Voice of the Unspoken

I am standing surrounded by the rubble of a thousand bad decisions; sifting through the faces, circumstances and events searching for something familiar so it can be crushed, without remorse, underfoot. The task is slow and arduous, performed with a cold heart and empty mind. I am tied in knots houdini could not shake from, confused and lost, shaking and out of control within my own personal dystopia. A wreckage of past glory, present fuck ups and future aspirations. A baron wasteground deviod of beauty and comfort extending for miles in every direction, its borders - like a solution - nowhere in sight. Moribund buildings crumble at each step, their debris demonstrative of people whose lives i have affected, positively and negatively. Some of the images land with a smile, others grimacing, horribly disfigured and others float, unsure of where they should land, or what they have meant, do mean, will me, to me.

I am uncontrollably spasmodic, my knees shake like they know something i don't. My body continues to love, feel and be affected by the events that occur to my left, my right, above and below me. I exist in a constant state of foreplay with a master that has taken control of me physically but not touched my head or my heart. They remain numb, untouchable. Has he done that? or have i done that to myself? I would be scary if i did not welcome it, welcome the change - i feel like i have arrived, kicking and screaming from the womb, everything has new meaning; i am learning to use my senses all over again. Every step is wild and new, every emotion is fresh and unexpected. I have been released from emotional bars and yet i am afraid to let the sun touch me. Aprehensive of impending rain and yet i want to feel and touch these experiences, and embrace them for their delicious entry into my life. But is this living really? Having no-where to call home - a well paid vagrant that detracts from settling simply because of what it means? To know the future is to welcome death; to stand arms open welcoming it to end the drudgery that you have come to call 'life'. Why? why do it? Why deny yourself the variety, the spice of life for an emotion that resembles hunger without food, lust without sex. Surely everyone wants to escape - but how many talk of leaving but never act upon those impulses? I'm acting.

But what is love? an emotional response to a physical feeling when two mammals find themselves drawn together. You hear their name and you flush like a school girl but its not pure. In his absense you shake with a longing that has settled itself in the last place he touched, kissed. An adult movie plays on a loop inside your head as you examine every move, every action - but what are you searching for? meaning? that it means more than just two bodies joining into one for brief moments of mutual pleasure. Is life so fickle that we give away a massive portion of what makes us who we are without thought. We are but mammels who know too much, think too much, who complicate the most basic and instinctive of our urges with ridiculous talk of love. Love changes you, makes you weak, dependant, and forces you, without you realising, into abandoning your dreams, your most precious aspirations. You give it up, but for what? security, company? You must know yourself before you can truely part with 50% of who you are to another individual. Love commands, like an army general on a losing side to give in, throw yourself into the fires of hell and lose your way. Love is not blind to those that look, but those that accept it and forget why they were put on this earth in the first place.

Right well the abstract diary is a working process and i have pages and pages to write, but my life has entered a minefield where i appear to be irresistable to men except the one person i have true, pure, natural feelings for; feelings i have never felt before or even thought existed. A friend told me that if its not mutual its not real, but my God it sure feels real. How can he not miss the tension, the chemistry. There is no way i have got this so wrong. If i had the guts i know what i would say:

As every ounce of my soul fights against the the beating of my struggling heart i see you.
As every breath catches in my throat,
As every muddled thought confounds my brain,
As every nerve ending tingles,
As every morsel turns to dust in my mouth,
As every star, of which you know so much, goes out,
I see you, and everything you can be, without me.

Well perhaps not that exactly, might freak him out a little bit. But one bloke i was sleeping with has turned has told me that he thinks he is falling in love with me, an ex has turned around and told me that he still has feelings for me. I man i thought i liked has become nothing compared to the man that consumes my waking hours. How dare he. How dare someone steal my logic, my intellect by messing with my emotional synapses; that is all it is, lust and biology. Its all bollox and i challenge anyone to say differently...right, im going to go cork my wine...i think ive had enough!

QuOtH x

To anyone that has been reading my blog i am currently in Brazil and having problems finding time to add to my abstract diary. I am still writing, and the entries do infact go to the present day. It could go on forever. But lets hope not as i only seem to feel inspired when i need an outlet for all my concerns. The pre and post dates refer to me leaving my long term boyfriend. I know it seems a trivial thing, but we were together for 4 and a half years, i had a 9-5 job and lived in a little modern surburbia, aka hell. Things got a little too real, so i ended it all. It was a bit hairy for a while, i have no home, no job, and very litte money, but seem to find solace doing a bit of travelling, meeting new people and trying lots of new things (!) i wont go into too much detail there!!

It is mainly because of the way i treated him, and the way he treated me, despite 4 years of supposedly loving each other that caused me to start writing, and attempt to make sense of the emotions that coursed so unforgivingly through my body. It simply rose the question of the origins of ´love´. I just can´t comprehend how such a powerful emotion can disperse to nothing, in only a few, short, sleepless nights.

Any comments? Any similar experiences. All this crap is driving me insane!!

Quoth.

Falling out of Love:

The sodden leaves are damp underfoot, she needs new shoes and the last 2 inches of her blue jeans are saturated with early morning due. Her pace quickens, her heart beats faster and she feels she can still hear his gruff, cold voice resonating in her ears, through her skull, down her spine and into her churning stomach. Why? why say those things, why treat her with such aggressive contempt?

She stops; her hands clench into fists as though around his insignificant throat, and her knuckles turn white in frustration. She can feel the churning in her stomach moving through her abdomen and resting uncomfortably in her larynx. She turns, looking through the bowing canopy of reverend, twisted branches as if to call out to anyone, anything that would listen. But she swallows, her face contorts, she commands her tear ducts to with-hold their flow and continues on her way, far, far away.

Now her pace is slow, deliberate, each step an act of defiance to the thing she has developed an unabounded hatred for. It came from no-where, rose like a tidal wave out of a still ocean to engulf her with total and uncompromising fear and disgust. It washes over her in suffocating waves like the bile rising from her liver and she wretches, dry and spasmodic into the undergrowth. She kicks the damp grass, scuffing her already mud-caked shoes, she stamps her feet, punches the trees, tears at the damp bark. She wants to self-destruct, descend into self induced delirium but the prospect of artificial amnesty is unlikely. She stops again, abandons the thought of going home, abandons the thought of ever going back - not that the thought had crossed her muddled ever darkening mind. She spots a clear area, slips off her jacket and hunkers down on the cold gound, lifts her hip flask to her lips and renews her inebriation with a long slow embibement of the warm liquor. She lights her last cigarette and slips into a bewildered acceptance of her deteriorating state. Night, turns to morning, turns to dawn as the sky bleeds and she looks to the new day for an answer, but she knows that this is only the first stumble of her long awaited fall.