One Fine day in the rain

sometimes i feel as if life is one big tranparent wave of emotion that would be impossible for us to outface. Because if it was, then what would be the point? The meaning? There would be nothing. The whole meaning to learn and progress as well as just BE would be gone. Nothing would be enjoyed, for it would not be seen through the windows of any other circumstance. No other option, no opposite diversion, just the same minimal track of depthless simplicity, no guide or point because their would be nothing to attatch it to. Just emptiness. It echo's within me to think how that would be. To imagine being nothing inside, meaning nothing. To be is to mean, and to mean is to be. And to be nothing, would be my ideal hell. To dispose of the something vreates a physical nothing and you see, how that so perfectly creates room for a mental somethig, and for that to be meaning the phsycological something was there all along. But then that would be impossible to, because after all, how can we create a physical nothing?
Today was so different. It was one of those days were you end up dwelling on the real matters in your heart a little more. Not much like how i do everyday, where i think about it all the time at the back of my mind and at certain times of the day depending on the thing i am doing it becomes a little more vivid and interesting and at other times boring and unecassary. I actually try my hardest to avoid them to be honest, because no matter how emotionally beneficial they can become, there is always some part of them that suffers because of it. Maybe it's the last remaining shreds of innocence. Of my mind stretching to a little further experience of thinking it each time i do.Perhaps it's the conscience, for some related matter. Perhaps i believe i've done something to deserve all the bad thing's that happen to me and i shouldn't dare to want anymore or hope or contemplate the possibility of it, because maybe i think a certain way that is wrong or i do thing's differently to others and that is wrong. And perhaps i just don't want to believe what the future holds. What future holds, beyond life, even. Perhaps something i don't understand is not something i am worthy of having. Isn't that what is said in the Bible or something to that notion? About how heaven is only deserved to the who believe in it. And God and everything relating to him.
I don't want to go to heaven, not neccasserily in the strict afterlife order that people talk of. I want to feel heaven. I don't even know if it's the same heaven everyone else thinks of. And i don't know why but a tiny part of me feels ever so wicked for feeling that. Like it's expecting more than i deserve or it's not right. Or it's a sickly alluring trap that appears attractive like the harpies in Jason and The arganoughts who drew sailors to their island with their angelic voices before feeding on them alive.
So this is why i get nervous thinking about such intensities to which the heart is curious. As much as it enthralls me to explore the idea of that unknown, it silently punishes me to. An overcome of hollow dryness.
When i woke there was nothing to it. It was just another casual day where i had nothing to do and no one to do it with. The Goldfish barely ceases to entertain after the first few months of owning him, no matter how much you tell yourself he is. The pasta in the cupboard becomes very common. It only just occurs to me how much i dispise artificial light. The Sun is probably the biggest object created by nature within our sight. Man has recreated the resource of the largest object of nature with disgusting lamposts flickering yellow rays and huge built in bulbs raging at 150 watts in your eyes every Monday morning at 7:30 when you feel half dead and your mum is bellowing the school song in your ear. Oh dear, bad memories. Thank God the times that created them over. At least all this free time isnt being packed with intruding school hours that were never of much point to my education given the lack of PASSION the teachers applied to their job. Because at the end of the day, that's what makes a job well done. Determination means it get's complete, passion means it already is. That's if the intention to which it is invested is not planned on being savotaged by jelous downsiders.
Lifting up my phone at the side of my art desk, i checked my messeges half hopefully, imagining an amazing beautiful text of Jack describing how much he wanted to see me again and kill my emptiness with vibrant sex. I giggled, and then sighed doubtfully as i saw their was only one messege from someone i didnt even like which was of no importance or at least not a spark to my interest like i needed to satisfy my craving for a buzz. All hope was lost, when i realised how sick i felt when i thought of the pasta in the cupboard.
I arised from my pit, which was the sofa as well as mine and Antony's bed, and scarpered to the kitchen gleefully in the hope of something of which i did not know just quite yet. There really truly was fuck all that was so needed to be done that i could do it. Why did i want to anyway? I'm usually lazy. When i'm not deadly set on completing something that no doubt will gain me some rewarding of some type.
I notice how dad doesn't line up all the recipe essentials on the chopping board the way Sean did when mum and him were married. Nor does he have everything arranged perfectly in precise order in the fridge the way Sean did. Or in the cupboards. I'm not used to it being so different in these little ways. It's different because their are crumbs on the table. Sean always had everything tightened up and locked back away the minute he had finished using it. Every last crumb was disposed of after cooking, and i found myself in an inevitable habbit of making sure that job was checked. Dad has different habbits entirely. Half of everything he used last night is still hanging about on the side boards. Stuff like biscuits and butter. Crumbs galore. Not a cloth in sight. I feel glad that i now live with my dad again, and i mean that. The gut instinct i sometimes become aware of tells me that, for some reason that has nothing to do with the kitchen or anything, that i am, perhaps, just now, safe?
Wow, it's only now that i notice how different everything else is. If you compared the house to a person, the person would be a reformed character that no one would believe. Dad has papers on the floor, of which some are from last week. I counted a short number of small marks on the wall which hadn't been painted over. Totally unrecognisable marks, but still, i could not imagine them in Seans and Mums former house. Neither could i imagine these interesting looking tools lying around or the few shavings from the wood dad had been drilling a whole through last night, keeping me awake. I definitely couldn't imagine a goldfish. And oh my goodness, no way in hell could i imagine a dog in their home! Mum had always fluttered on childishly about how she'd always 'fancied a dog'. I would often joke and reply that that had been dad not her, to which she would correct me that it was his former girlfriend, rather than herself. Hence the woman he dated post divorce. Anyhow, mum arised the notion to Sean one day, and that was the last time she ever spoke of it. i don't know where mum is right now. i feel sorry for her. I want her here with me. she doesn't seem like herself. i hate it when people change, it confuses me. It frightens me because i know there is always a reason for change, even though change is inevitable.
The home phone rang midway thought. It would have startled me or something being in a mass of pause at that particular moment but it didn't. It was Elena, from my course. She needed to see me urgently about filework concerning our essay on light, which seems to be all we ever spoke about in Photography now. I felt a little displeased and unsettled at this sudden preasure out of my cosy little settlement i had for myself right now, but only in that small way you naturally do. I was obliged to take a shower and apply a cake of make up to see how good i could look, even if it was for nothing. I often find that the more appealing i look the more sppealing i feel. That way at least if there's nothing to do then there's something to do it with. To elaborate physical talent, the type that doesnt require action. Becoming your own project, almost. Must be quite how those lifeless models live. Hollow would be a better word, for that is the word i use for mental emptiness that means nothing but aquires (with respect) shallow forms of occupance to make it barable.
As a walked to the bus, dad messaged me to bring down a shirt in a bag with a receipt that he needed to take back to a shop. He'd forgotten to take it to school with him to return on the way back for a smaller size, and asked me to drop it in at aunty Charbonnet's resturant on the way back for her to do it. Tutting, i slumbered back to the house and searched amongst piles of newly bought prizes for the forgotten shirt. It was nice, but i hated the idea of going into aunty Charbonnet's resurant and embarassing myself by hanging around for her. It was a very explusive place invested by her boyfriend and she and him ran the 'Pizzeria' with the help of z ton of elaborately dressed waiters and waitresses quite obliged to do whatever they were told at the wages they were paid, or so i am told. It's very expensive, and is the sort of place people take you for a treat and where you wouldn't usually see your friends. I have to say the wine i've tried made me very very happy last time i dined there. Dads welcome home treat.
Oh and how different is aunty Charbonnet to dad? So much more sophistiocated and preserved within herself and her actions. Dad doesn't much care what he does or how he looks doing it, which i suppose in a light is a positive way to behave but in others it can be extremely risky. He does, however, care an awful lot about how he looks to his pupils at shitty Grayrigg, which is pointless in my eyes because those kids shall never change and have no hope at wanting to stand out and become something. But i can tell by the way he talks about it that he takes his job very seriously and is intent on giving something back to those kids. Something tells me that that isnt exactly the way the cookie crumbles with aunty Charbonnet, who i think perhaps tries her hardest to look commited but is actually sitting nervously basked within a whirlwind of idea's taking form of life around her that she is possibly in the long run incapable of handling with great success. It's a bit like that. All unsensemaking and ironic. Dad looks like he isnt bothered, but is actually very comitted about his work, where as aunty Charbonnet is all front with certainty and determination but doesn't withold the correct tools (passion) to match.
I handed it to her as soon as i saw her. It was a little abrupt, charging through rows of tables and prodding it in her face in a hurry, to which she looked most uncomfortable and unenthuesed.
''Ah yes'' She concluded, taking hold of it awkwardly, ''Steves shirt? He rang''
I smiled uncomfortably and raised my eyebrows, scarpouring my hands to my back pockets ''Must mean a lot to him then''
''Mm'' She mumbled, briefly glancing it over in the bag. She refaced me. ''I'll see to it. Are you okay chick? You look sweated''
''Erm. Yes'' I hesistated, before realising i was meant to be in a hurry at this point
''Shit i gotta go, Smelenor's waiting at cafe in town'' I babbled, pulling an odd expression
''Not that rude girl who keeps ringing up and asking for tips, surely'' Charbonnet questioned before i found the second to dash
I rehesitated, then laughed.
''Does she? She seemed like a bit of a kiss ass'' I smiled, amused
''Yeah. I was trying to finish that dam paintwork in your dads stting room the other day and all i could hear every five minutes was this 'Elenor' girl on the answer phone going on about God knows what about light''
A couple of waiters tried to slip around us while we spoke. Charbonnet didn't do anything about it. I suddenly realised that i needed to get straight to the bus right that very second.
''Yeah okay. That's what i have to see her about now probably. Anyhow i have to get off, i'll see you later''
''Okay sweetheart, enjoy yourself''
She said it so distinctly as if i was having a day out and i was curious to know what she had meant, and as i was turning to leave i quickly spun round again for a minute, ''Enjoy myself?''
''Yeah'' She replied birghtly, ''Your obviously off out somewhere nice dressed like that. Or hoping to bump into someone special perhaps?''
I wanted to cower away right there and then but common sense resorted me to a look off confusion before nodding awkwardly and running out with the waiting bus being my very exuse. The nodding was totally pointless and i don't know why i did it just to please her. I hate doing thing's to please other people. It's just she sounded so sure that she was right that i almost felt trapped, within that particular second, of believing it myself.
I missed the bus. Or more embarassingly i took the wrong one, which has only ever happened once when i was a child and which i cried over and left me traumatized with embarassment. It was just the abselout worst thing that could have happened to me there and then, and finding that when i managed to get off at the first place possible i had a long way to walk before i could find my way back to the village. Not only that, but during my brief encounter on the bus, it had began to rain quite heavily. It was a very bleak day, and i should have expected it, i just didn't expect it to come down so hard. But what am i saying? I love rain. It's water, and water is a good thing. The only thing that makes raining seem negative, really, is the cold and the generally cloudy skies (plus other obvious annoyances such as hair/make up/paper related objects). Ultimately rain with sunshine is always beautiful, and can be the creation of something beautiful. Hence rainbows. And you never ever are that upset about it when it happens. But somehow, just now, at this point in these clothes with this make up and with skies so grey yes, it was not so marvellous. All i could do was fantasise about my cosy messy house which felt lightyears away at that stage.
As i trodged through the continuous cicle of puddles i managed to get a rough recolection of my reflection. I bagen to see and fake believe like an intoxicated person, remembering how it felt to be intoxicated with alcoholor a drug of some sort. Not anything major, i never did that, but the lighter enhancers, enhancing my moods a nd adjusting my personality to substance of the dose. I often like my senses to become out of control, but only when i am in the calming knowledge of a secure surrounding, with people who will divert me if i turn toward a downward spiral that will lead to no good. I love the feeling of a negative mood being devoured by an immense sense of oblivion which will dissolve the doubt and the worry burdening on the mind. I'm not naive. I know it is a danger and a threat to me and many others to believe and act upon this. Sometimes, i convince myself that i do not care, telling myself there is nothing now that i cannot overcome and detatch myself from once it tries to melt me into it's demands. Perhaps it is my aspirment to give into temptation that makes excuses. Perhaps i simply believe that a darkness worth writhing throughout is a darkness worth believing in.
I began to imagine my reflection more and more, as i walked through the graveyard, past the old church, rain becoming thicker and faster. Rain that blurred the scenery, my open outward view of the world, so that i had barely much option than to rcollect over the most frequent mental image, my reflection. The one in the puddles, the water, the rain. I love it. Thats a darkness in itself, the water. It is dark in it's ability to kill.






















What captures my interests
The ability to divert my attentions, in comparison to the desires of my heart. Completely opposite thing's in so many ways. Diverted attention is what attracts your general awareness by being something one would aughtomatically look at if it were there, happening, like an eye opener, something different. An occurance or object of unusual disposition, of somewhat unfamiliarity to general seeings, to which is why it is not dismissed into the ruitine cycal of which we are familair with and there for lack specific notice of. For so used to everything we generally experience on a daily basis that we cease to be captivated by it. What does it take to divert my attentions, well, even i cannoy describe in full listed immaculate detail of what such a capability must withold for i do not know. If i knew of these thing's then they would not be so much of an unusuality to me, for i would be plainly familiar with them and there for have grown accustom to the knowledge and awareness of them which would fastly disintigrate my draw to them, there for making them unworthy aspects of diverting my attentions. Of course i know of the general things that everybody would easily be distracted by, such as corruptive happening in the middle of the process of an orderly daily activity, but such thing's of personal meaning that for a particular reason, regarding my experience, resorted a tremmer in my mental energy, an aughtomatic curiosity in my thoughts, such as something being brought up relating to a situation or name from the past. An object or even a mere presence of which i could not physically see. Subconsciouse awareness can be just as empowering as conscious.
A total stranger could easily tamper with what felt like a world of unsettling bittersweet history with even a mention of something that was in any way related to a minor something Jack could have been saying or doing at any time we were together.
One evening i sat in violin class. A fully attended group of adults and college graduates surrounding me, all sophisticatedly proportioned and expressed in appearance and preservation. I still falt like the child of the group, despite having very much settled and welcomed into it by now by all members and despite the one boy attending that was a year younger than me. In my personal opinion he was even a step or two more skilled, although nobody else seemed to think so and i never said anything of it.

The Laws Of Attraction

today i thought about bonds. The bonds between man and woman. The bonds that bind friendship. The best of friendships. The bond of a parent and a child, which i believe to be the most important and moving of all bonds. It is a sacredness, an ongoing process, programmed by God into the heart by chemicals. It is also treasured eterally, an unconditional gift of the natural. Havn't i suffered enough? Suddenly these words become helpless. Worth nothing, and in the utmost selfish, as does every self evolving question in the world, in till the only question that remains is what will eventually take this from me. From what was meant. Stolen. My bond with Steph is an all girl bond. We remain solid, despite the continuous reasons for argument and dispute. The fact remains that we can't do without each other. In reality terms, yes we could, but i would be much worse of without her, even if i hate to admit this ot myself. She would be, with me cut off from her completely with the nothing but bitter resortment of utter resentment between us, quite simply broken hearted. I know her well. We depend on each other in the little ways that friends do, the ways that we know better than to rely any more than what we could cope with decieved. We share memories. Happiness in all it's devours and confusing simplicity shared in portions of time we have experienced. But this bond is different to the bond of a mother. It rarely occurs to me, and when it does it is the strongest sense. Usually when a certain type of song is played, or a particular movie clip that catches my eye, that may not even have anything to do with a parent and child. A lot of movies portray the important issues unconvincingly nowadays anyhow. I have my own perceptions, my own created intemplation of maternity. I have dreams, usually a set of unseemingly vivd dreams that are more like puzzled fore tells of phsycological oblivions much to perplexed for my uncapable mind to interpret idealy. They are often the long nights, the nights which i have trouble sleeping also. The maternal instinct is a very regular one of the intense emotions that essences the dream. I always feel moved and empowered in some way unexplanable to me the next morning. Even if i don't remember the dream, which often i do. Dreams are one of the many places i escape to prefferd to the every day world i and the rest of man kind were succum to so many countless billions of years ago. Stars multiplied and collided with dust, forming reactive chemicals that formed the big bang, and here we are, believe it or not. Only i prefer not to. I like the place that dreams take me, because to me that is more real than this will ever get for me. I know that now, and underneath ive known always. I'm happier now that i the connection i have built within myself has enabled me to see that clearer and faster. It calmed me, and i think a lot of people wondered where i had gone for a while. The blame it on growing up in the end, and get on with their own perosnal connections. Their lives.I want to create life. I want to feel that child take every gene inside me and bless it into the next generation of human form. My love blossomed in you, taken by you, and retold inside the eternal roots of the procession of your life, and the life after you. Replanted and invested within the defiant mountain of cunning youth. Spawn to grate the heart of many and be grated back just as relentlessly. I want that child inside of me. I won't be happy untill i know every part of me is safe, locked inside my heir to my knowledge, and the immaculate bond that will secure our lock of unconditional devotion forever. I feel like i'v carried Jack inside of me. He grew bigger, and twisted, turned, kicked, and i loved him for every minute of the pain he bestowed upon me. Perhaps he knew about it, perhaps he didn't, but all i knew was that i loved him more and more each minute of each and every day and i sure as fuck did know about it. Down to every last design of him. Within him, without him. I loved his blackheaded skin. His wirey hair. The occasionally changing shape of his hair. I loved his quivering lower lip. His dirty fingernails. His boyish knobbly knee's. His feminine shaulders. His masculine arms. His long feet that sported long large trainers. His obtuse ears. His scently drawing neck. His masculaine arms and stomach. His unbearable entrapping eyes. His defiant occasionally distastful odor. His accent. Oh! His voice. He had such a different accent. It would be annoying on anyone els, but on him, oh my, i just loved it. It trailed off on the edges off cocky sentences, it moaned and whined, or at least had that notion to it, and it was all to hurt me, but i loved him for it. I loved him for trying to stab my heart with every inch of unstated spite, of daggered hurtful eyes. I loved him for doing it to me so regardlessly and without an echo of resistance, and i loved him for not even knowing he was doing it to me because he wanted to expose his pain onto someone who bared the caring for him that others did not. And i loved him for every minute of every crack that my heart produced because of him. They say love is unconditional. But i wnated something back. I could gape over his body and insume every last sense of focus and concentration upon his every action questionable mental state and spoken word and i would know that i would want MORE. Never enough could be given to me. Never enough was the picture bestowed upon the eye. I wanted to my fingers to be divided and my hands to be pushed back in his hard grasp, i wanted every ounce of his body to encave over and determine the destiny of mine. I wanted him to own me entirely, and still leave that last hidden department unreachable and have him yearning and suffering for it all the more because it was. Having him not have me, me not be his, was unimaginable, and totally unacceptable in regard to my outrageous selfish consistant wants. So you can say this wasn't any type of unconditional love, but the fact of the matter is, no matter how much i devotionally inhaled his oblivious distreatment over me, i felt like he owed me something back because of it.The feelings and emotion within me are, you must remember, nothing to do with choice or decision. They don't even trip alongside the same era. If i could go back in time and make a practical decision over having the first meeting between us ever take place, i would say yes. He has brought me to life, even if in some terms, life will mean death. Perhaps it is only the death of what i used to be, before we came together. The child, with no knowledge and perception of experience, no real recognition to the intensity of the real world. Wherever i was then, i was lost, and wherever i am now, i am still lost, but in an entirely different area. I have no feeling to that girl anymore, the one that had never reminisced in his intoxication of many sins. What do i want back from him? My innocence? No. Not even i myself am sure of what it is i require back from him in the shadows of distilled desires. But, i love him all the more for having never going to give it to me.
I disliked the dream i had last night. I can't remember the first one, but it was probably entirely unrelated to the dream i had after i went back to sleep sometime after 7 am. Between te space of five hours i must have had the next dream, which seems an awful lot of time over such little memory of a dream. I was asked, rather casually, to teach a class of year three children. I was put in an uncomfortable position and in my dream i imagined them to be big pre adolescent kids. It wasn't till i woke up that i realised that what i was most afrad of was the idea of a year 7, even though that sounds cowardly. No doubt this is over my concerns over taking on responsibilities as an adult and having doubts over my capability to fulfill my role in my current jobs. I never imagined i would hold down a job, believeing that i was to lazy and idle to maintain the patience to see it through. Having really once believed i would never be able to do it, this helped towards self loathe at the guilt of over it being possible for everyone els in the world to work and me not to. I was soon proved wrong though, when Stephs dad took me on as a checkout superviser at his store. And, my gosh, how amazing it felt to experience the independence of working. Something i hated the idea of, yet when i was doing it i felt so undescribably content, as if it really was what i was meant for doing. Perhaps that infueled by the boredom of spare time out of college made it all the more convinient for me. the money came in.
Weekly allowances seemed like some pathetic ambilican cord thing. I liked the idea of detatching myself onto a different level from the chavs. I felt better, and vainly more imporant. Then again it's hardly vain to address myself as vain simply for rating myself more important than a chav, because mostly everone is. Perhaps that's degrading. I'd really hate to sound like one of these stuck up buisness proprietors especially as i am so passionate about my art and every aspect of it. I'm not afraid to use the word passionate as i beleieve everything should be expressed in description with the most honesty that is literately possible for it, and i am passionate, in every meaning of the word, for my art, writing and every other thing that contributes to my personal oxygen. I am devotional to it. It's like my other half. More than a satisfaction, but ultimately a duty, if that doesn't sound to dramatic. Your reading this and wondering why i don't sound like the natural fifteen year old. But i can tell you with the utmost honesty this. When you are a writer it is a lot simply to express on paper what is difficult to gather up in speech where stately atmospheric distractions are contracting emotions on the surface of your mind. Wow, do i feel so other worldly when i come into my alternate universe of words.
I made a firm decision today. That i was going to, that very night, look through some of my old peoms written by me in the past. Basically when i was a little girl. A lot of people told me i was talented, and i always find that rediscovering your past can either help progress or distract you from building your future. Although it feels personally awkward for me at the rare times i stumble across drawings, poems, writings and photo's from long long ago, it also enriches me in some sentimental sense and enables me to see in a clearer light how much i have really changed. And the fact is, no matter how much we do or don't realise it, we are changing every single say. Evolving, progressing, entwining our characters into every day reality and changing colour sound and smell. Everything changes. Even the Universe changes. Over Billions of years the Earths continents break apart because of the heat beneath us and grow further and further in seperation.
You kno what the Indians said about circles? How life and all aspects of it evolve in a circle, because it is one big continous repeated cicle of events that change and monoover but never stop rotating. Well that fits in well with the facts of the life of Earth, because it is said that all continents will eventually come back together in peice to create one massive continent. Somehow i don't think i will live to see that day, but it's funny how we can know for a fact that it is going to happen despite being it millions of years away.
What else runs in circles. Oh, rivers! And i'm definitelt not the type of person that get's exited about rivers. But they do make me feel, somehow, in depth with myself, and all around me, if that describes it finely enough, when i have had my eye on one for a certain ammount of time. Yes they are like circles because the water runs through the land, in whatever form, stream, waterfall, valley, and returns back to the sea, where it originally brew from at the other side. I can't help but question it, as the sounds of trickling water emerges loudening life likeley through my soundly imaginings, am i like a river? Is Jack like a river? Seriously, are they a calming naturistic form of our lives? What we had together, whatever it was when we were together, and whatever it is now? Perhaps it widened, deepened, progressed in it's entirity, just like a human discovering itself. Like a relationship unfolding and discovering thing's about it that were hidden, or discovering what is not there at all. If it grew pace and captured objects and beasts inside it like water does. That would be the people and the distractions that came between us. The distractions being not something i want to name right now, as they were possibly my fault. I don't want to accept my responsibilities at times. I often blame myself for certain thing's involved with selfish people who are likely to put the blame on anyo9ne but themselves, and i don't know if it's basic truth or just my insecurities dominating me.
So, i went into my old cupboard. The huge one i owned in my old room before it was consumed by mothers make up range, and i found an old wooden box i had noted in my head before hand. I couln't remember the last time i took a search through, but as soon as i lifted the lid i felt suprised at the mass ammounts of folders and papers and writings stashed back to back inside. I looked through the entire lot, and found about three thing's that i decided to keep hold of. These three seemingly unimportant to the world creations of art would be carefully observed by a matured eye, even if it was just to writh in astoundment at how much id blossomed into what i rather innapropriately label 'adultery'. One of these thing's actually wasn't by me at all. Infact the phase i was going through at the time makes me cringe, but this picture i printed off the computer sometime five years ago is one of my favorite pictures. A mermaid laying amongst reeds on a rock, not just gaping, gazing, with the most amazing hope i have ever seen, just comign to life in her face and her eyes. It really is the most refreshing and beautiful fantasy sea assosiated drawings i have ever seen. The fantasy concludes with her being a mermaid of course, and to the mermaid kindgdom in the back ground, which makes it all the more magical like in the old book of retold fairytales that this picture was on the cover of. I plan to draw this picture, and am disapointed in myself that i have not already done so.
Some other things from my box disturbed me, i am afraid to say. I was crazy about writing, and art, and anything that collided and related to the confusing passions inside my phsycological world of discovery. And it would seem quite literally. The thing's i wrote, on some papers, where quite charming and sweet. Little Haku's, mopes, wishlists. But some were twisted, shameful even, to the uttmost of what i can describe now. I mean, i don't like to accept the idea that those thing's actually turned me on as a twelve year old girl. The graphic perversity, the obscenity that i would laugh in the face of now. It's quite horrorble, and i would much rather not remember myself as that sort of child.The sort of child that stored and nurtured sick perverted perception of certain thing's locked away in the corners of her mind.
I have a method of painting. I will describe it to you.
it's hard to explain, and part of me doesn't want to because although these thoughts are enclosed it feels asthough something extremely private, which i regard all my methods, is being spoilt by exposure through words. As if it's code is being cracked, even though i was the one to do it. There is no loss here, and all good methods should be demonstrated, don't you agree? So i shall continue. I don't draw in detail on light paper, but instead i sketch as if desogning. Styled like a rough draft. Oh and here's the beautiful part. Instead of using paints, which i sometimes wary over, i use watercolors, my abseloute favorite since i was given my very first packet as a gift. It took me quite a while to master this personal method of using them, which i tought entirely by myself. When i eventually had perfected it, i felt so proud to have created it on my own and practised as often as possible. I wouldn't inprnt the watercolors perfectly in line with the sketching, but instead i would blur the color into the sketch going over the lines messily and outlined around it lighter and darker shades of the colour in mirrored comparison to the object or scene in actual life.It's difficult to explain but imagine when you wear a pair of glasses (or in my case take them off) and the world descendes into a mass visional blurr. I find it relaxing to look at the world this way.

One thing I have learned about creative arts is that you cannot push yourself to achieve it. It is basically artistic suicide to presume, expect, or rely on yourself to complete on heavily set target, as your ability and the purity of it is blinded and spoilt by the determination of avoiding failure. Just like an obsession that once is over, the passion you had has been consumed by the obsession. All strife is converted to other aspects of your creative desires.
There is another thing, quite similar to this point. You must never ever ever plan it out. If you want it to be good true art, you definitely must not plan the destiny of it's form. I believe this to be a danger to the beauty of art, which comes with optimism. If you are spontanious within the creation of your work, then it will most likely show to whomever is studying it. In my opinion, doing it that way brings it to life, and, if it makes sense, doesn't lie.
I'm also fond of creating pictures from dots, which is what i used to do at primary school, and although sounds fairly young and simple, is quite an elaborate decoration of art. My mum likes these drawings. Probably because they remind her of when me and Antony were still small children.

In the pitts of college;

What I love about Katrina

Sometimes men put me off men. They have produced an immense amount of tensional anger within me that I did not know was there until recently when I found myself frustrated and blaming towards the idea of them. If we by pass the diverse meanings of the word hate, I can honestly say that I hate hate hate men at this precise point in time. I hate them for being obtuse and presumptuous, of being sexist and believing that they are more righteous to empowerment than women. I hate them for not even trying to understand the vulnerability, needs and emotional stability of a woman, and instead deciding towards the effortless tempting option of disrespecting them for their own selfish fulfilment. I hate every buy I have ever been involved with for presuming and blackmailing, expecting and even wanting sexual favors off me, and for believing it is in any possible way even okay to try and use women to get what they want, as if they withhold no care self control or conscience, which they all do, no matter what anybody says. Sometimes I feel as if I want to breathe out fire because this angers me so much. How can it ever be okay to take advantage of womans vulnerability? Especially if we are so ‘unwise’ in comparison to men. To talk to her as if she is an object instead of an impressionable human being with feelings. To grope her and touch her up without warning. It sickens me. But I’m only speaking so erratically because I am currently heated up on the matter, not because I am thinking rationally on a calm state of mind after thinking it through. I have thought it through, many a time, and this is the one and only conclusion that I am sticking to because I know as well as I can so vividly see that it is the truth and it is important. I hate the way men think, and that I do mean, heated up or not. I hate the way they think in terms of their views upon certain things, mainly women, as you can most likely guess. I cannot bear the idea of someone getting the better of me when they have not earned anything to deserve it. I would probably prefer the company of another woman, romantically. I actually feel right now that I would be happier that way. Women don’t need to discover other woman the way they have to discover men. They already know the feminine code that’s biologically, emotionally and physically programmes into the female design. It would be like discovering the rest of a land that you already own part of. With men you really are on a different planet. I don’t believe that either men or women came from planet Earth, but it was somewhere we were placed once created to fulfil our roles as the bearers of life and nurturers of the garden. (Pregnancy also makes me think of the big, green, planet Earth)With men you induldge in what you know is wrong and are encouraged to give into the worst kind of temptation. This includes joy riding and taking drugs. I am not saying women don’t do these things, but young men are the main victims of these sorts of female alluring situations. To love, is a pleasure. But all pleasure ends with pain, surely we know that by now. Surely we can see that we are not just being rational and narrow minded in not wanting to be burnt in the worst most aware way possible. You have to choices, and those choices are to either to take the risk of comitting your growing feelings and allowing them to invest into a bind with the one they are for in the hopeful sucession that they will complete the spaces between you and your infinite hapiness, or you can decide to walk away knowing that you can be hurt through it, and this is the less painful, but easier option. But to be burnt by a flame is not so devastating as to be burnt by a funeral pire.
On this day that me and Steph were late for college, we sat on opposite desks.
I could sense the distance between us was questionable, and tried not to dwell on it to much in the fear of it becoming to much of an issue in my head. I had enough thing's to feel guilty about.
This was the first day of my second week in college. A photography course. Not Art, as i'd wanted. But dad had done his utmost best to persuade me in every possible manage that i would regret missing the chance to study such an 'important' form of Art, and somehow managed to convince me it would help me more when i transferred to Art.
And as you guess it, it was a popular choice amongst the local drop outs from my corner of town, which is, incase you were wondering, a corner out of town all together but is seen as an extension to Margate. Me and Steph
I didn't much like being around the people from school again, no matter how much i liked or disliked them. It felt like i was still attatched to school, being ordered around by teachers and having that perminent mental dread of having no other option but to obide by whatever pain of an order the teacher throws at you today.
The whole point of coming to college was to move on from school, mentally as well as educationally for me, and having to face several reminders of what youve moved on from every day doesn't help, and kind of depresses you and makes you want to leave, and then makes you feel guilty for wanting to leave because the reasons seem selfish and shivelrous.
And Steph.
I tried to look on it positively, no matter how hard it was. This was, after all, to help me, to help nurture my talent. I can't say passion because passion can't be nurtured, only triggered, reacted to, fed. To say i have talent seems again, self assosiated. Only the difference is i don't need to think this about myself, because others have reassured me and i can say without guilt that i know it to be there. Infact, talent is made from passion. Because, as certain thing's trigger passion, passion triggers talent, and there for Art is born. It bares a similarity to conception.
For the first week me and Steph and a couple of other people were put in advance classes, and were told that for the first week the other students on the course would be to. Something to do with 'getting to know the personalitites of each other'. The teachers were incrediably enthusiastic, giving us 'about me' hand outs to fill in as if they were handling a group of primary children. Having known each other for five years, me and Steph took great amusement in pretending to be complete strangers in the 'getting to know one another' exercise, mocking the teacher to entirity. Ours also insisted we him him Greg, and made a silly overenhanced point of this. Probably part of the mission to lure our trust.
Today when i walked through the door to our new classroom, there was a middle aged plump looking woman with blonde hair sitting at the corner of the room with her eye on a book layed out on the desk in front of her. Assuming she was our mystery tutor, and dismissing the few around me who had been bothered to arrive early like myself ans Steph, i went over to her and asked her politely for an application form for my GCSE results which had not come through the post.
''No love, i'm not your tutor. I'm the assistant helper, here to help them with special needs an' that''
She told me, looking a tad confused at my broad approaching. I nodded, and there was a short pause. Then something came to her suddenly.
''I'm Sue, sorry'' She continued, smiling brashly, with a heavy downbeat voice, ''Missy ull' be here any minute.''
''Missy?'' Questioned Steph
Sue nodded typically, ''Your tutor. Missy ent' her name but i call her it as she can be a prissy little madame when it sutes. But it's okay, i'm her auntie.'' She said, laughing like adults do as if theyre trying to humour themself up to a strangers liking a little.
It's strange, you never usually meet your teachers family before you meet your teacher do you?
I got the instinct i wasn't going to like this tutor woman much. Only this time the instinct was wrong, very wrong infact, because when what i expected to come through the classroom door was a stubborn over dressed strumpet, in came Katrina.
And wow, it didn't occur to me untill i saw her look up at me that i realised how amazing she was. Within an instant i simply knew it. And the way she smiled at me, well it sounds such a simplicity but could be described as silently breath taking.
She was not different looking in an unattractive way in the least, nor even in a dazzling way. But every aspect of her appearance was asthough it was customed to her identity, and her individuality to do display such a bold challenge made her all the more beautiful in my opinion. She was tall and slender, looked through sharp green narrow eyes, and her hair was a nest of tiny black ringlettes neatly complinmenting her neck, which she wore a small black chocker around. Her clothes were no more than a pair of charcoal black jeans and a skin hugging Laura Ashley Halter neck but the jewellery and waist shawl she bared over them elaborated them rather impressively. And, when she greeted us, even beofre she welcomed us to class and had smiled at me, she bared what would seem like the unlikliest recognisable wisdom in her atmospheric essence, which i always note when meeting knew people, especially adults, who are more often than not smarter.
So almost immediately i felt a starnge warmth from her presence, something i was not in the least expecting. A sense that despite having never layed eyes on her before in my entire life i somehow had an understanding of her already, perhaps as she withheld what i prefer to recognise most in people. Something complex and a struggle to describe, yet so rare that when somebody did bare it within them it was impossible for me to mistake.
The beginning’s of our friendship were based on politeness. She would greet me like every other in the class, smiling in a similar poitive manner as she had done the first time I saw her. Yet every time I caught her eye on offhand moments I strongly felt she was intaking me, watching me, and mentally portraying me in some way, just as I had done to her. Her voice was soft, yet gritty at the same same. It was more spoken softly, with her tone less subtle and experienced sounding. She was delicate, I found, in her explanation of things, and similarly to the way she graced herself, plpaced her hands upon certain things, as if she was suggesting what appealed to her and what didn’t. The look in her sharp green eyes would always emerge without fail, whenever she spoke of something that meant something to her. It was an acceptance look, a pleasant digesting expression. What I loved most about her was how calm she was, and how she carried herself with such grace no matter what. How could her aunt have got her so wrong? But then I would think, well what do I know? I’ve never really spoken to her, have barely met her, I’v never made any attempt to individually speak to her like I was longing to, to know her. And yet, I really didn’t, no matter how much I was convinced that I did, no matter how frustrated and unsettling it was to be around her and not ask her the things I wanted to ask and spend the time with her that I imagined so enticing would be, no matter where the beginning or end was.
Sometimes I became distracted in class. I couldn’t concentrate, because that part of me that was so distressed at not getting what I want and the guilt along with it stung me up to me vital senses and enlasped amongst my physical language.


She in herself became like a college course to me. As in i went there to study her rather than photography, despite coming to accept that photography was a vital contribution to my study of art. But she was bright, creative and drawable in both the senses of drawing and characteristics. She reminded me of somewhat of an ideal example of what i wanted most deeply to be, but felt somehow ashamed and modest to admit it to even myself, like i hadn't earned what it took to become so ideal. I hadn't KNOWN enough.
Within time of my continuous weekly classes she became an instoned part of my life that i had come to accpt no matter how hard, as someone, something, that even though i couldn't quite figure out why or how i was so unnusually drawn to, was beyond comprehension for my sordid little worldly inexperienced hands to reach out to and persue. Persuit for Amanda would not be a miracle, but an impossible challenge which i feared i may never understand how to face. After all, i knew nothing of her, what i wanted of her, but this only ignited my amidance to find her further. For now i still disheartened that we were utter strangers in what i really did believe were far distanced planets, with no familiarity of the space between us reflecting lossfully within me.
Despite the improvisation calculating inside me, i managed to sustain normallity when in her company. Which was, at college, almost every lesson. Although it was hard, i managed, and eventually within even more graduate time, i began to accept her even furtherly, and my incapabities. She was seen to me as a good mentor, tutor. Still, i longed to exeed that barrier of knowledge. The irritation to get closer to her still remained, desite being pushed with almighty force to the back of my complicit mind.
Steph wasn't coping well on the course. Her identification with Art was entirely different to mine, and didn't take photgraphy all to seriously despite being reminded that it was a different subject all together. Sometimes i felt like she acted asthough my love of Art was being shoved down her throat a little, and took her away from the thing's she loved. I reminded her that she did not have to follow in my directions, to which she amidantly defended herself against, although i hadn't meant it disrespectfully. Personally i believed i was doing good with the coursework, but one afternoon at half term dad confronted me in the kitchen whilst i was making us both a coffee. I could tell by the way he slowly made his way in, head bent down a little, discarding to do anything kitchen entering worth excpet lean on the sideboard beside me, that he wanted words.
''Apparantly your not doing so well on your course'' He spoke, in his lowered cooling voice.
I immediately glared up at him, merely shocked at what he had just said, and the harsh nothing it had come from.
''What?''
''Hey - before you say anything'' Dad declared, casually propping his hands to midair in defence, ''I'm not grilling you, okay? I know these courses can be hard, i've done seven of them myself remember''
I frowned at him, refusing to pour the kettle untill we'd discussed this further,
''I don't get it, what do you mean not doing well? I'v been working maximum at that place''
Dad sighed, turning his head to the side. He could see how badly i had taken it, and likely didn't yearn at the idea of discussing it further. He knew it was important though. I sensed he knew it was important, because in my eyes i could see a father who wanted his daughter to succeed in life.
''Love - i know there have been issues lately. I don't exactly know what, but weather it's mates or boyfriends or - ''
''Has Steph said something? Oh God I knew it.'' I leaned back aggresively and persed my mouth tightly, muttering ''Determined to ruin my life because she can't make her mind up about her own, the twat''
But dad shook his head vigorously, slanting his eyebrows as he does when he becomes serious, ''No baby, it wasn't Steph. It was your teacher.''
I felt my eyes widen in amazement, and i almost choked with sudden bitter laughter. I couldn't believe what i had just heard, without warning, hesitation, or notice from a million lightyears prior planet Amelie.
How could she?
I didn't say another word, but simply walked out the door, unwilling and unpleasantly unable to continue with the conversation. Dad called after me, but i blatantly ignored him, and diversed myself into the pitt of my quilt.
I felt so stupid. Oh dear, how could i have let this happen? I was so posessed by my consuming imagination that my attention had been restricted from ambracing what really mattered. My career. My Art. My World and universe. Everything i wanted was collapsing and escaping around me as a side effect of my own selfish compulsion towards the illicit and impossible art of fantasy. But how could i escape what i felt was becoming part of that universe that obsorbed and consumed me daily? She was becoming part of it. In some way, and beyond my capability to untie and rewind damage caused because of it. But i found myself questioning my desires. I believed true desire for a woman was intombed scaredly for her soul mate, her career, and, most importantly, her spiritual life. Desire and passion were reserved and put aside for these specific milestones of significance in a womans life, and were occasionally reflected within her every day actions aspiring around these milestones. But to desire what i can only describe as unravelling a stranger who taught me daily of the aspects i was supposed to restore some of this reserved passion for, well, it felt unright, somehow, like a misread hormone, an act of indecency and shame towards my personal beliefs, my personal religeon. Or perhaps, she was, in some phsycological length, connected to my spirituality? I'd always had an idea of this, but was so confused into the many possibilities of what y feelings could mean that the prospect seemed blurred out of the frame of obvious explanation. I'd never painted the picture precisely this way, to think or believe the actual possibility that she was indeed part of some sort of indepth prophecy of my spiritual journey. But now, she was critisising me. Not because she disliked me, i undignifiedly preyed, but because my confusion was affecting my performance in class. It had been no ones fault. If it had been then it would be as much hers as it was mine. I had the whole notion already written in my head, signed and printed within minutes. I was no longer angry at her. I wouldn't be able to bare the feeling of anger over someone i had come so close to without actually being close to. It would eat me up inside, and my enraging emotions and insecurities would lead me to experience all kinds of directional blame, self consciousness and guilt for every possible notion. This clearified the clouds in my visional distance, and despite the challenge it was to confront the distance, it was there to be confronted nevertheless.
I would talk to her. I didn't know when, where or how. But i would.
Yet when i saw her for the first time after half term the immediate reaction was for me to resent her. The feelings of frustration with myself, extent of betrayel from her, despite of her not knowing of the way i felt, began to flourish back to me, and my mind was blinded by despising her for the power she had over me, despite knowing in my heart that she was not at all mallicious.
It was an impossible mental battle with myself and what i believed. Was what i believed what i really belived, or just an illusion displayed by unrequired emotions that couldn't keep still and let the truth. Could i trust my instincts anymore? Or were they not real instincts in the first place, just misguided intruige obliged by much curiosity. I was so unable to tell. And i more than anyone hated being the misjudge of myself. If another person could read me better i was always very displeased with myself.
But ironicly enough, Mandy required to see me after class. I was very pleased that she had spoke to me individually, as i always was when she did, even for the unimportant mentionings, and her soft bubbly tone devoured my original feelings at the begining of the lesson.
Any resentment simply fell out of me, evaporated into thin air as if it had never existed, no matter what it was that created it there in the first place. It was like it didn't matter, that wasn't what was important between us. There was a reason for everything that she did, and i was happy to now make exuses for her, because i knew it was just my emotional instincts that refined me to thinking so rationally and out of full view clearness.
After that day, an entirely knew turning point developed toward the prospect of Katrina. I noticed how her aknowledgment over me had enhanced throughout each lesson. Her attitude different. I was waiting for her to suddenly do something rapid and predictably cruel like tell me off in front of the class. And it was a big class, but she didn't.
A few minutes before the last lesson ended, Katrina approached me a little to my suprise up on my fifth row. I instantly feared what she was about to say, but that feeling soon passed when i saw the warm tone of her body language which clearly defined nothing severe.
''Amelie? Would it be okay if i could see you after class for a sec?'' She politely enquired
''Yeah. Sure'' I nodded hesitantly.
I paused, then glared back down at my work, retracting myself from sudden discomfort.
''Thanks. Fantastic'' She said descretely.
I wondered why she'd said that. Like it was a pleasure to be able to see me after class, for some possible reason. It couldn't have been over anything to bad, if she had been so positive, could it? I ran through possible ideal sounding explanations in my mind, testing which sounded most convincing to myself the first time thougth over, for those thoughts are always the most effective, when they are freshest.
I felt more nervous as each pupil expired out the door, like the time for me and Katrina to be alone together and for me to partially confront nerving intuitions was drawing closer and nearer like a looming planet.
I was kind of afriad, although i ahted admitting it to myself. After all, she was only a woman, no matter what my over egsagerated head portrayed of her.
As the last two pupils desposited out, i made my way to the front of the class where she was tiying some paperwork from her desk into the cupboard. As soon as that was done, she looked up at me, but only half aknowledgably within the proceedings of her next job. I raised my eyebrows and looked around me cautiously, wanting to say something to take away the sudden akwardness i felt.
''''Thank you for staying behind, Amelie'' She spoke softly, without stopping to face me yet.
Wow, that was the second time she said my name, and thanked me to. At least she appreciated me being here.
''It's alright'' I mumbled pathetically, ''Was i in trouble?''
My stupid curiosity had gotten the better of me as i found ymself saying this.
Katrina shook her head, looking rather certain and hard, ''No. Not at all anything like that''
''Oh'' I smiled, unable to think of a better response,
She laughed a little, a faint subtle warm laugh i had imagined her producing whenever i witnessed her warm subtle smile in class.
''Actually'' She began, stopping from her current occupation and opposing full unthreatening attention to me, ''I have wanted to speak to you for some time now, about this''
Her eyes became slightly less accompanied by illusion now and became more intense and profound. I paused, standing still and unable to work out what she was tryng to say, but with the utmost intensity to do so.
''Okay. Why havn't you?'' I asked, not directly subjecting what the issue was immediately.
She then blinked, before looking down a moment. ''Because'' She spoke, ''Because of what it's about''
I paused again, biting my lip this time. The nerves welled up inside me, and i felt my heartbeat plummet.
She continued, ''Do you recollect your father discussing your course with you?''
I nodded, embarsseed, searching for somewhere to settle my eyes without it seeming asthough i was diverting my attention ridely.

''Well'' She sighed, again, ''I am sorry you had to hear it like that. I guess. What i really wanted to say, Amelie, was that it's obvious to me how distraction there is between yourself and your studies. And i know that it's something difficult causing this, preventing you from ellapsing full concentration into your course. I almost instantly recollected something, well, something rather, rather complex about you. About your behaviour in class, your theory skills when writing essays. I mean, theyre so, unnusual. Not in a bad way, but in a more advanced way to how the methods work in photography literature. When i spoke to your dad i had a feeling he may have jumped to conclusions a little. When i said that i believed there was something distracting you from devotion to the coursework i think it sounded a little rational, like you were failing. I really should have thought it through a little better, now reflecting back on it. What i had meant, or perhaps what i had been trying to actually do, was gather your awareness a little. Make you conscious that i knew there was something wrong, something difficult for you to handle. I didn't want it to seem like i was poking my nose in your private life, although i can see now that it might have seemed that way. But i was a little - well, nervous, of subjecting what the possible issue was, because although it is unproffesional of a tutor, and that is difficult to admit, i was afraid of your response. I didn't really know how to address the issue in the right way for you''
Good greif, this was the last thing i had ever expected would happen. How wrong could i have gotten everything? She was nothing how i had thought of her that day, or any other day over the past week or so. Infact, this proved to me, how little you know someone, despite being amidantly insistant on the idea that you do, untill you vividly speak to them and challenge their inner truth. Now she was challenging mine, and i was barely able to believe it.
I now understood, not avertly clearly but within my inner self at that moment, that she most impressionably aknowledged me throughout our surficial collaberation as tutor and pupil, and whatever she had said to my dad, it had been percieved incorrectly and misguided, when what she really had meant was that this course was out of my depth. It wasn't good enough for me, for my creative instincts to bind and penetrate with to succeed and master my Art.
It stung my ears, made my mouth numb, and was paronoid obliviously of how to respond to her. How to connect back with her, now she had taken to the acting upon her instincts with me.
But what she did next, and this really did suprise me beyond all hesitation and doubt, was lean back on her desk comfortably, and take both of my hands in hers after another, rather positive well intentioned sigh. She looked into my eyes with natural simplicity, but undoubtedly her set gaze was haunting, subtle, deepening. Her eyes, they were like magic. Unable for me to find a path within them to persuit on my quest to discover her nurishment of the soul, her fuel of mentality and wisdom. I was lost in a maze, a deep unwinding maze of which was impossible to predict at any direction to weather it would lead me to heaven or hell, or a straight forward dead end. But there was no end to her dazzled beholding. It was intensifying, excrutiating, pleasurably complicit, and though her mouth spoke no sound for a moment or two, the space and collaberation between us seemed to write a thousand novels.
My eyes filtered with emerging tears, and i quickly drew my hands from her and rubbed them solemly, jerking my head to a lowered corner as i did so. I was unable to smile when this happened, and felt rather humiliated aswell as confused, which caused a sudden paronoia which would likely express itself in my instant body language. I was to nervous and raw to master my body language at this precise point in time.
I swallowed, ''Oh my God, Katrina. I, - I feel so daft'' I said ridiculously, feeling that the only way to justify my obscerd turn was place in words how i felt after doing it.
Katrina smiled. That warm immaculate smile once again, ''Amelie, i don't want to discomfort you. The last thing i want is to put you in a tedious position''
I looked back up at her, swallowed, and tried hard to smile with the same intensity she had, ''Really, your not. I'm not uncomfortable.'' I breathed in rather rationally before steadying my balance a little, ''I know what your saying. But i've tried really hard, honestly, i've tried ever so hard not to screw this chance up. Dad wants me to succeed, and if i'm honest, i don't want to let him down.''
I swallowed hard, again, occasionally glancing down. I felt stuck, unable to say what i really intended to say.
''You are an incredible contribute to the class. That is honesty. But if i am even more honest, i don't think ive ever met a pupil quite like you'' She began, hesitated, then continued, ''Any person, quite like you''
I could feel the words proclaiming themselves in bold capitals across the edge of my gut instinct. The words exeeding along the lines of 'Oh My God''. What could i say to that? I could answer the truth, and tell her that i felt the same about her, but more so. I could deliberately inturn the entire conversatin and produce her words into my pretended assumtion of the subject of 'pupil qualities', or, the option which i was tempted to opt for. Any why? So i could know for abseloute certain what she had exactly meant by that proclaiment, without possibly humiliating myself the the ultimate extent by responding to this remark with assuming she meant she had felt connected to me in a similar extent as i did to her. I so deeply wanted to know, more than anything right there and then. And it was what she was about to tell me next that made me complete my decision to do so.
She widened her eyes, and looked at me a little more vulnerably and softer hearted this time.
''i thought you ought to know, seeing as i'm leaving''
i gawped at her, startled, ''Leaving? Why?''
Katrina took a deep breath, and tried to focus her eyes on something, ''I have to go back to university. It isn't far from here. But i need to continue my degree''
''Degree in what?''
''Wicca''
I was speechless. This opened a new chapter for my view on her all together. I was spellbound, starled even more so, hardly able to understand why and how.
''What'' I began, after moments of debatably unsire silence, ''What - sort of university do you come from?''
I was so confused that i just had to ask. My curiosity had become overpowered with rich heat, and writhed in it joyously and shamefully, fearfully contempt at what it may unleash.
''Well, if i have to be precise, it's more of a mass training college.'' She said dexretely and in a silencing manner. ''For spiritualists. Women and men of Earthly empowerment. Wiccans''
I trembled, still unsurely. My quivering lips endevoured and displayed my mental ellapsity growing thickly within and throughout like the thickening elaborate rapid river i persued throughout the soul a little more a little deeper every day.
''Black magic''
I shuddered, encasing my eyes with my protecting lids, shielding my world proof immensity inside that shone to the truth far to often. They were the only words that entered bluntly into my head, and because my barings were under no aware resistance of any sort i was unable to stop them becoming the only words to escape bluntly from my mouth. And i felt ashamed as soon as i heard them and aknowledged them and the fact that i had said them. I felt i had over stepped the mark. The mark that wasn't my place, wasnt my teratory to overstep.
Katrina breathed in and shut her eyes, then opened them, gazing to the side as she steadily let out a long silenced breath of fear. Not of her own beliefs, but fear of what i was would do now in knowledge of them.
I knew as soon as i saw it, that judging by the narrow bend of her head she was hiding something. A possible dark secret, fortelling by the severe hidden glance she producded, her eyes lowered and toned, as it suggested some sort of immense darkening truth that she darent speak of or give me any hint of beyond the words offered to me already. Now as i look back i should have been honored that she had already given as much as she had. I believe some part of me was already, but i was succum with a distant cold blindness inside that i was only much to aware of there and then.
MIne and Katrina's short but long after class procession ended shortly after, as i was clearly embarassed and incapable of producing words of much sense and stability untill thought through alone. She did not leave, however, without giving me a tiny peice of brown paper that looked like something made from the amazon. I muttered some saying of appreciation however before going olong my sharp way, which i was also embarassed and felt rather guilty over. She had just given me an insight into what possibly could have been her own special identity and it's own terratory of which it belonged and had been nurtured. I imagined myself over and over, rudely waling out with my bag flung onto my shaulder in a flurry, sharp glances thrown difficultly in opposite narrow directions that meant nothing other than that i was afraid and stupid. Given a gift that i had not intook, shown appreciaton to in return and failing to absorb any benefit from in akwknowledging it.


I was taken to a massage parlour. From the beginning i was fairly nervous about the idea of removing my clothes before a complete stranger, as anyone would be, but decided it was a fear i had already mastered once and would gain nothing from letting it threaten me a second time. I was lead into a curtain enclosed area that was rather practical and basic looking with little imagination to it's decorative effect, and the young man that was to perform the massage (yes, difficulty of succuming to worst fears just multiplied) contently preparing his procedure tools in the corner as if he were a surgeon. My nerves began to swell, and i found it hard to look him straight in the face as i approached within the curtained area, this making me feel rude and opposing which made me feel even more uncomfortable. I told myself i would try and politely avoid contact of the eyes with this man to avoid uneeded awkwardness which my nerves were swelling in fear of becoming a reality. Of course i expected him to be a total professional and had every hope and expectation that he would go to extreme lengths to make me feel as confortable as possible, with being his job to do so and his pleasure for the participant he was about to perform his talents upon. So at first i don't get a great lok of him, or not of his face at least, not the essential detail you need to be able to recognise someone. He welcomes me with a polite professional smile, and i blink shyly, aughtomatically aware of how foreign, young and interesting looking he is in the breif moment i took to bless him with the prescnce of my eyes. He seems shy also, of which i can tell as soon as he speaks and handles his 'tools'. I wonder if this will contribute to awkwardness, as an unconfortable atmosphere can be crucially doubled if both people are feeling the same negative vibes, which makes everything twice as hard and long to get through. Luckily i didn't feel any further discomfort from the detection of his current body language. He was wearing light blue baggy trousers like a hospital nurse, and a tightish white top with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
I stood there, flicking my hair from my eyes, wrapping my arms loosely around my body protectively whilst trying to fix my concentrated gaze onto a particular something in sight that would make me appear sharper and hide my current mental uncertainty. I didn't get a good enough look to see the state of his hair but from what i gathered in the corner of my eye it was dyed black and sept back in some way, with a strand or two falling sharply down in front of his face. Sexy.
He told me he would leave me to unchange whilst he waited outside. I nodded politely and agreed, naturally, and watched him turn his back and concentrated intensely on him as he left the enclosed area.
I became increasingly nervous at the idea of taking of my clothes, and partly in fear that he would peep round the curtain at some point to see if i had undressed, not meaning in a perverse way. I was also scared, scared in the fear that i could be attracted to him, which would also increase discomfort for me. I firmly told myself that he was just a stranger who's personality did not mean a thing to me as he was here only to due his duty which was ironically relax me.
I forced my clothes off as quickly and discreetly as i could despite there being no one present but myself. i was still horridly aware of the young man outside, lurking around in patience, whatever his name was.
So there i now was, laying neatly on my back as he had suggested, completely in the nude other than a tiny white towel to cover my bare bum. I couldn't have been more conscious of myself at this point, and felt distroughtly uneasy about having to call him back through now my clothes had been removed. i tried my best to poistion myself in a way that would look the least strange or unusual to another person, even if it wasn't the most comfortable for me. What was Katrina up to?
I reluctantly called out 'i'm ready' as loudly as i imagined necassary, which still sounded daft despite briefly rehearsing in my head how i would come out wit it.
I heard him enter through the curtain. The lights were noticably dimmed, and a faint aroma which i had suddenly detected had emmerged.
'About time' The man said. I thought this a little rude of him, or even unproffesional, but he had said it with a joyous and shyly modest tone which suggested he was attempting to subtle the mood. I tried to laugh lightly, in akwnowledgmnt to what he'd said, embarassed by the time i'd taken to change.
I could feel, or rather imagine, either way unknowing, his eyes brurning into my turned back, identifying and speculating up an down my spine, my bare white thighs down to my dinky semi pointed feet. I had never been so aware of my own body, and i pulled awkward faces into my positioned arms, knowing he wouldn't see them.
I listened as he walked slowly towards me, wondering if he was going to try and make conversation. He hadn't said anything yet. I developed the curiously inspired urge to glance over at him casually, hoping that perhaps he wouldn't see. He did, and with a panicked smile at the idea of what he would think of me taking the effort to turn my head over to see him, i felt my face heat up, and thanked God i had luckily applied white face powder that day. Never the less, in that split second he caught my eye with a yet shy glance sweetly followed with a tender smile that was applied with such an unexplainable hidden warmth that simplified somehow everything which despite me feeling immediately uncomfortable, left me with what felt no less than graceful contemptment inside the alarming panicked area's in me as i quickly turned my head back around and swallowed.
As i had briefly looked over at him i noticed he was repeatedly applying some sort of oil or moisteriser onto a thin towel or flannel and applying it onto his sleeve rolled hands and arms. I hated the idea of him going to all the trouble to secure the fulfillment of my satisfaction and pleasure, even though i knew it was his job to do so. I just couldn't help feeling perverse, irrationally exposed, shamefully bare, the way mere young girls do when in the hands or occupance of shady male strangers. Should i have felt afraid or indecent? To close to a male assosiations of an innapropriate manner? Katrina had certainly given me no words to assure me otherwise. But then again, my paronoia seems to get the better of me. Perhaps it's time i treated it like a fear, and master it.
Oh but then i felt his cold hands pressing deep into my back shaulders, and oh, how different everything now became. They simply plunged softly into it, like a heavily sinking ship into a massacre seastorm wave. The luscious texture of his skin became encouragable, emmerging with delicate warmth progressing fastly into my body which would have produced from me some sort of gratifying moan as a result of my sudden rapid immense pleasure had i not contained myself to the light of awareness and stopped myself.
He continued to guard slowly and intensely down my spine, running his fingers smoothely throughout my skin like a current of deep waves, his rythm and expandation of preassure and release unattaining every thought and distraction witin my mind body and soul, pressing my fingers in pleasement, tightening my eyes and widening my mouth with his ability and skill.
Losing all physical awareness regarding paranoia, and being cheated into allowing him to attain complete empowerment over my bodily senses which were undoubtedly connecting rapidly to the senses within me, was what was being fortold in another language right now. A physical unspken in your face language, teeth grittingly clear in every perfection of it's fulfilment. This language, what it had most suddenly and delightfully become.
How i had allowed myself to grant someone such seemingly easy access over the connection toward my physical and innerly senses so quickly and with little effort to stop it? Well, it seemed undefiant and unheard of in the echo's of my purpose as a person, shameful for me to have been so weak. Somehow though, little of that was prying on my concerns at this point. I wasn't dramatically appaled at myself for having indulged a certain extent of unleashing enjoyment over the attempts of him, because i knew instantly that a large part of me wanted to be beaten from my supressment, discovered and glisteningly uncovered in all the glory of my pysical outlet, for the successor toindraw the gift of recievment to my beautiful bodily speech which i could not control any longer in this personal encloser.
How typically fantasist of me to conjure up such notions drawn from someone of which i hadn't even a decent memorable print of facial identity. I smiled, knowing how jelous Steph would be if she knew. If she would to be captured in such an unheard of expressive physical level she would not know how to handle her glee. Unable to contain her exitement, most likely, but i could, as the exitement energized from me was raw and bubbling like a heated grill burning from the pits of satans den, for they laid beneath cruel intentions of which i was able to mix with my successor at any time i pleased within the language we both shared.

That's when i'll be there
it's something we both share

What a wondeful gift it is, to share. To have the pleasure of baring something with another. It creates a mutual respect, an understanding. It brings you to accept thing's that your stubborness has blinded your bareness from mastering, and you have the joy of knowing the other person has understood the same happiness gained from what it is you have shared. To connect to another within experience or object. To share a language which no other understands. To understand and bind in communication with them, therefor developing the relationship of communicaters. Sharing an understanding, sharing an acceptance. Sharing a love amongst a community, when there are others who have been blinded by bad within no fault but their own weakness. To bond in knowledge of the same thing, searching for the same thing. The releif of knowing you are not alone, when there are others surrounding who bleed the same way you do.

He bleeds like me, but he is the only one bleeding.

I share only language, only knowledge understanding and communication. I have no interest in sharing my body, but to excorsie the language from it needed to sustain communication with an intruder intelligent enough to awaken it, is acceptable, even if their intention is of no good.







the distinction between lightness and darkness

the darkness
let me begin with the darkness. i never realised it clearly as i do now, having become accustom to ensighting thing's with a different perspective, but i always took for granted and mispercieved my dependency and reactive nature towards the darkness. This would just as much be subconsciously as consciously, as the temperature of light is something that tends to lurk in the shadows of my mind and what is centreing it. It is what is defining my outlook from my minds eye upon what is being envisioned by my imagination based on reality or idea. The darkness is beautiful, in a million different ways, and is what many see to be an aspect of fear, in which it has been greatly misunderstood. They imagine the darkness to be a useful home for unseeable identified dangers, awaiting patiently for their victims without concern of being discovered before their intention. I could learn to master my fears within time, as i see this as vital to spiritualism of any sort of which i wish to be interviened with and connected to wholey. You cannot enter a world unknown whilst still vulnerable and naked to risk of captivation by your weaknesses and doubts. Fears are another vital illusion to ensure our survival. If i simply become fully aware and appreciative of why my sense of danger instead of reacting to it's purpose to frighten me, then the effect may be enen more fulfilling and beneficial.
I read in a book somewhere of a spell you can perform to master your fears. I don't imagine i'd be skilled enough in those particular arts to perform that spell successfully yet, sadly. I hate to be realistic, but i know i'll learn, and patience is also vital to my training.
I see the darkness as more amazing than light. It gives me the oppurtunity to withdraw from the world and reconsider, reflect and concentrate, focus and observe, re enforce my powers and engage harmoniously back into the light whenever i am ready, if i wish to, which i always do. Now i understand so very obviously why exactly it is i like to sit in the dark with my blinds down and nothing other than the light reflected from the television glaring back at me. Sometimes not even with the volume up, just simply laying there in my pit. I know i hate the object of artificial light, but it can be influencing, if not anywhere near as empowering as the object of natural light, which is, an element of the earth and in my opinion one of the most beautiful aspects of the natural world. But yes, and even with my bedside lamp on [which must have a shade on it, and i never have the main lights on unless i'm modelling my clothes] i prefer it to be sitting on the floor, preferably behind my draws so i don't have to be glorified with a huge source of light beaming directly into my eyes from a lightbulb. I prefer it to be subtle and discreet, coming from somewhere in the shadows and just enough so that i can see what i am doing or reading and not have to feel paranoid. I could never settle or rest if the main lights were on, because they are so bright and so alarming that i aughtomatically feel as if the spotlight is on me and i need to cover up. If there was the possibility that i should be doing something of that i should be guilty of then i would be seen in all my completeness with no possible excuse, and that is why i prefer to remain in darkness, where i can be hidden and enclosed and given the oppurtunity of deciding how i shall portray myself once back in the light.
Utter darkness. As i mentioned earlier on, utter darkness attracts fear, concepts of fear and instinctions of danger. I am constantly trying to teach myself not to feel afraid and ignore the senses of danger when in darkness, because although it may feel lonesome, nothing has really changed from when the light were there, only the light has been taken away. Anyhow, i am at my best when alone. Nobody would admit this about me, or themselves.
Utter darkness is a wonderful place. It is not to be feared or negatively thought of. When you are asleep in the dark do you resent the closure of the blacknss that surrounds you? You feel protected and bound. Cealed from the eye of the world. I adore the centre stages of the night when i lay in my bed and feel the sheer moonlight softly enlayed upon me, upon the floor. Aside those beams of moonlight there is the darkness, and that is what make the combinment of the two so compelling and intruiging, especially witnessing it in your bare independent presence. The moon is a sacred source of spiritualism. An empowering divinity drawn by nature to enforceconnection and discovery to inferior lands. The moonstone has taken pride of place already in my neclace. As i have counted as a key guideline to my soul, follow your inner moonlight. My inner moonlight bares upon the highay to my home.

darkness is a subtle heaviness, calm with undistraction


the lightness
so much attention is drawn the the aspect of light. The fulfillment of light creates poisitve vibes within you, and is perhaps the reason why the christian religeon regard it as a source of completeness. Lightness gives you the full perspective of that which lays ahead of you and enables you to be guided and recieved by it to whichever diversion you choose to commit to. The light is the light. It can be supremely empowerful, and sometimes to strong. It can be so strong it may blind you and disfigure your vision, your clear perspective. Forced lightness, your bare self. In utter ligtness i feel naked, bare, inspected and judged. No choice but to be discovered and known for all that i am without myself. I am paranoid, and therfor shy. I want to hide away back into the corner where it is dark, where i am covered and protected and bound with my blanket of black. But then again when i am alon for to long, which isnt healthy, i want to retrieve back to the light, back where i can combine with the world for by this time i have spent enough time in the dark to have contemplated my desires thoroughly and therefor i am now ready having decided how i will present myself, how i want others to percieve me and when i am ready i shall return to my restoring pit.
This is usually how i treat the light. The sun emerges and iit lingers around in mid air for a while but it never stays to late and by the time it is setting i am breathing a sigh of releif, despite my beautiful day of being seen and observed, and i feel allas, athome, once again. The world is back the way it was meant, in darkness. In hiding. Wallowing in it's achievments and slowly preparing for the emerging day.
The lightness comes in another form. It is not so direct to explain in words, but is very much a fact as much as the visual temperature of light. You can feel as much in darkness in light as if you were in a pitch black room. If the sun was beaming down onto you, you could still feel as lonesome and untouched as you would in dark, depending on your state of emotions, state of beleifs and thought. A confused and impressonable world in your mind concieves a shade to your innerly perception, which reflects on your outwards perception. Although the sun glares direct to you, youcannot feel the warmth, the open space able of visuality surrounding you. It may mean nothing, for the turbulence of darkness in your heart is the object of your minds eye, and your outerly eye is not in order today.
I am not someone who can easily be distracted from a glaring beam of physical light, no matter how emotionally diverted i have become. I sense light and i appreciate it, i savour it as a gift just as much as dark. Light takes us from complete observation and challenges us to life, to being within practicalities and realities, to experience the ignition of the turning ruites and wonders of the world, to feel it's enwrapturment and glorify in it's flavour. To see, to hear, experience, there for feel and possibly understand having gained the experience. In lightness comes warmth, in gentle subtle light lightness, i become happy, content, at ease with the world if t is contently continuing to turn around me without directing all attention to me, which is very much to my distast. I appreciate the light when i have been misguided by darkness, to my own fault of not having thoroughly enough taught myself to become adapted to it and it's concepts. To draw me from pain and misery and focus my energies towards positivity and fulfillment and disfigure and inignite the negative energies that have somehow become infectious to me. Being in the mere lightness after darkness can be pleasing and satifactory. After sitting with observment within darkness i have been granted with much gratifiance, the time i wish to compell an understanding and knowledgable gaining from the art and beauty drawn within the light, there for recieving what i wish to know in order to be fulfilled once ready to step back into the light and achieve my goals attained for my activation within the light, combined with it's empowering force to enlighten me with it's strength, as does darkness.



lightness is defiant heaviness, immense with heated awareness


OUTSIDE N INSIDE

Distinction Between Outside and Inside


I realised something els today that relates closely to my personal distinction of and between lightness and darkness. The fact that i prefer to be indoors than outdoors. Being close to fresh air and the life of nature is very important to me, but being so exposed to the outer world is not something i can be completely comfortable with all of the time, where as if i am inclosed within walls within all capability of windows to view the outer stauts opf the universe if i wish then i am not vilnerable to the exposure of the danger that lays on the outside and there for i can have that assurance that i am safe at least from the bestowment of the eye of the world. To remain indoors i can breath without the burden of worry and concern as to being judged or observed negatively by the world, which is something i try hard not to dwell on but i know entirely that when i am anxious or insecure this will effect me to any considerable ammount. I can see now, and because i can see i am in full acceptance, that i am afraid of the exposure to the light and to the outside world, because the vulnerability built through years of increasing insecurity through adolescence has made me adjustable and reactant wheather i like it or not, to the opinion and judjment of others. This may only occur when i doubt myself most and accept others as stronger or btter than me, but on the occasiosn when i truly feel this way it will damage me. The eyes, ears and other, will damage me when i am at my lowest, weather i believe it to be just or not. I cannot help the insecurity of my heart, and nor can i do anything more than to rebuild it at it's own pace back to some restorment of confidence that will make me strong enough to pass by the critisism of others. I can only try. Untill then, i am remeniscent indoors of my wonders of the outside, and how my attempts to attain it in full strength will turn out, weather it be within positive or negative enegery.
Outside, i am vulnerable to the cold air and have no certainty of how i shall react to the energy weilded towards me. Because of the fact that this energy could contain anything of that of a high power to my reactions, i cannot be sure i am safe and so i want only to retern indoors before the damage can be done.
I have the assurance that inside i am warm, that i am guarded and danger of exoposure is not a possibility. I am protected, but i know that i cannot always be. Nor do i want to be. But i am afraid of how i will judge myself with the way i react to bad energy. I am afraid that i will let me down with my weakness of the incapability to defend myself.

The speaking words of our inner passage is simply our spirits interacting with physical language. Everything is a balance of lightness and darkness.








The Gig

Having never been to an actual gig before i was excited and a touch out of place mentally over certain thing's of minor importance such as how i would get out of the crowd to go to the toilet if needed or what times to stand up and wave arms eratically in the air and weather i were to be crushed by the forthstanding moshers. Me and Steph had been waiting a hefty hour or so in the queue, now i listened absorbingly to the howling crowed as we emerged to our seats, the hungry feirce crowd entilating around me, enforcing the room with its growth and expantion, immensing it to a pit of lusterous immensity. I wanted to crawl with guarded elbows sheltering me to my claimed liare of a seating, intruded and currupted viciously by the consequenses basking from the violent eccilerations of the almighty raverous beastly massacre around me. I yearned in the love of an image, an attractive portrayal, of a protective area of hiding where i should snug neatly in place of to contervate an interveining observation of a musical performance that would hail the earths judging by the wrath of the currently implied beats thumping through the room like the wings of a clockwork helocopter. I encircled my eyes suspiciosly as i felt the energy fall around me and throughout every live soul present. A musically instored connection handed temptuously to a pleading endorsing crowd eager for the satisfaction they had come for to secure their impulsive passionate lust for a fix, distilled segments of immortality brought to life by adrenalin, eternally decoradized in their memories to comemorate yearnings and pangs in time to come for an energized rush that could only be murmoured from sleep once an immense massacre of others like you have gathered in endless undying eagerness for the same thing.
Now here i sat amongst the gathering, with my little melo dramatic mind, wanting so brutally to cave my cheeks into my knees and protect myself from the raving beats and the bellowing vibrations of sound.
The light's began to flicker hard, and the crowds howls of impatience intensified to a roar of gratiance. They leaped from their seats, flinging their bare vintagedly accessorized arms into the air. I persevered with the current happening, awaiting a chance to inspect what was taking place to cause such an erruption.
Steph limply clipped my arm, her head diverted highly and intruigely above the crowd, amident and determined as she was never to miss a thing.
''Theyr're on!'' She cried, grinning in delight without baring a moment to withdraw the stage frame from her gaze.
I squinted unconfortably at the sudden engorment of painful racket, ''Already?''
I wasn't sure if she had heard me, as she didn't reply for a moment or two.
''Nah, the backing band. They always come first. This one are corrupt.''
I nervously stood up to join her, curbing my way smongst the rapid clashing of surrounding elbows and arms and defiant screams. Despite the show being loud, the crowd were not quite as eretically charged as they could have been, and some were not even stood up. Steph appeared to be mightily absorbed, yet in a strainable manner as if she were throwing her fascinations at any form of carnage in reachable distance.
I got a good few sights of the front band, who were heavily melodic in their ability to entertain. The lead singer crashed and grinded viciously about the stage with a guitar, seething grated lyrics down into an ever collapsing mic. I couldn't make out a word, just noise, but i assumed the crowd either knew the words already or simply didn't care what they were as long as they could endorse themselfes vigorously about the room to a sequence of mind throbbing rythm. Their way of letting go, i detected. I tried hard not to let the atmosphere divert my senses of realistic aknowledgement. I looked at the girls and the guys with faces of glee as they pounded with a hope in their heart fit to burst through their chests. The front band had been on stage, quite entertainably, for a few songs now. The lead guy had paused between songs and muttered a few conversive sentences to the audience. You could feel the hunger energizing strongly in an intense balance throughout them, and they began to chant the name of the emmerging band. The band they hungered for, the band they were compelled to visualize in the flesh and retrieve almighty adrenalin from.
The backing band gratifiantly dissapeared in a flurry of darkness. They enclosed their performance with a distant bang which hesitated the crowds reflex balance, and then they were gone. The stage hummed, and the air filterated with smoke. Stage frost fo some sort, generated by filters in the lights, which continuously flickered every milo metre of a second to entune the dramatic atmosphere.
I listened, compelled, as the crowed screamed like they hadn't done before that night, arising from their seats like an errect build up of cherubs fatalized by execution. Steph grabbed my hand and squeezed it with an force, unlike before, her eyes gifting me with all but a moments observation from the stage, where the main band were about to emerge.
''Oh my God, theyre here! Amelie theyre on!''
I noticed how Steph's eyes widened in utter amazment, and experienced a brief wonder of how fond she really was of this band. Anyhow, byt this point i was capturvated by the stage, and the journey to becoming seethed into a curruptive endless entirity encircling around me was almost complete. And when the lead singer of the main made his entrance, kept calm and walked soundly to the mic, i was unable to completely identify what it was this entire happening was mercilessly slaying fuel from, but i was fastly falling in lust with every moment indrawing me as a part of it's completeness.

when i was little i used to drea of a man. No not a wedding like the others i dreamed of an actual man unlike them all. He was no prince charming, the complete opposite. Instead he was a perfect image of organized chaos, of turbulant sophistication and eretic calmness, a shy hooded genuius with many hidden depths that only i held the key to unleach, there for he would have no choice but to be drawn to me by destiny in hope of ever becoming free. That's if he wasn't in denial about his locked away treasures, perhaps some that seemed not so golden in that they had brutally carved his resulting identity. The identity being not his true self and seemingly simply but oh so complicatedly a mere shell guarding and preserving his inner truth that
the crual influences of life had mentally enforced him to withold and prevent from ever surficing an approach to the curious eyes of the bare and critical world
and such forth
this was the man. Bare and stripped to my critical eye, down to every last truth. Or so in my personal area of fantasy that was corrupted scorchinly from the force of adrenalin at almost every last point of the show.
When he pounced onto the stage in his white hoody and drainpiped leg wear i had no idea of who he was or what he sounded like, only the brief cloudy insighted description that Steph had granted me with words that would unlikely braze anyones imagination in comparison to the true reality of it.
When you think of a rock concert you just imagine it as how it is in those television clips. A fun rave from the insight of a camea, but in life it was all truths of the universe smiling into one room and creating the united atmosphere of a passionate bond. Energized and inflicted, a time and place where everyone would forget about the daily reactions to life they performed and be unenhanced and stripped bare to their ultimate desires to feel and be the way they pleased and with no care or nerving towards the opinion of any other. Basically, the energy progressing throughout the room like a bolt of lighting was obvious as soon as your feet entered the building. The lightly assembled closure of air, the tuning of fellow screams and cries for the same thing, the feeling of belonging, counting, of having no restrictions to be something that enclosed who you were. No preassure, only viborous encouragement to bound yourself within the 'whole' immesing rapidly around you like a tribe of love.
And, him, the lead singer of Morbid. A pulse racing nerve trembling form of a guy, hooded and masked with make up, natural looks to disfigured with pressed powder for me to detect in any recognizable detail. I was also a good few feet away from the stage, with Steph, despite being fairly close.
The other band members were gethered around him. One on guiter, standing near behind, the other two on bass and drums at the back. Each of them were dressed like the lead singer, but not as effective and unique. The lead singer was dressed in white, and whose outfit was completely skin hugging much to the pleasure of the bisexuals and other unleashed adolescents around. The rest of the band were covvered in dark vintage, wearing similar make up and basking in their own glory in the shadows.
I felt Stephs hand once again, and ths time it squeezed ever so tightly, so much that if my hand had been a throught it would have resulted in a painful fast death of whomever it belonged. Her eyes glowed, and her smile was immense. I was, however, to heavily sidetracked heavily by the band to pay much observment to her but I heard her mutter something about his name throughout the corruptive wave of pounding crowd screams. She said his name was Owen something, then something about how talented he was.
Well, however talented this particular musician was, i certainly was inncapable of recognizing it much vocally at this point, as so far all i could thoroughly make out was a string of lyrics defined from a noise so loudly clicked with the sound of the crowd. The crowd soon quietened down to observe in full effect, watching and listening in gawmless anticipation for the gimmick line of the current song.
The lead 'Owen' guy, began to head bang and viciously monoover himself with applaudable poise about the stage, forcefully manhandling the mic with his black finger cutted gloved hands before seething the sound of his voice into it lustfully asthough it were the object of his desire. I only just began to listen, for the very first time that night with utter clearance, to his voice. His soft sensual baby toned voice that i and any other girl would instantly want to mother and tuck up snugly with at night in bed and treasure like the light melodies of an angleic cherub. It writhed my engaging spirit and commenced it to my conscious instincts, leading me to a melting reaction, leaving me breathless neither wanting nor capable to express myself any further with words or thought at the second of realizing it. Yes, i was drawn to it, and yes, i wanted to be closer, nearer, more connected physically to the band, the music, to everything combined to enfuse this energy present.
Steph hadn't let go off my hand, and by this time she had pulled me from my seat, grated me with force throughout the rampageous captivated audience like a confused dart, and hauled me way up front into the mosh pit with her. At first i didn't realise what she had done, especially as she had flung me a few paces in front of her into within a tight fix of even more violently raving teens. I had just been going with it, but now i felt i couldn't breathed. Trapped, enclosed and robbed of my emotionally securing area by a downpour of angry wild boars.
I felt the current song finish with an abrupt and titilating end. It was accompanied by another, and another. Diminishing an entire album of songs untill i was reformed and combound with transic electrcity, fulfilled and reactive to the megnetic infectious thrall it captured me with, out of my control, beyond reach of succession.
All the succession now belonged to the man on stage. He ad earned it.