12.00pm on 30th Jan

Prescot

2010-07-04T03:27:00.000-07:00

Finished university with a mid 2:1, left my home of two years, my first home with mark, my main home away from home. Now living in prescot with a family with no money, which I have neither as jobs are few and far between and when they do arise and I apply for them but I don't get interviews.

Mark is moody and so am I. We are finding it increasingly difficult to find a place to live with our two other friends and to top it all off I had a lingering mind blurring cold for the past three weeks.

This is one of the bottom positions. The low points, the shitty moments in my life when the only thing I can do to releave my fustration and desperation is to write it. But I don't want to put it into a story in a blog, my stories have become far too long to put into blogs.

What is an acceptable job for a writer to do? What enables the writer to be freely creative and have time to concentrate, whilst enjoying a paying job?
Librarian or postman/woman would be nice. Always being around words and letters would hopefully inspire you.
Any line of work you do there are always going to be characters lurking amoung the faces.
Even if you were packing boxes of jam, there'd still be a lot of time to develop a story in your head.

I've deviced two stories since I've been in prescot. Its the only thing that is working at the moment. My imagination is soaring. Which is good I suppose, there is always something good to come out of the huge pile of stinking crap!

Sod it

2009-11-14T05:20:00.000-08:00

When one is ill they have to make the most of it. So inbetween the bouts of vomit I have re drafted my two univeristy poems.
I am also craving a cigarette, but need to buy tobacco, which means smoking out of mine and marks last six pounds this week for food and venturing into the rain.

Which I can not bring myself to do, so I suppose writing poetry can help with addicts restraint as well.

The first one is losely based around my mum. Who may not be a hypercondriac but certainly takes a lot of medicine. The second is losely based on Y Not festival that I went to in the summer. We didn't fall over in front of a group of people and get offered brandy (shame) but the rest happened.

Hypercondriac

Rifling mums bag for a rizla
I find layers of pill packets with
little bulges one side
tinfoil on the other.
Zirtek and Paracetamol
evening primrose for periods
diocalm for dodgy digestion
brendroflumethiazide
for blood pressure
and epilim for her epilepsy.
A small air tight container
with cod liver oil for fish frail bones
and vitiamin C for colds.
A tub of vaseline for worry lines
and a watch ticking away the minutes.

Festival

We sail past the security guard who looks like Elvis
hands paddle either side of an abandoned lilo
which we travel on through watery mud.
He stares while we wave wrist bands and
say goodbye.

Later on my welly boots once green now mud, trudge
through crowds of wet pissed people
drinking in the naked boys
who slip and slide on their beer bellies
through the ooze.
I am holding up a friend
who wants that man
with the leopard skin hands
to give her more speed.

We avoid more of the tents
guys ropes catch our feet
we plunge face first into the squelch.
The stages are empty of sound
only the shouts from alcohol remain
and the group circled under a marquee
tight with conversation
who laugh when we fall.
Instead of a hand they offer us brandy
It burns my throat
I finish the bottle.

I wake up
in a tent that's gone stale
like the hard crust of sick on my chin.
Sun's shining in, hot boxing the tent
zip won't work
rip it,
wellys on again.

Tight

2009-10-29T06:20:00.000-07:00

My shoulders are so tight and stressed I'm in a lot of pain. Sitting in LJMU's library. There is some tart listening to the same shit fucking song very loudly on her skinny ipod.
I've plugged my ears into Mark's. Mr E is comforting me now with his words of charming wisdom.
My eyes are blurry because I'm so tired, my whole body aches because I climbed up two large hills to find magic mushrooms yesterday. Only a couple were found only to be squashed and unidentiable in our pockets.

I just saw giant land snails. I loved them. I wanted to stay with them forever. You know how old lonely women have cats. I'll have fucking giant snails. GIANT!

There is so much to do and I'm totally unable to think or try to do it. Instead I have taken the advice of my mother and written a blog.

I should be writing my short story, poems, preparing my poetry presentation and making and outline of what I want to do in my univeristy project...

Poetry Presentation: Me and Baynton (who I have just spent a glorious three days with in stunning Aberstwyth) are going to be cats having a conversation. It will require acting skills and be dark humoured.

Univeristy Project: Go into a local merseyside school. Run a writing/music workshop to do with bees dying out. Get them kids aware and let them express their creative minds. (Hopefully will bw mixed with pro active fun).
NEED TO: Get a certificate saying I'm not a peaodphile.

Poems: Work on my festival poem - less cliche.
Work on dirty poem - extend that metaphor.

Short Story: Type it up and finish the fucking thing. Send into workshopping for tuesday. (re draft and submit In The Red Short Story..)

I think that's it.

Keep a level head.

Ignore the pain...for now...until the first counselling session at three.

Sausage hand

2009-10-25T06:27:00.001-07:00

I realise it has been an age.
I just read back the former poems I wrote and they are shit. Self indulgent, uninteresting badly structured shit.
To find no one had said anything I'm not suprised, but this isn't a feel sorry for myself message.

This is a new leaf.

Since my last post I have actually been going to univeristy and not moping around men. I got married and live with the emotional mess now. How ever many problems we share with each other we have good times and love each other as well.

I'm finding I'm more of a short story writer. I love them, the raw meat of writing. Yet I still love reading poetry (John Agard and Jackie Kay are particular loves right now) I don't feel so inspired to write poetry until I'm feeling depressed.

Short stories on the other hand I'm constantly working on a couple at a time. Found the wonder of Alice Monroe, been catching up on Chekhov and always enjoy a bit of Zadie Smith. Now in the process of reading Saki and Maugham <- is that how it's spelt? No idea.

Here is one of the pieces I have been working on. AND remember it is still a work in progress, there are bits that need tweeking.

SAUSAGE HAND

Three plump sausage were placed on the table where his fingers should be. Reaching for a pen he drew with the other five fingered hand nails at the top of them. All he needed now was a needle and thread. His mother's sewing box was next to him.
Doctors were baffled when he was born with only a thumb and little finger on his left hand. They jibed his mum with questions, had she smoked during the pregnancy, taken drugs, drunk? And she answered coldly, no.
Everyday someone looked at his hands with a wide eyed fascination or a sick curdle in their attempted smiles. Even Mr Walton next door who had know his all his life would grimace at his hand.
His year six SAT's where starting that day. His only hope was that the bullying would die down. He wanted good results and he couldn't do that crying in the toilet.
He didn't mind the pain as the needle went through the top of his knuckle. He'd get used to it. When he got home he could take them out.
His mum said he was perfect the way he was. She had never been disappointed or upset with him. She said he was brave baring other peoples problems.
He hoped she wouldn't see what he was doing. She'd be disappointed then.
He pushed the needle through the first sausage, its tight skin popped. The point went back through his knuckle. He pulled tight on the thread. Blood snaked down his arm.

important faces

2008-03-05T03:40:00.000-08:00

These are the important faces to me, I love all of them
Family, friends from uni and back home.

ready to be happy

2008-03-05T03:36:00.000-08:00

empty cleanliness
empty bed open to suggestion
once again we are strangers
I am strangled by the truth
Bubble of thought
Boiling emotions
They steam up my glasses
Sobering up, not happy
Ready to move on
Ready to be happy

my goodness

2008-02-26T05:23:00.000-08:00

It has been a while since I last wrote a blog, the things that have happened in the past week have been emotional, now all being resolved, I can move on with my life and look positively at the future. This world is too short to just cry all the time, I feel so good for reasons of my own, lets hope that this will stick and not fade.

Me and the dangle boy have split, there is a time and place for love and two people who are willing to work with each other and find a balance, I was sure our relationship was this, but I know he didn't. One day we will find someone else to deal with our imperfections. I have no lasting hatreds of him I just know now it wasn't the time for a relationship. Big changes in our lives, big dreams which don't fit together, drunken nights of stupidity and you get disaster.

It's human thing right?

Today I will get a job, I won't take no for an answer, it will be a good day possibley ending in getting wrecked again tonight, fantastic!

Firstly job though...then the world is my oyster.

winchester

2008-02-13T08:51:00.000-08:00

cloudless blue the sky remains
A winter sun on our faces
no wind to speak of
no rain to feel on our skin

The weather has been beautiful. Strange I remark on the weather here before I remark on times I have had. Maybe because it is the strangest thing compared to liverpool, the times I have had are fun, but so far much the same as the times I have in Liverpool, drunken nights and lots of friendly equally fucked people. Another difference is I am with my Snake bear man.
We told each other what animals we were yesterday while watching family guy, I am apparently a lema/sloth. I feel quite honoured by this because it is better than a goat which has embarressingly been another likeness to me in the animal kingdom. I am apparently also a tapir when it comes to my face.
Please dear readers don't judge him he means no harm when it comes to descriptions of me. He thinks it is cute...??
I will load up images of what we have done at a later date. I can say we have explored all the regions of Winchester, nature beauty and wildlife.
I realise since being here I miss the scenery, I miss trees, I miss grass, the sun. I wish we had this on our doorsteps in liverpool, but we just have large concrete buildings, empty grey skies and no foliage. Winchester is peaceful, friendly, clean and naturally stunning.

I am at the moment being diverted by craigs bendy bits, don't worry he is a dancer and is warming up his muscles infront of me i.e. cheast stands, feet over head, splits, macdonalds M. All sorts of those things. very impressive very hard to do and all quite engrossing to watch.

I could watch him doing these things the rest of my life.

My little limber snake bear...

Amanda Dalton and her nest poems

2008-02-08T06:20:00.000-08:00

For poetry we had to study a verse of poems by Amanda Dalton. She writes about this newpaper clipping she had kept for a long time about a woman who was jilted at the wedding alter and went insane. She decided to build a nest in the garden and didn't leave it for 30 years. She had her wedding presents still in their boxes hanging from the trees in pink ribbon.
Likely causes of death were malnutrition and hyperthermia. It is a fancinating read and I advice it to everyone.

Being inspired by this I found a couple of copys of the independant in my room and cut out every article that was intersting to me. Maybe I could link them together and make a story, maybe I could write a set of poems like Amanda Dalton did.

Also on reading her verse of poems I felt a powerful sting of emotion run through me and I felt like I wanted to do the same intense lust she must of had to write about a relationship of that tragedy. I want to do the same while my lover is away exploring the country in it's beauty and wonder. I want to write a set of poems about the feelings I seem to be going through, they are hard and painful but it seems to be ok when I write about them.

coping without him

2008-02-07T03:01:00.000-08:00

The seasons change their name
The world stays the same
It’s only peoples lives which change
I will always love you
As destiny moves you place’s
I’ll stay by you forever
As destiny carries you away
I remain here alone

I feel lost
I feel scared
I feel sadness whelming in my life,
The waves crash in my head
The tears rise in my throat
Whatever happens I remain waiting
Waiting for you

Until you decide we must be together
Finally a resolution in my life
I must try to make those days pass quicker
Filling my life with things that take my thoughts away from you
As the days without you pass
The pain will be less

We had plans
We had dreams
They have been pushed back
They have been replaced

You must pursue your dreams
So shall I
We will do this alone
Without each other
I imagined I would be with you
Fulfilling each other’s dreams
This will be
But not for years

So as the seasons change their names
We will stay the same
Locked in our caged thoughts
Until we meet again.

oh many titles...mainly pepper

2008-02-04T08:05:00.000-08:00

I have contemplated many things for this blog, but I am drawn between proving my university friends wrong when they say I wouldn't write a blog about peppers or writing about mine and Craigs conversation earlier involving mayonassie, I feel it would be inappropriate to recall any words used in said conversation so I choose the peppers and thus prove university friends wrong.

Where to begin? what could possibly be said about peppers?

So dubbed the creative hippy in my group (I resent being called a hippie!) I had the piss taken out of me when they had found out I was writing a blog...they study such things as history, accountancy or work at tescos...umm I find none of these things thrilling or exciting in anyway, but they are all a bunch of lovable fools and we all seem to have the passion of holyoaks, drinking loads and taking the piss out of each other, or just me...

The pepper comes in many forms. I know not how the conversation of peppers and my blog came into the same sentence but it was over dramatised by my misunderstanding of which pepper Sean was talking about. I was convinced it was the colourful vegtable peppers we get in super markets, which are also known as bell pepper, but instead it was the granuals of pepper one may put on any dish to compliment their food. Uninteresting this may seem, but it is how I seem to get my inspiration these days, I cock up a sentence I write something about it...umm maybe I should go out more?

As I read on the internet about the exciting world of peppers, I find that you can get a spicy type of pepper where the seeds are pink, pepper also seems to be rather a popular name for musicians to use in their music and as their names. Red hot chilli peppers, 'pepper song' by the Butthole Surfers (infact one of my favourite bands), Pepper Keenan, Art Pepper. Pepper is a warm up excerise in vollyball and baseball and let us never forget that sweet cherry tasting drink, Dr Pepper!

This has only been a short insight into the world of pepper and its many uses in our day to day life. Let it never be said again that I won't write something to prove a point. We all now know it is a lost battle to anyone who challenges me...

This is what you get

2008-02-02T11:49:00.000-08:00

'For a minute I lost my self, I lost myself'

Radiohead is not the best thing to listen to when you are already depressed but for some reason it is also quite comforting knowing there is someone else out there who feels the same way you do.
God bless Thom Yorke.

One of those days you pass out at 7am and then wake up with a painful head and grumbling stomach at 3pm. The rest of the day passes much the same as when you woke up but if someone graces you with their company then it is a score because you can talk and avert your mind from the terrible truth that you are very unfortunately hungover,

'Still cries at a good film,
Still kisses with saliva'

While lying on your bed watching the pretty pictures on the screen you understand that there is no one to blame apart from yourself for feeling like a pile of shit.
Anti social behaviour is a must on these occassions, you just want the day to end, but you can't let yourself sleep at 8pm because that would just be a sin, especially on a saturday night.
You question to how everyone is going out after the night before, but you don't care because your not and thats all that preys on your mind. Should I go out and get once again drunk and hungover? Or should I stay in the warmth and peace? Before your head decides for you, your eyes start to close and open lazily and you start to dream of how tomorrow might be better, at least you wont be hungover and depressed.

Its the first day of my life and I will live it honestly and sensibley. What a wonderful thought, shame it never lasts...

drunk at six half in the morning

2008-02-01T22:22:00.000-08:00

when you see your boyfriend with loads of other girls on the other side of the planet dancing and hugging and being lovely towards each other, you only think, is he for me? well fuck it I love craig, drunken arsehole that he is, but I know he loves me, so it is fine. I accept that he is a foolish man and I am his foolish woman. That's my craig..,silly tart but I REALLY DO LOVE HIM. oh well who said it was going to be easy? just accept audience...

Toy yard

2008-01-31T05:19:00.000-08:00

Suffolk girl sits on her bed watching shit tv, she has a needle in each hand and attempts to remember how to knit hand warmers with thicker yarn and needles than she needs. She sighs every so often when she gets it wrong and unpulls the already knitted piece. Irish man walks in, his black hat is permently stuck to his head and his beard is always neatly shaven. She looks up at him and smiles.

Suffolk: Hay what's the craic?

Irish: Nothing much, you?

Suffolk: Oh just getting aggrivated as per usual! I can't remember how to knit these gloves.

Irish: You knit gloves?

Suffolk: Well no not really, they are hand warmers

He chuckles to himself

Irish: What's the difference like?

Suffolk: One goes over...

Irish: You know I dont actually care!

Suffolk: I don't care I'm going to tell you anyway

Irish: Alright

Suffolk: Well you did ask me!

Irish: Ok pet, do you have any filters while I listen to this amazing explaination

Suffolk girl chucks the filters at him, he displays a cheeky smile, she isn't put off, he concentrates on the cigarette he is rolling and takes no notice of her babble on.

Suffolk: One goes over your hands, one goes over your hands and fingers, then you have mittens which go over both but aren't so...

Irish: Yeah yeah I know what mittens are

He chuckles again

Suffolk: I had to make sure, you are quite foolish sometimes

He looks offended it is the first time he lifts his gaze from the cigarette

Irish: I could have called you something a lot nastier

Suffolk: I'm fine without!

He picks up the biggest knitting needle in the basket and starts playing with it. Spinning it around his hand then poking her with it

Suffolk: Quit it

Cheshire lass walks in, she is wearing her hair down she always looks clean and fresh, Suffolk didn't remember the last time she saw her look rough.

Cheshire: Hello sweetie

Cheshire lass looks at Suffolk Girl. She looks at Irish man, then ruffles his hair

Cheshire: Hello pet

He smiles giddily.

Suffolk: Hay what's up?

Cheshire: Nothing much just wondering what your all doing tonight?

Suffolk: Nothing much, you?

Cheshire: Thinking about drinking

Suffolk: Solid idea

Cheshire lass walks over to the shelves on the far corner of the room and picks up the my little pony standing on the shelf.

Cheshire: I have one of these

Suffolk: I know I think they should be lovers

Cheshire: Mine's a girl too though

Suffolk: They can be lesbian lovers it's fine

She laughs and starts to brush it's hair. In that moment Cheltnham lad walks in with Norwich boy. They look stunned to all the people in suffolk girls small smelly room.

Suffolk: Hello pickles, whats the craic?

Cheltnham: Nothing much, we where thinking about having a drink down head of steam.

Cheshire: Yeah that sounds cool

Irish: Who else it with you?

Norwich: We said we would meet some people down there to play pool.

Suffolk: Whats going on tonight?

Cheltnham lad picks up the untuned gitaur, he carries a thick head of hair, while Norwich lad has a skin head. Norwich lad picks up the tamborine and starts to make a disjointed beat, Cheltnham boy begins to strum a scratchy melody. Irish man is still twirling the needle, Cheshire lass is still brushing the pony's hair, the shit tv is still playing, everyone is slightly engrossed in their new found toys. The Cheltnham boy snaps us from his gaze on the gitaur and says

Cheltnham: Right whose coming

Suffolk: You going now?

Cheshire: I'll come

Irish: Yeah may as well

Suffolk: Ok well let me finish my row and I 'll join you guys down there.

Norwich: Just leave it, it's not like you can't do it later!

Suffolk: No I need to change, still in pajamas

Norwich boy looks at Suffolk girl and shakes his head, Cheshire lass and Irish boy laugh to this action.

Norwich: You still haven't changed and it is three o'clock. Deary me

Suffolk: Leave me alone it's my day off, I'll see you guys down there!

Cheltnham: Alreet pet! Come on

They all say goodbye and exit the room slowly, the door bangs behind them and Suffolk girl is left with her possessions lying all around the room. She sighs again and finishes her row.

(I have learnt in university if you have strange things in your room people will fiddle with them momentarily, then leave them only to come back later and do the same. My rooms a bit like a toy yard! you are always in everyones pockets, things never stop happening, I wouldn't have it any other way!)

the beginning

2008-01-30T04:01:00.000-08:00

Worthers origonal packets laced the floor with broken cheesy puffs and dirty clothes. The stench of old shoes and smoke filled the air, the window remained open and there was peach smelling air freshener but to no success the room still smelt horrid. An empty cup that once contained tea sat next to her as she wrote down things of no consequence and no real use. She listened to Tom Waits who sung about how he didn't want to grow up. She could understand, memories of wanting to be taken away by peter pan to neverland when she was younger popped into her head when hearing his gravelly voice spit out those words.

The day wasn't special or different, she was going to visit the Anglican Cathedral that afternoon with her red haired irish mistress, maybe they could catch the organist playing and sit there listening to him in silence. Then maybe a beer, it seemed aproppriate to sit out side and have a beer as the sky was blue today. Who cared if the air was chilly, it was a blue sky and had been for a week, it was a time to celebrate until the rain comes and ruins their fun.

She was looking round her room trying to see what needed to be changed the pillows needed covers, the room needed a DVD player, things had been broken or runined and needed to be replaced before it was too late and she forgot forever. It was a time of reflection in her life, when she realised the only way to make things better for yourself is to actually make them better. This would be her semester task. No fucking up like last semester. Things could be balanced if you just make the effort to make them balanced...

She glanced down at the empty cup and sighed. She would have to buy more milk, giving her friends the pint she had wasn't the cleverist idea, but milk wasn't expensive so she would make a fuss. She wanted to see her lover. She wanted to see her home. But she was in love with Liverpool, a place of so many interesting little things, full of thriving wonder and beauty, people were friendly and the atmosphere was fresh. She loved her Liverpool very much.