A brief visual history of my life.

I don’t really know what to talk about. I normally have an idea of what I might talk about but today has been a bit of a blank day. I’m very tired so that’s probably not helping either.

I took me ten minutes to come up with the first lines of this blog. That’s not good. I have such a taste of blood in my mouth it’s getting very irritating I bit the inside of my lip and it’s been bleeding for a while now. I usually like the taste of blood I don’t know why, I like sucking cuts and stuff but when its lingering it’s just not the best.

I was thinking a bit today about relationships, I was sitting on a bench outside the toilets of St.Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre and the old gentleman in my picture came out of the toilet and waited for his wife over at the window. She was gone for a while, he stood and waited for her without turning around once to see if she was coming out he just waited. My brother was there with me and commented on how he was dressed, he was very sharp he was quite old late 70’s I’d say. We both like to see older people take care of themselves and dress well. He just waited for her looking out the window. I sat looking at him as my brother talked away about him and the other people around us. I decided to take a photo of him. I don’t know if I ever want to be the person that waits for someone else or the person who is waited on. I haven’t felt like wanting someone in my life like that for a long time now. I don’t know what I like in a person that causes me to be attracted to them really, I know I like argumentative people, but I am an argumentative person too so relationships don’t normally work out very well. Something just clicks in me when I meet a person I want to be with and that hasn’t clicked in a long time. I sabotage myself, I look for things in people to make me dislike them. I don’t like to lose people from my life so I guess if I don’t get anyone new and try my hardest to keep the ones I have I’ll be happy. I think everything that lingers in the one place too long becomes stagnant. I don’t want to be that way. I don’t want to be just with one person just in one job just have one purpose in life I want it to be eventful with new experiences. Tho saying that I want new experiences to be with old friends. I want to spend my time with them. The people I have in my life now are wonderful and I am so privileged to have them.

I don’t want to wake up some morning and have a bitter taste in my mouth because I lingered too long. I want it all to be fresh and new.

This was a story about a girl who could find infinite beauty in anything, any little thing, and even love the person she was trapped with. And i told myself this story until it became true. Now, did doing this help me escape a wasted life? Or did it blind me so I didn't want to escape it? I don't know, but either way I was the one telling my own story...

I'm sat here the past few minutes thinking up an opening for this blog but I guess there is no real way to start it and it may be best to just let it flow.I've never deemed sex or intimacy as an enjoyable or exciting experience in fact it doesn't sway me at all.In turn I think I put this down to something that happened to me at a young age something I think is best kept under wraps but the best way to explain it is in simplest terms someone who loves you shouldn't cause you harm,right?

I never thought much of my personal experience it was something I forgot about pushed back to the very corner of my mind concealed in cobwebs I never thought it was a wrong doing,as I got older and sexual relationships occurred it came to a head if I touched myself I'd lay there after I climaxed and think "What was the point of that?"If a boy touched me in an inappropriate place I felt uncomfortable almost ill.I never get crushes I'm never physically attracted to someone like your average love-lorn teenage girl I get this strange magnetic feeling towards the opposite sex a feeling I cant explain but I know its their pull thugging on the strings that bind my heart.This time last year I told someone for the first time my ordeal I felt comfort in him I'd lay on his chest and his scent felt like home "Where as a child I'd hide and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by".I felt love for him I mean every fibre of my being craved him.I'd close my eyes and every inch of him I saw perfectly his forlorn eyes parted mouth coarse beard.He was the only boy to have ever seen my body stripped bare nothing but my pride to cover my embarrassment.He betray my trust loved me wrong hurt me to the point I'm inconsolable due to his loss.I mean why would someone sleep with another when they have someone who gives them their heart and soul,did he have a longing for someone else did I not satisfy him.The first time I found out our relationship was still somewhat stable still loving I forgave him although my stomach was in ropes every time I thought of him with her my eyes welled up we got on with things it was forgotten but it never felt the same anymore he grew distant sometimes late at night he would hold me and rub the bridge of my nose I sometimes saw the boy I adored but he was never fully there I missed him the most when we were closest.And it’s not “clever lonely” like Morrissey or “interesting Lonely” like Radiohead it’s “lonely, lonely,” like the way it feels when you’re being hugged by someone and it somehow makes you sadder.Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.

If you were a dog,they would have drown you at birth.

As you enter the tunnel, the wind gets sucked away, and you squint from the lights overhead. When you adjust to the lights, you can see the other side in the distance just as the sound of the radio fades to nothing because the waves just can't reach. Then, you're in the middle of the tunnel, and everything becomes a calm dream. As you see the opening get closer, you just can't get there fast enough. And finally, just when you think you'll never get there, you see the opening right in front of you. And the radio comes back even louder than you remember it. And the wind is waiting. And you fly out of the tunnel onto the bridge. And there it is. The city. A million lights and buildings and everything seems as exciting as the first time you saw it.

And I swear in that moment we were infinite.

slowly downward

We loved each other so much that sometimes it hurt, even when we were close. I wanted to be her and she wanted to be me. Sex never felt complete, and afterwards we talked carelessly about easy subjects to avoid discussing the ache that bruised us both. So one day, in the kitchen, she cut me and I cut her; gently, slowly, too easily. It was the knife we used for onions and our tears were painful but expectant. We dripped the blood into coffee mugs, then bandaged up and went to bed. We fucked and there were stars but we saw different constellations.
The next day the blood was dry and rusty in the mugs. We scraped it diligently onto sheets of paper. We looked at each other silently and lowered our heads to snort each other's dust. Afterwards we both carried a pouch of powdered blood, and when we were low and apart we would retire to a restroom and sniff, sniff, sniff.
Oh my darling, we went on and on. Our blood was there always, red and viscous, burnt ochre and blowaway. My blood in your nasal membranes, filtering into your capillaries, finding its inexorable way to your heart. Your blood. My nose. My heart. We belonged to each other and we had made our love tangible, real; something that could be weighed and consumed, taken and enjoyed.
It wasn't a surprise when we used the scalpel to shave flesh from each other's upper arms. We dried the flesh, though it was difficult to dessicate it completely. We used the airing cupboard. The powdered flesh was better ; cocaine to blood's speed.
Did it end badly? Did we go too far? Was our love replaced or deleted by want or need? In losing ourselves in each other did we lose the essence in ourselves that the other loved? Did time simply bore us with its slow wearing-down? I have no answers to any of those questions. But now, sitting here in the kitchen, I admit I am scared of the knife, that I can't dig deeply enough to draw blood, that I will have nothing in the morning but red, raised scratches on my arm. I don't want her to cut me.
Did we kill each other, or are we living happily; but only as happily as you are?

I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn’t try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.

My mood swings.
Today has been lonely I occupied myself with meaningless activities.