’t study. Education ain’t for me, babies. I’m tired of people asking “can I get” and I’m tired of people’s teeth. Their goddamn teeth smiling. Anyway hello and I’m back hello and I’m back. If anyone’d thought I’d killed myself, don’t be silly, I haven’t written anything of importance yet.
Anonymous said: I personally think you should smile more often, you have a lovely smile!
Am I too moody?
Anonymous said: Are you happy?
So difficult to answer. With some things I suppose.
Anonymous said: are you in love?
I often think I might still love the first person I ever fell in love with, I sometimes think I still love the second, too.
Anonymous said: Your writing fascinates me, each post can be romantic, sad, sexy and funny it flows like a story. You're a very interesting person.
This is so lovely, thank you. I guess when one writes they write what they’re feeling. I’m quite emotional.
shitterofsadbirds said: can you suggest me any poetry to start with? maybe some of your favorite poet? :)
These are some of my favourite poets, Ginsberg’s and Eliot’s words are like a fine wine.
Anonymous said: where have you been all the time?
I’ve been trying to live how other people do, and I’ve been doing it badly. I’ve been trying to earn money (so that I can write and nothing else), so I have a job, it’s not enough. I can’t afford internet, I’m so sorry, but I’m back now.
I’m not happy and when I am, I don’t think I realise. I’d like another body to lay with, a pretty girl; someone to give me birdlike kisses, someone to hold my hand, I want cushioned bones to hold dejected tears encaged within the tie dye ribs of these bed clothes. I want someone to roll up the sleeves of my teeshirts, shave my face, pluck my eyebrows. I want to lay in tall grass, take walks. I feel old, and I’m getting older. Depression scares me. Have you ever shared a smile? I don’t remember that feeling.
"Goofy from lack of sleep, they scribble in snatched moments between classes, part-time employment and their married lives. Their brains are dizzy with words as they mop out an operating room, sort mail at a post office, fix baby’s bottle, fry hamburgers. And somewhere, in the midst of their servitude to the must-be, the mad might-be whispers to them to live, know, experience — what? Marvels! The Season in Hell, the Journey to the End of the Night, the Seven Pillars of Wisdom, the Clear Light of the Void… Will any of them make it? Oh, sure. One, at least. Two or three at most — in all these searching thousands."
We spoke that night for five and a half hours and those words you whispered circulated my days for weeks afterwards and I cried and my stomach was so sure that you’d be with me again and I’d be holding you again—naked in the midst of happy conversation and entwined giggling limbs. I still think about you and I still spray your perfume and I still smell your perfume on other girls and when I do, I close my eyes and watch you in the summertime, I watch you naked on the promenade—two front teeth and your hair so gently brushed to rest behind an ear an awkward poise, a smiling face. I still think about our telephone calls and mutual masturbation; I still think about going to sleep in the morning with the excitement of your hour-long journey to wake me with a kiss. And it is a kiss that I wanted that night when you stayed (in another room) and it is a kiss that I want right now as I write down these memories; both, beautiful, and intimidating. I think about that December and the mix tape you made me. I think about our walks walks around your family home and how we held hands, always; and I think about your skin, the touch that I miss so much. I was an unwelcomed, timid and poor child rejected at the dinner table: a taste of upper class belittlement fed with a glance and upon the glance, a frown. Your father’s little princess clutching the hands of a beast beneath the expensive fish. Unlocked doors and naïve thoughts of forever, homemade bread, your family in bed, bare feet on the tiled kitchen floor; quietly on the couch we fucked before the turned down tv—silent orgasms in the village, a howl. We were happy, I think.
Anonymous said: I read some of your work and I found the most beautiful words I have ever come across ''sublime minds are rare, when I find you I will keep you'' would you be annoyed if I got that as a tattoo? Just wanted to ask permission before hand?
There’s nothing stopping you, just like there was nothing stopping me getting Ian Curtis lyrics tattooed to my body. This is an awesome compliment. I’d like to know, though, who you are and what this sentence means to you. Maybe you could message me off anonymous? Writing and tattoos are both quite spiritual to me and mean a lot, and I hope they are as important to yourself. Please message me off of anon.
Anonymous said: this might sound really awkward - but are you sure you don't have an OkCupid account? I was certain i saw you on it!
It’s not awkward, I didn’t know what that was till I just looked it up.
Anonymous said: I still haven't forgotten your face
My face is probably more youthful in your mind.