Constructive Destruction

I can't believe I'm going off on holiday on Thursday and this is what I'm leaving you with, I swear you don't deserve to be subjected to this after all you've said. But I need to say it. You know what I'm going to say...I'm sorry.
Love you. x x x

It's all empty,
Hollow spaces declaring allegiance,
To those faithless souls.
Inside me struggles,
Something so lost.
I'm no longer a little girl,
You lost her a long time ago,
I don't know when I let go of the rest,
Perhaps it was never there,
Maybe I'll never come back.
Part of me has already said goodbye,
That little child,
I haven't been introduced to what comes next,
Really it isn't time.
If there ever is the time,
I couldn't say whether I'll be here,
So much uncertainty in my firm tone,
I can't even convince you anymore,
No more pretending.
I don't miss her now she's gone,
What she did wasn't true,
Although it might have been better than right now,
For a little while longer,
Later she would have fallen,
Faster than me right now,
Destruction saved her,
That precious girl I used to be.
I know so much more now than you,
In times past I pushed that aside,
I played the act for you,
When honestly I didn't believe it,
Now I know there is no acting on your part,
I'll drop mine,
Wave goodbye to your little girl,
And if you don't like that word,
Say it again to me,
Because I'm never coming back.
I don't know where I'm going,
I don't know what will happen next,
I know you'll not touch me again,
I know in destroying my childish illusions,
You created me.

I'm not living, only killing time

16th August
Ok so I tried sitting down on my bed with my laptop on my knee watching 'The Day After Tomorrow' purely for some sort of distraction. Just now I don't like to be left alone with my thoughts for too long or bad things start to happen, I start to do bad things - watching crap movies is not one of my better distractions I admit. But I couldn't do it, I switched to the Internet in offline mode to browse through my favourites - looking for some literature I saved offline the other day. I flipped to the 'Blogs' category in my favourites, I came to Staying Straight Edge - Spencer's blog. I hadn't read it for ages, always being too preoccupied when I was online but I sat and I read right up to where I left off and learnt a lot, a hell of a lot. This guy is 30 years old and just rediscovering his happiness, lost a long time ago, and it made me start to think.
Of course when I start to think it has potentially damaging effects so I turned on some music and got up a new wordpad document to write something for my blog, rather than just think and get carried away and do god-knows what. I was thinking about the future, mine in particular. The other night I was talking to a wise someone about getting off Guernsey and away, away from the confines of this tiny place, away from the hurt and the pain. But at the time I was thinking along the lines of you know, two years in the future - going to Uni; Spencer's blog made me think further. Maybe too far. My mind is in overreactive mode just now, it gets paranoid and carried away, yet it can't see 14 years into the future. I was sitting down and thinking 'oh fuck I can't see any future'. You can all dismiss it and say of course I have a future, of course I won't one day give up and throw it all in, but although I will listen to you, I won't hear what you're saying, at very least I won't believe you - not because of lack of trust in you, more lack of trust in myself and disgust at myself.
I don't know how many people I've told and been reassured by but the fact remains that writing this blog, truthfully, is one of the most difficult things I've ever made myself do. I've skiied black runs and abseiled from great heights, I've climed a 40 foot mast and gone on trapeze in 35kt winds - but I wasn't scared. Right now I am scared, I'm scared of what people will think, I'm scared of my thoughts, I'm scared I'm imagining all of this and I'm scared of myself. Telling people that via this post is hard, writing this and actually publishing it on the blog is hard, getting out of bed in the morning is hard, avoiding that full packet of paracetamol is hard, averting my eyes from that corner of my desk is hard. I have a friend who texts me every evening, congratulating me on getting through another day - she's proud of me for doing it, and she listens when I tell her that considering certain factors I think I've failed overall. I'm not saying she's the only one who helps me, and she doesn't understand me - unlike someone else I know who understands me so much it makes me cry sometimes, just it's one of those tiny things I can only hope to hold onto.
It seems so long ago that I sat in my old dining room, shaking, telling someone I wasn't ok. Worse still it doesn't seem to have got any easier, my current thought is that it's getting harder and harder. The only consolation in that is that I can't have hit the bottom yet - because I believe until I hit fucking rock-bottom, I can't come back. *Maybe you'll never come back you idiot* That's the voice in my head, that's what I'm up against.
This post was full of good intentions. It was going to be a relief and insightful and have a meaning, it was going to give you insight into how I feel. I have failed.
I have just been downstairs for dinner, dinner I didn't want. My Mum sits opposite me and watches every mouthful, makes me eat every last bit so I'm left feeling totally sick, it's all I can do not to make myself sick. Surely if you're not hungry you shouldn't have to eat? It's not ungratefulness, it's, well I don't know what it is. I don't know anything. I'm sorry. I have a confession, I've been grappling with it for the past hour and I've finally decided to just write it down, last night/this morning I sat down and wrote notes to my Mum, Dad, You guys and the rest of my friends and family. I wrote notes apologising for who I am, I wrote them to say sorry, to tell people I love them. Hopefully they won't ever be seen because they were that type of note, but at least now I known that I'm covered in all eventualities.
That's it for today. Take Care. x x x (PS Thanks Davey for reminding me of the song which contains the lyric that this post derives it's name from.)

17th August

Last night after I finished writing I went downstairs for some distractions, I didn't get any. Instead I found myself listening to my Mum talk about my GCSE results and her Brother's wedding in which I have an active role, my Dad. Inside of me I wanted to reach over and just make her stop, it all seemed so mundane and pointless compared to how I felt, I wanted to do anything to make her stop talking. Instead I kept nodding in the right places and pretending I was listening. Then I went upstairs totally disgusted at my own thoughts.
I did something so stupid up there that I'm ashamed to write it here, I can't write it. Apparently some things aren't just hard, they're impossible. Immediately after though I phoned a friend and she helped me calm down and gave me advice, we talked for 45 minutes until I apparently started going quiet and the next thing she knew I must have passed out or something. I awoke, late, this morning to about 15 messages urging me to call her as soon as I could. Today I just felt so ill all day, I got to work late which I, naturally, got a bollocking for. Which pissed me off. I'm their most punctual, attentive, fast-working student temp but as soon as I'm half an hour late they fucking yell at me. Bastards.
Sometimes, at home, I find it hard to grasp that there are actually people around me going about their normal lives, I forget that just because my life is crumbling it doesn't mean theirs change, but I don't show it to them - I don't think. I can't do or else I would have got a million comments from Mum by now.
I don't know what else to say today, and I'm worried about making this too long. So I'll leave you with the aforementioned reading for my Uncle's second wedding because it's something I would love to believe someday but I don't see how I can.
Take Care. x x x

Now you will feel no rain for each of you will be shelter for the other,
Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other,
Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other,
Now you are two persons, but there are three lives before you, His life, Her life and your life together.
May beauty surround you, both in your journey ahead and through the years.
May happiness be your companion to the place where the river meets the sun, and
May your days together be good and long upon this earth.

If your parents believe that, still, or you imagine yourself believing that someday then I really fucking envy you, I really do. Sorry.

18th August 12:44pm

Home from work for lunch. Writing this will make me late I expect but somethings can't wait. If I don't type some rubbish I won't make it through the four hours I have left when I get back. I ate a raspberry Alpen bar for lunch, because raspberries are better than strawberries. It was good. Ok you can tell I have nothing to say, so I'll write some more later.
(19th Aug) I forgot to write some more, or I couldn't think of what to say and I'm publishing this today anyway.
x x x

The Saga of Niki

I'm carrying on with the whole honesty thing on this blog, sorry.

I'm in my new bedroom, decorated and furnished solely by myself - I'll show you a picture sometime. I've been here all day, writing and listening to music and well, crying, amongst other things. Right now I am trying to listen to my entire CD collection to decide which albums to keep, I got up to Boyzone's Greatest Hits. Honestly. I own that CD. I'm on track 15 which all you avid fans out there will know is 'You needed me'. This is mine and my father's unofficial song, it just made me cry. Reading how sentimental that sounds is making me feel sick so sorry to anyone reading, but you know about Dad and I, sort of. I have recently had to face up to a lot of facts regarding Mr Le Sauvage, character traits and selfishness relating to him, things I think I'd rather not know - I have enough going on in my head without that. But whatever.

Our unofficial album is Shania Twain's 'Come on Over' and that makes me cry too. The first song I remember listening to on Dad's music system, when I was about four is Tina Turner's 'What's love got to do with it?'. Celine Dion's Titanic song is the one that was playing that evening when all hell broke loose. Kate Winslet's 'What If' is the song that was playing the day Dad left home for the second time in 1999. Ronan Keating's 'Life is a rollercoaster' is the song Dad played on his car stereo the day before he was convicted for drink-driving for the second time. Leann Rimes' 'How do I live?' is the song that was playing in the cornershop the day I walked down to meet Dad after he came out of prison, on the 27th December 1999. The Clash's 'London Calling' is the song that was playing when Dad and I were walking around Gatwick two days after I met Davey, Keir, Conor and Chloe. The Calling's 'Wherever you will go' is what I fell asleep to (with the aid of many sleeping pills) last night.

I got back from Guide Camp yesterday, a week camping in the New Forest with 10 girls aged 10-12 and three other leaders. It wasn't proper camping because we had a cooker thing and toilets and a hut with tables and chairs, and we slept in four man tents. We did swimming and low ropes and climbing and abseiling and kayaking and rafting, I am shattered. I didn't sleep and I forgot my rollmat so I layed on the dry ground for seven nights. The last night was possibly the bit I enjoyed, I layed in the open air in a bivvy bag and watched the shooting stars all night long. I didn't really enjoy being responsible for so many children when I didn't feel responsible or in control of myself and that was what ruined it really. That and a few other things.

I am also looking through old copies of Q magazine and NME whilst I write this and reading all the articles over again, articles on Elliot Smith that didn't catch my eye in 2003, on Kurt Cobain that annoy me, on Joy Division which I have cut the posters out of and on the Manics when they met Fidel Castro in Cuba. The time scale on this post, by the way, is screwed because I have had my internet useage raitoned owing to the 95 quid bill I owe my Mum from last quarter, therefore I'm writing this to put on the net whenever I can next access it. Which I guess if you're reading this, is now. I'm also reading back issues of The Grammalogue - the school magazine which comes out once a year and I have contribted to on numerous occaisions, whilst doing so I have found a poem written by a girl I once knew, I'll put the poem at the end of this post.

The sun is streaming through my window, there are no clouds in the sky, there's a 20kt breeze - it's what I might have called a perfect day had I been sailing today. It's what I might still have called a perfect day even if I were on dry land. It would be a perfect day if my head would let it be.
"Slats of cloud patch up the pink leak in the sky" - beautiful sunsets in the New Forest evenings. "I shall return once more" - to where? All I know is I will. "I'll drown if I stay here" - guaranteed.
That's it for now, take care.

'Tomorrow' - Lara Wood aged 15

Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today
You made a mistake, now I will not stay.
Tomorrow's too short and you've thrown it away.

You know you never allowed me to have my say.
We grew apart and you pushed me away.
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.

Why don't you care Dad? Why don't you say,
"You make me proud , Lara, everyday."
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.

Now I'm past caring, why should I pay?
You made a mistake, Dad, now I'm drifting away.
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.

Have I let you down Dad? Why don't you say,
'I love you my daughter, more and more everyday.'
Tomorrow's too short and you've thrown it away.

I've drifted too far now, maybe one day
You'll understand Dad, what you've let slip away.
Tomorrow's too short when you've lived for today.
Tomorrow's too short Dad, and you've thrown it away.
x x x

Get the fuck out of our water!

Sorry that was a bit of an abrasive start wasn't it? Ah well I got your attention I guess.
I've arrived home from Cowes Week, and what a week it was! Some snobby sailors and pro sailers and of course drunken sailors, not that you can't be all three of course - and lots more besides.
I was on Exocet Strike, a Beneteau First 40.7 Distinction cruiser racer - a pretty cool boat, in class IRC 3 which was a pretty good handicap too, first day we were 7/40 and second we dropped down to 17/40 which hurt a bit but still we got better and considering we were a light crew of 14, all thrown together from places as far as Germany - it was good, some good results.
The crew consisted of JD - skipper, Paul - mainsheet, Brian - foredeck, Dane - spinnaker guy, Christophe - foredeck, Ruth, Nikki, Sharon, Jackie and Kay - rail, Ken - nav, Jon - spinnaker, Craig - main, and me - spinnaker trim!
I stayed on board the boat which was an experience in itself with 5 other guys! We moored in East Cowes marina which is quite a new one, most of the shoreside action is in West Cowes so you take the water taxi or floating bridge across the Medina after races to register and meet people and stuff.
I met so many different people from boats or the shops in town and other crews, I didn't drink except for one day so I have some funny stories that the rest of the crew swear didn't happen! I got contacts and crew offers from all kinds of sailors all over Britain, given to me when they were drunk but the great thing is they remembered me when they were sober! Everyone seemed to assume I was older than I was and the core crew of JD, Brian, Dane, Paul and Chris used me as their mascot - being the only girl among them. I also was asked to do bizarre things in the bar like order drinks to get them cheaper and order the crew shirts and um lift up my top so that some UKSA students would give us hats - I didn't do the last one, I wasn't that drunk! Although Mount Gay Rum is quite nice at 1am - swiftly followed by some dodgy looking kebabs on the way back to the boat, followed again by watching Ken fall in the marina after 15 pints - his wife wouldn't let him home.
We didn't eat much good food since we tried eating while sailing but then we had to crash tack and the skipper yelled something like 'Throw those fucking sandwiches away and ready about!' So lunch was at about 4pm and dinner at 11pm/12am usually with bacon rolls and lots of caffeine at about 6:30am.
I wanted to write so much but I can't write it all down now, couldnt even if I wasn't too bruised to try, too shattered to try.
Plus now I'm realising that I'm back in Guernsey when I'd rather be with the crew in the Yacht Haven or on the mainland, so I'll leave you with a few words scribbled on the back of the Flybe magazine on the 30min flight home.

Look down there,
At that flat sea,
And the patchwork fields I know off by heart,
The land I need,
The one I hate to leave,
Watching it speed away,
Feeling my cheeks grown wet,
Crossly wipe the tears away,
Wishing I was there.
I know I'll be back one day for good,
Alone in my real home,
The sky grows pink,
The sea so soft I want to jump,
Fall into the blue,
Down where I belong.

*sigh*

x x x

We could give up now and never even try...

... but what kind of journey would that be?

You are all fantastic people. I was scared I'd get no comments and have to just sidle away meekly and crumble into a corner but you're here!

Makes me all warm inside.

Gah I'm getting sentimental, stop it Niki.

Talk to you soon.

x x x *hugs*

Upside Down and Back To Front

I need to write, I don't know what about but right now I need nothing more than to write. I just read a blog that I saved offline in my favourites, it is an awesome blog written by a guy trying to overcome alcohol, drugs and depression whilst searching for his soul mate - and he does it very well, no matter how low he is, how much shit is running through his mind, how much he's crying and hurting he still writes, usually exactly about how he feels. And he expresses it very well. I don't know if he ever visits this blog but if he does, here's to you Spencer - I've posted a link incase any of you feel like some really good reading right now, whatever time of the day it is or where you are - I guarantee it'll make you think. www.spencersteel.co.uk.

This guy, and another called Ian have influenced me greatly recently, I've never met them - but who says you need to meet someone face to face to get to know them? Spencer says exactly how he feels, so literately and Ian is so selfless, maybe a little too selfless sometimes because no matter how sad he is he will always listen to and give advice on your problems, and the evilness of the male species (long story). Right now he is pretty ill, I'm not going to tell you how because it's not my place but take my word for it, my thoughts and spiritual hugs go out to him, and some carrot cake too (another long story).

I think I need to write on here a little bit more how I feel, those of my more regular msn chattees will know but others won't, even if you do I'm going to write it anyway, since right now I've no one else to listen to me - and I don't think I could talk if there was. There are things I don't think I'll ever tell everyone, but never say never, some things I'll just say and I don't care what anyone thinks of them - so exscuse me. I'm not crazy lady. That's the startling truth. I was given that name and persona by friends, it isn't who I am. I never needed to address problems and isssues as they arose - I helped and addressed the problems of those nearest to me instead. Since I've realised that crazy lady is pretty fucking hard to keep going, some days it hurts so much to get out of bed and smile, when deep inside, inside my head it's all dark. Some days I can't do it at all and to those people who notice I can't always do it, I am rotten to - I'm sure of it. I don't like for people to see when I need help, can't let them in, for fear of them shutting me out. I don't really like whoever I am right now, I figure if enough people hurt you and leave you - there must be something wrong. Very wrong. With myself.

I don't truly believe that anyone is 100% 'normal' - I don't think normal exists, most people I know who claim to be normal have some sort of underyling fear in themselves or doubt about how good they are, how much use they are to others. Now after reading that people are going to want to turn around and tell me to shut up and smile - stop complaining and get down to it like the rest of us do. But it's not that easy. How I feel has goddamn near consumed me for months, and forced me to do some pretty stupid things, some of which I still do, but I can't stop them. Not yet. I haven't hit the bottom yet. I don't sleep anymore, although my parents think I do. I lay in bed and think. Watch things running through my head, things I was sure I had dispelled from my memory, or things I never realised happened - but I haven't got rid of them and they were very real. I got a papercut yesterday and it was quite deep, from cardboard, but I didn't feel it. I feel all detatched.

I'm sitting here listening to the Lost In Translation soundtrack, after reading Gordon's account of it I had to hear it. And it's beautiful. It's sad. But I'm not crying.Saying that I nearly am, track 3 oh and 4 erm and 5 are very tender. Yesterday I cried, I fell to the floor in my room and cried. I was in the middle of packing up my stuff ready to move and all of a sudden I had to cry. Later I went downstairs and watched Top Gun and I didn't shed a tear - not even when Goose died and the bit where Maverick throws Goose's dogtags into the ocean. Those bits always make me cry. But not then. I'm not in control of myself anymore. That blackness and that dark envelope consumes me, totally sometimes, and I come round, anywhere - the office, the kitchen, I could go on, and I'm not aware of what happened. All I know is I was crying and it was dark. I could be in a room or an office full of people I know all talking to me, my phone is ringing, a text comes through, yet the feeling right then, the one that precides over all others. Is loneliness. Unexplained loneliness. Fuck.

Having read back over what I've written so far I can see how people would read this and run away, or sidle away meekly so as not to upset the odd girl writing this. But don't. I pray to every non-existent God there is that you won't leave me now. I don't need you to ask how I am or how I feel. But I need you to be here, around. Be the lovely people that you all are. Don't let this silly problem and post make you question your own happiness, unless you think it needs to. I don't intend to plant seeds of doubt in you, just urge you to tell people exactly how you are, what you're thinking and don't brush yourselves aside. I'm not advising you to be selfish or self-centered. Just honest.

I'm suddenly aware how much I've said. So I'm going. x x x

London Calling

Yeah, the title was the only song I could think of with references to London, plus I bought the album on the way back.

I'm not sure anyone I met even reads this page anymore! Occaisionally I think Davey graces us with his presence, anyway.

Got back from London last night, twas an OK trip although nothing really to do with what it was intended for, due to parental restraints.

It was pretty froovy meeting Keir, Davey, Conor and Chloe - even if it wasn't for long! Sorry about that guys. I'd have preferred a longer meeting, who knows if they would?! Hehe. No it was cool.

London was good too. So what did I miss?

xxx

Tales From Another Different Desk

Just got fed up of that poem so I arrive at work and decide to make a new post, a post with no substance but a post none the less.

I'm putting up my art exhibition at school today so I get to leave here early. Woo.

My parents are viewing said exhibition tomorrow. Not so Woo.

Went to a wedding reception on Friday, got bit pissed. Woo.

Had to get up early Saturday. Not so Woo.

Last day of work before London tomorrow. Woo.

Doctors after work. Not so woo. But also a bit woo I guess.

Time for me to go for coffee. Woo.

Boss coming upstairs. Not so woo. Wish he'd look me in the eye.

Talk to you soon
Apologies for the creative massacre that is this blog post, actually this blog.
xxx

Shallow Desire

Guess who got fed up with her job at the Audi/Porsche garage? This is pretty bad writing but it only took ten minutes or so and it was just to make sure I didn't yell at a customer.

I lead them this way and that,
So many of them,
They all want the same thing,
The money they already have.
If some day there is boredom,
Take some wealth and bring it to me,
I can show you what you want,
Those things you think you need.
The machines they gleam,
The eyes see,
The people want.
They all get.
I only serve those with money,
None of you with sense,
The showroom smells of greed,
Yours and his.
Not mine.
It's obvious I'm not ok,
They just don't care,
Scathingly tell me not to drip my blood on their leather,
The money removes the compassion,
Greed exterminates concern.
So as they speed away,
Leaving me in a cloud of diesel,
The cloud that inhabits my mind,
Is suddenly very clear.
They have money,
They have the car,
They think they have it all,
All I see is shallow desire.

xxx

Yeah

What shall we talk about today then? I'm all out of pointess ideas, and pointfull (?) ideas come to think of it. It's the heat, let's blame it on something else shall we? I might end up doing the whole thought train again so I apologise in advance if that happens. Firstly I'l tell you about my weekend then we can work up to today, good plan? I'll start with Saturday, it was hot. I walked to music centre and arrived almost melted, I know because Luke said I looked like I was about to melt, I think I took offense. Hehe. Then we went to attack Mr Livermore who runs our band with reference to the performance we have on the same day at the same time as the year 11 formal, well the year 11 Grammar pupils did then. We didn't succeed. We're going to boycott music centre, that is until next Saturday when we'll wake up and find we can't live without it. Tom's Dad phoned the president of the music centre in the end and got us all off, not sure how he did it. Ah well. Anyway then I walked home and almost melted again so I got in and changed into what was frankly beach wear, but I didn't care. What a bad rhyme. I got a tuna sandwich and some apple juice and waited for Dad to pick me up, which he did after almost squashing me. I wish he'd drive his own car. Then we went into town and did some Father's Day shopping, very discreet on my part I might add. At about 3pm Paul rang and invited us over to look at the stag weekend photos from the previous weekend which naturally I jumped at the chance of, until I saw one of my Dad and Paul in bed together. Though they swear there was separate beds and it was the camera angle. Hmmmm. So it was hot in the garden so we had some cold drinks and listened to some music, had some pizza, and obviously a chat. Jason and Tracey and Darren arrived then, shortly after came Darren's Mum, who I'm afraid my Dad has an unhealthy obsession with. All those people I mentioned are sort of 20-30 by the way, that's why the obsession of a 30 year olds Mum is unhealthy. I think. Some other stuff happened too but I won't talk about that now. When the sun moved round we piled into the deadly car and I was driven home the long way round to give me a chance to play with all the pointless objects and the things that pop up if you play with the remote. When I got home it was food shopping time with Mum, after I got yelled at for being late. It wasn't a big deal. I had my phone. So food shopping was a riot *sarcasm* and we came home and had some barbecue food with next door.

Sunday was Father's Day and very hot, 33C - that's degrees, nothing else Ok Keir? So Dad came round and we did the gifts thing and he left for, somewhere anyway. I intended to head over to Herm but a lot of my peeps were having lunch with their Dad's so fair play to them. I stayed home. Until about 3pm when we went to my favourite beach and did some swimming and beachy stuff, that was the best part of the weeking I'm thinking. On Monday I organised a cinema trip which was. Hold on. I can't remember which day it was. Shit. It might have been Friday. Buggar. Oh well. One day we went to the cinema but a few peeps, no names, had slight trouble with the bus timetables or their cars or whatever so in the end there was three of us. In the whole cinema. Well screen four anyhow. So we bought loads of sugar crap which we didn't eat and put our feet up on the back of the chairs in front. The cinema people looked bored, they must have been since one kept laughing at my unfunny humour, and promptly gave me his phone number. Mr and Mrs Smith was ok actually, a bit Hollywoody but good. Since I can't remember which day that was I'll skip to Monday afternoon. My last exam, French Reading. Twas ok, dare I say fun? I'm a freak. Tuesday, yesterday I did not a lot but got my haircut. Shorter and curlier now.

Ok the tedious diary is over, time for tedious crap now. I have taken my vitamins and iron 18 out of 22 days which I think may be a record for me. Yay. I started to mark it off on my calendar in the hope that I remember them better. It's working. Sort of. I went to work today and worked very hard, honest. Ask Davey or Chloe or Keir or Ben, I wasn't on e-messenger or anything. Not at all. Worked all day me. I also wore board shorts and got disapproving looks, I think I better wear a skirt or similar office wear tomorrow. Not tights though. There are cruise ships docked off the coast everyday just now, huge ones and St Peter Port gets filled up with French and German and Japanese and Americans. Gah, the town isn't that quaint. Can't they shop in their own huge hypermarkets or malls or whatever? Really, it's pretty and all but so small! Bad rhymes again.

My current favourite album has changed again, to Jack Johnson, In Between Dreams. Very summery and laid back and well it's froovy. Amazing how quickly those charity wristband thingies ran out isn't it? People don't talk about them anymore, I only ever had two. I guess the people still wearing them are the people who meant it in the first place.

I'm not in the thinking mood anymore, not readable thinking. I'm gonna go and, do some, erm. I know I keep on but I'm having a lonely day. It's not like I haven't been with anyone. You ever get that? Really lonely no matter how many people there are around you? No? Oh well. See you soon.
xxx

Questions

Have you ever woken up, looked around you and almost immediately wished that you hadn't opened your eyes or looked around that morning? Have you ever watched the news on television and wondered what the hell happened to all the good people? And your siblings, how many times have you looked into the defiant eyes of your younger sister/brother (delete as appropriate) and wanted to scream and shout until they did the washing up or picked up their shoes? Are there times that you just wish you were never here? Ok so I know that's a bit of a question overload, silly questions maybe but questions nonetheless. There are questions everywhere, anywhere, about everything and they spring up or are asked all the time. Our lives are built on questions, journeys to find the answers to questions and lost people trying to figure out what the hell the question is asking in the first place. I have to ask myself questions even when I walk into or out of a classroom, questions asking why I got something wrong, who told me the right answer, what relevance the question actually has to my life. There are a lot of pointless questions out there too, like how many bones does a human have? and what are the products of photosynthesis? when did Bob Marley die? Now if you know the answers then it makes for interesting conversation, I guess. But think about how many minutes you just spent reading and trying to figure out the answers to those questions, do you feel fulfilled for being able to answer them? have they changed your direct lives? I doubt it somehow. So what was it that compelled you to search the gloomy recesses of your brain to answer them? I'm not aiming to provide you with any answers, to be perfectly honest I have no idea why I'm writing this, sometimes you have thoughts that you just have to scribble down, answer tiny questions in your brain just by writing down how you feel. I think all you'll learn from reading this is that it's far too muddled, that's how I feel. I know that right now life is far from peachy, and yet still I find myself on a quest for those pesky answers. I remember things I thought I had forgotten, maybe hoped that I had forgotten and I feel things and do things I never thought I would. So being a human I embark on a journey for answers, teasing apart the tangled mess in my brain, trying to find the answer to happiness. Not perfect happiness because as Jane Austen said, "Perfect happiness, even in memory is not often common". I don't know maybe it is possible. Maybe I need to ask more questions about how people feel, why they did and still do things and what exactly happened. You have to ask questions to heal the past, but too many questions leave you back where you started. Perhaps that's another question, how many questions is it acceptable to seek answers to?

xxx

Nothing

I have nothing to say as such. I am 16 today. It feels the same as 15 yesterday. I have a digital camera now. How do I put photos on here? I'm silly. Speak to you soon. xxx

Niki's Thoughts

Hmm I'm going to be honest because I think it's the decent thing to do. As I sit here it is Friday night and I have just been speaking to Keir, now I'm at Dad's house and he currently has no Internet connection so I'm writing this offline - to post at a later date depending on what crap I type out in the next 15 minutes or so. I might not even publish this, obviously if you're reading it then I did but yeah that's a story for another day I think.

Right, or is it left? Anyway even at this moment, right now I have no idea what I plan to write about. I have no plan for this blog, then again I have no life plan so why break the habit of a lifetime? A short lifetime yeah but a lifetime nonetheless.

I can see into the neighbour's garden from here, not that I'm looking - it's a mess! They ripped all the plants out and now it's just an expanse, a big and brown stretch of land all enclosed in a scarily suburbian fence, painted in that Ronseal paint stuff that makes lots of promises, well it does to us Channel Islanders anyway. They pulled the shed down too, I've done that before and I strongly recommend it. Then again I was knocking down a concrete one with a big sledgehammer thingy that was very hard to get off the ground, let alone swing. Building the new wooden shed wasn't half as fun as destroying the old one. Same with the wardrobe I guess, the old one was hacked apart in minutes which was awesome but it took hours to make the new one, and there was no axe involved either. And the PC desk although that's a painful story, literally. It was dropped on my foot by my Mother, I'm not sure if I have forgiven her yet hmm... I like DIY sometimes, maybe it's just power-tools like drills and stuff but they are so cool! Some may say destruction but hey destruction is a form of creation. Ha saw that film. I worry myself.

Oh dear am I still writing this? I guess so, it's pretty much just all my thoughts, well not all because I don't want to scare you but it's either this or talking out loud and I'm not sure I feel like that, plus I have music on. I made it my study-leave mission to tune and repair an old jazz guitar today, it was supposed to be todays plan but yeah it was harder than I anticipated. It has been sitting in the corner of my room for about two years after I bought it in some thrift shop somewhere because it was so beautiful and anyway the strings need seeing to and it needs sort of gluing back together and some desperate tuning which was all I managed in the end. So it's rusty and falling apart but at least it's in tune which has to be something right? Talking of music, my sister has started to write songs. Oh dear. Now it would be fine if she could play anything and didn't listen to Girls Aloud but to add insult to serious injury, she is tone-deaf. It hurts to listen. I did write some music for her though so at least she is attempting actual music now, even if it is in a depressingly rhyming, tone deaf, 10 year old stuff. We all have to start somewhere.

What on earth am I going to do with all my art stuff when it comes out of the exam exhibition? I have three modules which is in total six sketch books, three portfolios and three large installation-type things. I have no space to accomodate that kind of stuff! That's why they have art studios at school I think, to address storage issues. However if you drop art after GCSE that's it, out in the cold, no storage rights or nothing. Not so much as a paintbrush. Nada.

I think I sit wrong. I am sitting here in perfect position, or so I thought and I'm getting some sort of sharp pain in my right shoulder, only the right one. I'm not liking it much. Hmm I'll have to think about this. Done. It's the shoulder I messed up ages ago, that will be it. Anyways. Ooh it's music centre tomorrow, yay! I think I might ride down, you know on a bike, I haven't ridden for ages. I don't know why, it allows a lot more time messing about at home since it's so much quicker, I can leave home later. Good plan. Hold on, just hold your horses a sec. That means going home to get my bike, past music centre and riding back. Pointless. I could ride Dad's bike if I made the saddle lower, a lot. Ok that's an even better plan. It has bigger wheels, does that make it faster?

It's my birthday on Wednesday! June is the best month, so many birthdays. 11th-Gordon, 12th-Jon, 15th-Me, Eilidh, Jade, 16th-Emine, 28th-Erin, Ben. That's quite a few presents to buy. I have been promised a boiled carrot from Rach so I'm quite looking forward to that. Oh do I have to tell the story? It's boring. I can't stand raw carrots, so I said I preferred boiled ones. I think you can figure out where dear Rach's mind went next. I coloured in my school planner the other day, you know those homework things? Well we aren't allowed to 'personalise' them while at school since they belong to school apparantly. But after you leave that year, they become yours. Oh the logic. So I decorated it with the pens I used to get my shirt signed. Bloody hell, Gold Against the Soul is really short. I have to change music already.

Hehe Shania Twain is here. Coming to a CD player near you soon. Did you miss me? Thought not. I'm not sure whether I like memories attatched to my music, bad memories. Is it supposed to help you forget? Or help you wallow in the past? I think I'm with the latter. Maybe this CD wasn't the best idea. I have quite a few bad ideas. Like the recorder. Oh I already said that. The London tube map is actually quite pretty in it's own right, have you ever noticed? Course you haven't, you don't have a copy on your wall. Oh dear I have run out of fruit juice. I have recently re-tried orange juice and you know, it's not so bad. Better if you make it yourself of course. So long as you remove the pips first. Seeds? No, pips.

Woo only maths, science2 and french writing exams left! That's actually five tests but hey, three are on the same day. That means that to date I have completed 19 exams, 19! I have Monday and Tuesday with no exams though. And next Friday me and my buddies intend to sail over to Herm for the day, actually it might be on the public ferry since the boat only takes eight and I have a suspicion that Adam has a strange aversion to sailing the boat himself, proper sailing, with a sail. Does he not trust my capabilities? Ha.

I have a really itchy hand. Does that mean anything? Itchy hand. It's starting to get on my nerves actually, scratch scratch. Hehe some friends came to my place after french yesterday and we did the music thing, twas so funny watching my string-playing buddies try woodwind. They have no lung power at all, none. It's really not that hard to make a sound, they were so jealous when I played up an octave too since they couldn't even get up to middle C on the treble clef. It was also cool because I can sort of play strings with the guitar and all, and percussion with the drums. Multi-talented don't ya know? Kidding. Not talented. Oh for gods sake who sings about black eyes and blue tears? Huh? Apart from Shania obviously. Oh I just remebered the other day when I was looking through my RS notes, the biggest red marks I had were not fail grades scribbled on my papers, no they were when I refused to spell 'god' with a capital G, it just didn't happen. Each and every time I forgot, since my teacher is a dedicated Catholic she thought I was directly offending my creator and ruler. Ha. She begrudgingly gave me a good review then since I don't suck at the subject, just the politically-correct-ness. We had this huge debate last weekend in the back of my friend's car about whether we could burn the little red bibles they gave us in year 7, is that really wrong? Not to offend any Christians, just because we don't or do in Rach's case, believe in god. Why is it that Christians, like Evangelical ones can go around yelling about their beliefs but athiests can't shout about why they think god is a load of bollocks? If they do they get frowned at and called disrespectful, yet people only quietly deplore door-to-door Christians and Jehovah's Witnesses. Athiests are out of line but believers are merely expressing themselves. Hmm that sounds benevolent and omniscient and omnipotent or whatever 'He' is supposed to be. Rant finished.

Oh dear I'm all lonely. I need a hug. There is no one here. I know, I'll give the voices in my head a little cuddle. Nope, it doesn't work. I need a person. I felt lonely all day and this post was helping, typing crap no one is ever going to actually read, but it's gone and caught up with me now - the big, red lonely monster. I'm scared. And the monster won't hug me, although I did ask, since he was here etc. But no, it's not in his job description. Have you ever noticed how much some people worry about what other people think? Like the yesterday we went into town and a member of our group refused to go into Pound World, incase anyone saw her and thought she was cheap. Give me a break? She is very image-conscious too though. I'm not. Hehe I look despicable all the time and there isn't a lot I can do about it, so yeah you'll all just have to accept it. Obviously my husband is free to adore me, although he better not be shallow because boy, I'll be a disappointment. Then again he'l have to see me to talk to me, so basically my husband will have to be the type of guy to whom looks don't matter. Not that I have a husband lined up. By any means.

"If elephants could fly I'd be a little more optimistic" classic lyrics.

NME festival guide. Depressing reading. I am going to none, no festivals. Apparently I should go to the Nokia Isle of Wight festival, and Glastonbury - that is my festival style. Ha I have tickets for neither. It was so frustrating last summer because when we were trampling round the New Forest on our D of E practice, all these happy, stoned festival-goers were on the trains and wandering around, some driving. And we were carrying about three stone each to visit graveyards, supermarkets and other 'Human Land Uses'. All the sustenance we had was some dodgy-tatsing lager that the assessor/our teacher gave us and some gelatine-filled sweeties from the overstocked and underpriced sweet shop in Lyndhurst. Oh and we cooked Spaghetti Bolognese, which would of been awesome had it not rained and got all diluted and soggy. Oh and we drove back to the ferry in a good old Ford, a Hampshire, 54 reg. Classic. So we didn't stick out at all. It was so fun trying to explain all the new UK registration to the other island-dwellers in my group, I was the only one with family links and regular exscursions to the mainland and my uncle works in a garage over there. It's really not hard to understand. And they're pretty old now. I've always preferred Guernsey reg numbers since they're only numbers, eg ours is 29952 and Dad's is 7435, no one knows how old your car is that way.
I've been writing for about an hour now, with only brief thinking stops. Sorry if I did post this and you're still reading. Anyway I think it's time the nonsense ended. And so it will.
xxx

OK so I'm at the neighbours and they have Internet, inevitably I did post this.

Protection

Back to the poetry I think, I intend to compile a list of my favourite songs in the near future however study leave yields many poetic opportunities.
Hmm this one may appear a bit pretentious though, I'm not sure. You know what, let me know.

Protection

Raise your hand to my face,
Lean in deeper,
So I can smell it on your breath,
Remind me this isn't you,
You're out of control.
He is sitting in that corner,
Over there,
Where you threw him,
My protector, my strength,
Now he lies cowering away.
You do it again,
Still shouting at me,
Cutting me with your accuracy,
Hurting me with your hands.
I can still see the look in your eyes,
I remember the alcohol stench,
I hear the things you said,
Everyday.
Worse though, worse than destruction,
Is abandonment,
He left me,
Watched as you tore me apart.
Only fear I saw in his eyes,
Desperation and weakness,
The collapse of my barrier.
I ran away from you and your words,
I still see you all the time,
But our eyes never meet,
Because you exploited mine,
I can never look into yours again.
I'll always be running,
Unprotected.

xxx

My Music

So here I am, it's some god forsaken hour of the morning and I can't concentrate on my story and I've written two poems so I'm going to follow in Davey's very admirable footsteps and compile a music list, my music list. I have around 90 albums in my CD rack, 90 albums spanning various decades and genres, some I listen to all the time and some I keep purely for silly sentimental reasons, there are also 3 singles - just 3. I must say my music taste has evolved and changed so much in about two years, largely based on recommendations from you guys, aww love ya - you saved me from 'Now' albums and Dido, anyway I digress. My top ten albums, compilations and otherwise. Some of them are currently in my Dad's cars and house, Mum's house and possibly my shed and anywhere inbetween so hopefully it'll be sort of accurate, although I can't promise all the information and titles are correct since I only really pay attention to what it sounds like, anyway don't make promises - they're silly. Right I'll stop this now since it's not funny and all you really want to know is my favourite music, oh and maybe how many typos I can make at 3am, so here it is:

10) Snow Patrol - Final Straw

Yup, sorry guys but I can't help it, I love it. My favourite track being 'Run', the music isn't top-quality but the lyrics are often there and I guess it really depends on your mood. It is a little melancholy but pretty chilled-out and hey it's just what the doctor ordered at this time of the morning, the space between asleep and awake, you're not stoned but you wish you were and you're not overly happy - so you go for Snow Patrol with the upbeat music and downbeat lyrics, a complete contradiction. Like me.

9) Anastacia - Anastacia

Yes Keir she is a loud american, a very loud american who also sometimes rocks if you're driving along (being driven to be exact but hey let's not split hairs here) and you have the top down and you wanna annoy people who don't feel like being yelled at by a bitter sounding american woman who has highly possibly just been dumped - or so it sounds. In all honesty she lives in my gym discman so she had to have a place really since there's nothing better to get nice and sweaty to, sorry for that image.

8) Damien Rice - O

You really need to be quite down to listen to this, some say it's bland and some say it's just plain shit but I disagree. He's been likened to Elliott Smith but I don't think he's really worthy of this accolade (we'll get to Elliott later). The best track being either 'Cannonball' or 'Cold Water' there isn't much instrumental here, it's mainly voice and accoustic. And anyway we all need to calm down sometimes.

7) Saxtet - Urban Groove

A criminally unheard of group made up of saxophones and clarinets it's right up my street as a jazz musician, the five members all have unique playing styles and they all write their own music for the rest of the group to play, they also all play different saxes and claris so it's a great variety. This is their latest album which I bought when they played in Guernsey around two years ago and I met them and did a workshop with them. Some groovy jazz to chill to and to dance to, it's got it all.

6) Natalie Imbruglia - Left Of The Middle

Personally I think she ruined it all with the dodgy movie with Rowan Atkinson and her latest album, this album couln't really have been bettered. Her style and band are sometimes similar to my now defunct band with its powerful vocals and strong drums on 'Big Mistake'. However my favourite track has to be 'Smoke' just because I sort of, aargh what's the word!, identify, I identify with it, and after you've realised personal connections in music there's no looking back.

5) Bob Marley and The Wailers - Legend

Ah Bob, what can I say? You either love him or you hate him, you're either stoned or you're not - not that it's necessary to be by any means, if you like it then you'll feel it whatever your state. This album has everything and it's all pretty beautiful, I can't really name favourite tracks on here because I don't have any! Perfect for listening to with special people early in the morning or even alone. I love it all, and true love lasts a lifetime - remember that.

4) Miles Davis - Kind Of Blue

Another jazz legend, one that I've been familiar with for years and years, donkeys years you might say if you were my Grandma. Anyway his music is timeless and continues to resonate today, some 14 years after his death in 1991. He had a unique vision and titanic power, the man who inspired my first jazzy notes and continues to reside in my top five so many years after.

3) Ok Computer - Radiohead

I did toy with the idea of putting The Bends here but I don't think it's really like their other stuff and I thought this one was the album that displayed them at their best, I didn't like a whole lot of Hail To The Thief. It was a recommendation to me of course and subsequently the first of three albums I have bought. I don't think I can really explain why I like them so much it's just that if you let go a bit you can allow yourself to be sucked in to a pretty cool place, a place I'm not too keen on leaving usually.

2) Gold Against The Soul - Manic Street Preachers

Possibly the trickiest decision I've made since I had to choose whether to study maths or physics yesterday, it wasn't easy I'm telling you. I seriously considered The Holy Bible since it's so widely acclaimed, and rightly so. However then I'd have to consider Everything Must Go and Forever Delayed and then you get pulled into so many possibilites, so I chose the first release among my collection and the album I've listened to most recently, I like 'Yourself' quite a bit.

1) From A Basement On The Hill - Elliott Smith

How bizarre! My newest album is the number one! Recommended by Keir just a short while ago I ran along to amazon and bought a copy, I haven't stopped listening since. I wasn't sure if you could fall in love with music that quickly after a recommendation but hell can you fall in love when the music's this good. 'king's crossing' has to be the best but if I had to list all my favourites I'd end up listing the entire album, so I won't. It's really depressing and deep, maybe it's the knowledge that he ended his life around the time of the album but as soon as you start to listen you're pulled into a whole other world, a dark and exciting one that works well on all levels, and at all volumes - I've tried. Yep this one is a keeper I think, so I would like to thank Keir, thank you Keir. Breathtaking

Right so there it is, sure you'll recognise most of it since you probably showed me the way to a lot of the artists I've got here. Of course several more artists should have made it in, here they are: Interpol(Keir), My Bloody Valentine(Thanks Davey), Green Day, Joy Division(Keir again), The Corrs, The Stone Roses, Shania Twain, British Sea Power(Thanks 'The Guardian'), Joni Mitchell, Bruce Springsteen, Frank Sinatra, Des'ree(Romeo and Juliet song), Meredith Brooks, KT Tunstall, The Libertines(god knows why), Simple Plan, Bloc Party, The Clash, Jack Johnson and any others I'm likely to have missed off.

I was going to end here but then I'd have nothing to do at all and I'm quite enjoying writing this although I must say I don't actually have anything else to say, so skip this if you don't feel like a ramble. Music is pretty much what makes up my basic existence, I started with the recorder at age seven - that was a mistake, the recorder is always a mistake. Then things started to get interesting when I got to junior school, I took a music test for aptititude from which the Guernsey Music Centre selects musicians to train and teach in a chosen instrument. I passed this test but that year so did a lot of people and there wasn't enough instruments to go around, so I waited a year before taking up the clarinet, about 6 years ago now. I have progressed through 4 different woodwind bands to get to the one I am in now and have taken 5 grades, the latest of which I failed but lets not go into that. I play with the band every Saturday for two hours and attend lessons with my teacher every Wednesday for 45 mintes, I almost gave up a while back because I felt that I was a bit restricted to Mozart and the like but I had a chat with my excellent teacher and we have an informal thing now where I choose the music and I go to the band on Saturday whenever I can, so that's all good. A mere two years ago I started playing the Keyboard with a private school and I love it, I've taken two grades because I picked it up pretty quickly being in the same clef as the Clarinet and now I basically play what I like, with my teacher helping with the technical stuff and chords. Ok so that's the end of the organised music, now we move to the fun, not so organised stuff like drums, guitar and vocal. My aural teacher told me I could sing and encouraged me to join a choir to tune it up a bit, Huw taught me the drums last summer, Dad taught me guitar and these three instuments are ones that I fool around with, write music with and generally have a good time with, whenever I can.

I mentioned my defunct band earlier which I'm guess some of you might not have known existed but it has done for the past three years now. Huw is always the drum man cos he rocks and he's played them forever, his sticks are like extensions to his hands, it's pretty intense. Tom is always on bass for similar reasons to Huw and he thinks it's 'good for his image' - we love him really, even if he is a bit shallow and somewhat naive. Now Jon and me have an arrangement, don't worry - it's all above board - and we alternate between guitar and vocals, although it must be said I do spend most time on vocals since I don't technically know guitar, I make it up a bit. I wrote most of the lyrics but if anyone else ever had ideas they were of course free to submit them and we'd try them out, we all wrote the music to go with them although only Huw and I actually have theory knowledge. Anyway we were good and now we are no more since Huw and Tom have left school and Guernsey in favour of travelling all summer and then university, Jon and I hadn't the heart to replace them so now all I have is the school jazz band, a small but happy affair consisting of 10 members on sax, clari, drums, guitar, trombone, trumpet and erm triangle. So I still have quite a bit of music in my life, thankfully! I think I'd go stir-crazy without it!

*Niki falls asleep*

Ok I think I'm pretty much done now since it got to about 5am and I fell asleep in the middle of writing this, consequently the laptop power ran out and I awoke and performed a pretty hasty file recovery operation, I continued writing all this crap at about 10:30am and now it's 12pm - I got distracted. Anyway I''m gonna have to get going since I'm meeting people in about an hour for lunch and stuff, maybe the beach since it's so hot and sunny, plus I have to go choose the music! Actually I probably won't get online to post this till tonight so not much of it will make sense but hey, story of my life!

Finally a mention for the awesome local bands, the members of whom I am great friends with but they don't blog, fools.
Theraputic Hoovering, Beaver, Andy Mason, The Cheerios Incident - TCI, 8 In a bar, and anyone else who plays at the hockey club or the doghouse on Friday and Saturday nights, you rock.

This post is dedicated to the memory of Fight Reality; Tom, Huw, Jon and Me!

Love you x x x

Company

The next installment in your bad-but-getting-better-trying-to-be-deep-not-sure-why-i'm-writing-like-this poetry lesson is below, it is entitled Company as you can see, enjoy - but try to keep smiling even if the writing is painfully bad. x x x

They're always there,
Always.
I think I'm sitting here alone,
But I'm not,
They are here, omnipresent.
Scratching, screaming,
Ripping, tearing,
Until I'm left in pieces,
Left to gather myself.
Only I can't, as soon as I try,
They are back,
Knocking me down again,
Telling me what I already know.
I'm worthless, a waste,
I always was - I'm only just realising it,
Now they'll never let me forget.
I lost my soul in a distant dream,
My heart was never really there,
All that is left is the pain inside.
The pain of another time,
A time I thought had passed,
That I had recovered from.
But no, I'm drenched in hurt once more,
I hope it's the last time,
I doubt it will be, I'm not worthy of the hope,
So the hurt will stay with me now forever.
They will see to that,
Always over my shoulder and in my head.
Sometimes they come out of my mouth,
I'm powerless to resist,
They've taken over my body and my mind,
Now it's nearly over.
I am nearly over,
Wake me up when it's all faded into the background,
Until then leave me here,
I'm not alone.

Nikita Le Sauvage 28/5/05

Watch as I lose control, watch

For goodness sake don't read all sorts of shit into this I just wrote it and I needed to post it, you don't even have to comment it. I just had to get it out here. Thanks x x x

I hate how I feel each and every time you offer me food,
The way it looks and smells makes me want to be sick.
When I speak to you it's never for long,
Because I'm losing control after only two minutes,
I can't trust myself to keep quiet control,
So I am silent.
I drift off in class like it doesn't matter,
It isn't my future I'm tearing to shreds,
I can't stand my lack of will.
Look at those marks,
They are all my fault, self-inflicted,
Still they bleed like my heart,
Tears from my body fall down.
I don't speak to you all anymore,
Only I know how I feel,
But me and only me blocked you out,
When you wanted to help,
I couldn't trust you.
The same music plays over and over,
The same books are read,
I watch the same movies,
Wallow in my misery.
Look at those marks.
That bottle I reach for,
Those drugs I take,
The stripy features, they are it.
They are the signs I'm losing control,
My help with something I don't understand,
I'm watching this spectacular fall,
Spectacular but subtle.
One person only has noticed,
Those fatefull changes that I watch everyday,
I must be doing well -
Not inflicting myself upon others.
Look at those marks.
And I'm falling,
Just like this poem I am sinking,
I'm watching myself as I lose control,
Always watching.

Destructive Learning

A voice is straining,
Desperately calling out,
Pleading.
It never relents,
Never shys away,
Always shouting,
Begging.
No one listens,
We have more important things to do,
Our gossips precides over his knowledge.
Discussing life, our lives,
Inperceptive of his vain attempts,
Selfish.
I am with these people,
Though really I want to know,
Need to listen.
Still none of us stop,
We're destroying this man,
His tie grows loose,
His brow sweaty.
We become more and more shallow,
Uncomprehending his desire to help,
It is our futures we are ruining, only ours.
Though I am frustrated,
Still I sit and write, oblivious,
Cruel.

x x x

Liberation Day

Today was the 60th anniversary of the end of the german occupation of Guernsey, from 1940-1945. It was a pretty big holiday for everyone but it's a day that really pisses me off, I hate how no one really gives a toss why they aren't at work. So the only logical thing to do was to write about it, here is the half-hearted attempt I came up with.


Distorted Truth

You all run around,
With your grease and sugar and beer.
No one remembers what really happened,
I'm not sure anyone cares.
Music thumps from loudspeakers,
Screams float along in the breeze,
Balloons fly into the immense blue sky,
You're all smiling.
Change the scene for a moment.
I know one who understands-
Who heard the real crashes,
He who saw the real collapse,
The one who'll never forget,
Is at home, in silence.
While you are here celebrating what he did,
What he fought for with his life,
He is trapped with images of death, crying.
You kick up a fuss when the piss-up is cancelled,
But you don't give a shit why you're drinking into oblivion,
Don't care why we're all here,
For you it's one big party.
To him it's the end of the truth.

Bittersweet

Now this story is a little bit down, maybe even depressing but I just got it back via email from my english lit teacher and she was pretty happy with it so I thought I'd post it.

Bittersweet
And she was upright, a cold sweat running off her temples like the ocean off a new yacht. Her heart thrashed against her chest like a caged spirit, desperate to get out.
She looked to her left and saw him, inside she smiled. His mouth was slightly open as though he were about to tell her the contents of his soul. The fitted, white shirt he wore to bed a stark contrast to her own, oversized shirt, his shirt.
The baggy shirt smelt to her like all she could ever need and want. Her own scent perfectly balanced with his. She could smell his life, his smoke and his friends. It comforted her.
Then she gingerly pulled back the covers on her side and with all the agility she could muster she grabbed a pair of jeans, maybe his, and flew downstairs.
The feel of the cold, rough kitchen tiles cooled her bed-induced heat, like a mother's hand to the forehead of her sick child. She pulled on what turned out to be his jeans and with her natural poise and elegance, strode over to the coffee machine and poured a large mug of black coffee - not that she needed stimulation - she never went to sleep, she couldn't sleep.
Then she walked to the far side of the old house's large conservatory, coffee in hand and stood. She imagined everyone waking up, how they felt and how many were happy.
Who knows how long she stood there, the coffee turned cold in it's mug, the sun rose and with the sun came people, people in cars and him. He silently worked his way over to her and pulled her into a spontaneous embrace. He knew how much she thought, he knew all about her past, everything except what she thought about. No one, not her therapist, her mother nor her oldest friend knew what she truly thought. Sometimes she herself didn't know what she was thinking.
Before she knew it she was dressed and on the train, today was special, unusual and she had waved goodbye and got on the tube willingly to go to work, for she knew it didn't matter, it wouldn't for much longer.

She laughed at the people around her, the overwhelming close-mindedness of them all, the self-obsession and the lies they were all wrapped up in. She felt sorry for them, pitied them and she laughed. They all thought she was mad, she knew she was but each other's evidence was starkly different.
The pills she took each morning and again at night to keep him happy, the cuts on her wrists, trips to the A+E with an overdose, all of them part-time solutions to keep her alive, to allow her to deal with the life she had been given. They were the coward's way out, the weak person's help with something they don't understand. That was how she felt everyday, weak and useless - pathetic, until today. Today was the day she sorted herself out once and for all.
If no one, not even herself, knew who she was then she saw no point in keeping everyone guessing. Had he not loved her, listened to her and protected her she would have slipped away long ago. As it was she clung on like a mountaineer on the edge of a never-ending ice shelf, terrifyed but thrilled.
At work it was all the same, comfortingly mundane. It was this over-whelming boredom that kept her alive, at least she could feel boredom - she wasn't gone yet, not that it would matter soon.
Six pm came, she walked up and up, flight after flight of stairs. Everything was perfect for the first time in her life, ever. The music, her life-saving pills, a blade and a photo.
When she reached the very top her heart mildly fluttered, like a resting butterfly on the Budlea. First she dropped the pills, watched them free-fall so slowly as though trapped in inertia. The music, their music filtered through her ears - completing her final moments. Then she cut and dropped the blade too, it spiralled down with drops of her blood with it, like cruel tears from her body.

The photo was her final image, ever. She looked, smiled and a solitary tear glided down her cheek, she didn't know whether it was a tear of sadness, or one of joy - maybe it was both. Then she closed her eyes, worked her way towards the edge to feel, only for a second the tranquility, stillness, happiness and the gentle breeze.
Then she leant, and fell, music played until the last moment when the ground made contact, her eyes opened.
The sun set that evening, beautiful as it ever was, maybe more beautiful than that last sunrise. That beauty hurt him so far down it scared him. He could not cry because he knew, in his heart that this day would come. The day she could stand no more, the day her strength finally evaporated - the day she was in danger of letting someone see her cry, a thing he knew she'd never do.
She still clutched the photo, her music smashed but he knew the playlist off by heart anyway, that day in the morgue - their final meeting he saw the photo and he left it with her, he had his own copy and he smiled. Suddenly he had clarity, he worried for her no more and knew exactly what he should do. He was serene. He knew how content she must have been in those last moments of her 25-year-old life.
Each time he saw fresh cuts, rushed to the A+E and brought her her pills he knew she was relinquishing control, slowly but steadily.

"No funerals" she once said, who knows why they were talking of funerals but there was no funeral. He took her ashes with him instead to the top of that building, his head as clear as he was sure it had ever been, as clear as the sea.
Her moment was recreated exactly, according to coroner's report and his knowledge of her, he changed only one thing and did everything else as he knew she would have.
But before he reached the place she ended he let her go, dropped the ashes into the oblivion. Then he cut his own wrist, just like hers, dropped the blade and looked at that picture, listening all the while to those sweet sounds. Then he fixed his half-open smile that he knew she watched in the mornings so often. He put on his fitted, white shirt and he too fell into love, down and down, forever falling. Just like her.