ha! or not......

tell me, why does optimism only work when something good has just happened? why, when everything goes back to normal, is it hard to muster even the tiniest bit of hope or optimism? and at the time when you most need it too, it's nowhere to be found.
and so what can i do now? except sit here and laugh bitterly at the ridiculously unfounded things i wrote yesterday or whenever, when the blinding pathway of light, and the butterfly, and the promise of a conversation and countless other glorious things had lifted my hopes far higher than was sensible. what was it that made me believe so surely that i'd be able to maintain this? that even come sunday with it's grey skies and lonliness and clarity of everything to come, i'd be smiling instead of crying? i was wrong.

what can i say? this really hurts.

cloud upon cloud upon my head.

ah.... yes. why didn't i think about this before? there is no need to think about it! everything can just.... roll..... there is nothing wrong with feeling but sometimes it's best not to over-analyse. .............. so long as you just relax, there is plenty of time and things need not crush you if you don't let them...........

........

i'm very tired

...........

and a little dizzy from the wine.

...........................

but things are grassy in the meadow. fields don't have to be walked alone, though you may end up talking less than you would hope..... theres no daisy chains of course, but the sky is blue and just take a look at that horizon.

and anyway i like walking.

novels are created slowly...................... even if i can't see out through the pages yet, but thats dramatic irony for you.

why must everything be about opposites? i wouldn't mind, if they were sort of objective, impersonal floaty things on the edge of my vision, but it does become rather wearing when they will insist on coming up and hitting you in the face. desire and repulsion are uncannily similar, you can change from one to the other and back again without hardly noticing, so similar are they in intensity and tone. i cannot work out which one is real and which is the imposter, as i refuse to accept that i am entertaining both simulaneously. and time is another... how can i sit at 2pm and wish it were 10pm, whilst at the same time hoping that no time ever passes from that moment onwards? what is this, doublethink? it is tiring trying to walk down two paths at once, i would like to be able to commit myself to something definately. we will see what the postman says tomorrow.

meanwhile, perhaps keats has something to say.

theres a tiny spider crawling across the wall.


i love it when the world eases suddenly, and everything becomes that much easier, if just for a day. suddenly everything just dissolves, and i smile and comment that the new paintwork looks good.


the spider fell, caught himself with his thread, and has continued on his way.

but then again... i have a feeling life is just going to be a constant barrage of conflicting emotions, and i shall float omnipotantly, yet inextricably involved, above it always, unable to disconnect myself or to avoid being tugged one way or the other, and my only outlet being to comment on the whole mess in a blog or a journal...

yes the sky looks heavenly,
yes i can't help but smile at the flocks of birds
yes i still feel those stars twinkling around my head

but i couldn't sleep last night for the metal pressing down on my chest.

and, really, who is that strange voice in my ear? the one who, when i am walking down the street or sat on the bus, whispers in my ear "so, what are you going to do?". i wouldn't mind so much, aside from the fact i never have an answer for it.

i sat on my bed this afternoon, idly writing in my journal and gently working through the possibilities of holding a hand in the twilight, when all around me stars began to glitter. it was the return of a very interesting feeling, state of mind perhaps, that of the desire for change, and not only the desire for change, but the courage to pull off change. for a few days in january i remember feeling this, and i sat up late at night and mades lists of things to do. wonderful things, beautiful things. but it didn't really make all that much difference, because the feeling passed, and without the feeling, the inspiration, the things lost their wonder and their beauty, and i had no time or desire to do them. but i felt it again today, and i sat very still and quiet, and contemplated it, and hoped not to dislodge it. it's left me for the moment, but i have a feeling it may return.... it's some sort of delightful enjoyment of the world, some satisfaction to be gained from every passing sensation, a new kind of courage and optimism, faith in humanity and faith in nature, the desire to be true to myself and to others, to make the most of human relations, and of the beauty of the world, some sort of... glittering way of living.
i can't quite pin it down. it is shadowy, and if i'm not careful i shall lose it.

courage. courage and love.

i
........
have
........
nothing
........
to
........
say
..........................

listen to the bland emptyness of .... i don't even know what this is. waiting? the calm after the storm? the calm before the storm? the eye of the storm? no storm?

things are.... drifting....

what does it take to fly?

i could sit here and say that things were hectic, that i felt decidedly uneasy the whole time, uncomfortable, unable to be myself, and with a longing all the time to be sat under a tree somewhere, or on a clifftop, rather than in a stuffy, badly decorated, noisy, crowded hostel.

but what were the good bits?
the swans in the dark.
the sleek diving bird, fan like tail in the water.
chocolate raisons first thing in the morning.
the surreality of seaside towns, mixed with the incredible blandness, the muted colours, all made me think it rather beautiful.
watching the bouy i had kicked the day before, begin to be gently rocked by the first waves of high tide.
simon talking about 24 hour daylight.

things were suspended for a while, and it wasn't until i got back into our house, and sat down in my usual place, that the warm orange feeling returned to me. i had thought a lot, but i hadn't allowed myself to feel anything. it gushed over me in only a second or two, like someone pouring over a bucket of warm water, pleasant at first but cold and uncomfortable afterwards. i've been trying to catch things as they float to the surface, before they sink again.

it has been accepted by me for some time that i may be dangerously close to being a hermit. but then, i realised this weekend, that this is not the case. i do not like spending time with people i do not like. (is there something wrong with that?) with people i do like, i wish to spend as much time with them as possible. unfortunately, there are not many people i like, as i put a high standard on "like".
i have thought before... perhaps i expect too much of my friends...

of course it's strange the course that emotions take. at first they seem to maul you, and you loose yourself entirely in them, you're immersed in them, but they are far to hot to touch. and then after a while, they cool and you pick them up and observe them, you give them names, reasons for being and you organise them. but now i feel like they're just dragging on... after the passion, where does it go now? is everything going to stay in this frozen state forever? they no longer shock me any more, will they become part of the mundane reality of my life? i now enter the long drag - look at that road stretching to the horizon. theres still no signs of hills.

i don't tell anyone that the tepid air is getting me down, the mess on the table, the crumpled pillows. (that is, i do declare often "i'm restless!" but no one ever takes any notice, i sometimes wonder if i spoke at all). days in advance i plan a mini escape. nothing so swift as those birds that just pierced the sky like a needle, but something soft. i change my trousers, put on my boots and my coat, in my bag i put my phone, my key, a letter to reread or an old letter and a pad and a pen to reply. i walk downstairs and i announce "i'm going for a walk". i say "i have my phone". i say "i'll be back in 3 hours". i say "i'm going to the woods" even though i'm not. i do this quickly before anyone can stop me. i do it when sunday afternoon is settling in like a mist and everyone has already breathed too much of it to be quick enough or sprightly enough to offer to come with me. i step out the door and slam it behind me, feel the cool air. i shove my hands in my pockets and look like i have somewhere to go. i try to convince myself that this is worth it, that this is a real escape, that i'm not just treading the same roads i have done millions of times before. i do this not because i ever get anywhere and not because this is in any way a substitute for what i really want (to go to new places with someone i like) but because if i didn't do it i think i'd simply die. the same old roads and the same old hedges, the same dull sky and half-hearted rain, but at least it's something, at least it's wind in my face, at least i can watch those crows fly. not enough to save me, but just enough to keep my from quite falling over the brink.

you can talk as much as you like, but when it comes down to it, theres something about physical contact that just is... essential. when i'm alone with my thoughts they invariably take the form of a non-existant body beside me. i had a dream last night of an arm around my waist and a body pressed against my back as i lay.

courage! courage and love. (phaethon was right)

i hate waiting for post.