i guess that my truth is just the ghost of my lies

I don't know who I want to be anymore.


'A lazy-arse, scruffy-hair, outa-bed-stumbling, illegal cigarette smoking, freek-mode munchie getting, Nutella right 2 da edge of her white bread spreading, cute boy wif no-front-teeth scoping, 'wat de fok happened last night??? i'm never drinking again!' vowing, head-ache pumping, horse-tranquilizer pill-popping, squishy little cheekie weekie zef rap-rave pixie.'


I want to be the all the girls Jesse Lacey has ever written any song about (even Seventy Times 7), I want to be the protagonist in The Bell Jar and Harry Potter and the His Dark Materials trilogy and Hi there! Supermouse and May and The Outsider and Catcher in the Rye and Chicago the musical and in any horror film that I survive in, and the author of A Clockwork Orange and Fight Club and Everything is Illuminated and The Black Prince and The Handmaid's Tale and House of Hunger and Heart of Darkness and The Great Gatsby and Othello and Never Let Me Go and Great Expectations and every other book that's ever touched me, and I want to be Effy, Emily and Cassie from Skins and Sookie from True Blood and Phoebe from Friends and any female drummer that's ever existed and Rizzo from Grease and Fran from Black Books and Yolandi Visser from Die Antwoord and Hayley Williams and Ani Difranco.
 I want to be ruthless, kind, continually amusing, inexhaustable, thin, good looking, intelligent, humble, proud, dignified, unattainable, intimate, distant, independent, discrete, quietly spoken - a tortured soul, some of the time. I want to be anyone with naturally straight hair or green eyes. I want to be anyone with an accent different to mine. I want to be anyone who has good posture, anyone who can handle their drink, anyone who's thin, anyone with cheek bones, anyone who appears secretive, anyone with a caffeine addiction, anyone who does or doesn't smoke, anyone who doesn't eat, anyone with a marketable talent, anyone who is motivated to succeed in something. 
I want to be French, Spanish, Italian, Brazilian, Australian, Canadian, Mexican, Thai, Swiss, Dutch, Japanese. I want to be a traveller, I want to be a housewife, I want to be a mother, I want to be homeless, I want to be a slut, I want to be a 'mentalist', I want to be a 'hottie', I want to be a weirdo, I want to be a creep, I want to be normal, I want to be insane, I want to be a prude, I want to be an academic, I want to be a druggie, I want to be 'on it', I want to be modest, I want to be a mystery. I want to be approximately every reasonably attractive girl i've ever met. I want beauty, power, pride, but I also want none of these things.
 I want to be a poet, a primary school teacher, a museum curator, an author, a solicitor, a music producer, a film director, a singer, a glass blower, a pub owner, a bookshop owner, a librarian, a cafe owner, a university lecturer, a nurse, a waitress, an astronaut, a philosopher, a professional blogger, a manager of music festivals, a journalist, a magazine editor, a film critic, a greetings card designer, a hairdresser, a spinster, a tramp, a loony. except I really don't want to be an astronaut. I want to be everybody and nobody i've ever met.

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it’s no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn’t need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

i wouldn’t want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

oh i'm hoping you'll understand, and not let go of my hand

Today I woke up at 10:30, threw on some clothes and walked to Library Square where I met Triston who had just come out of an exam - we had a cigarette and waited until Eleanor turned up and then we walked to our new house in Coldean which took about half an hour. I was very very excited to see the house and it didn't disappoint; decent sized bedrooms, squishy sofas, nice garden, etc. Walked back, met Charlie at the bus stop and went straight into town. Bought a load of random crap I didn't need like some more nail varnish and a pretty notebook and a pen (actually I kind of needed the pen) and a Nandos meal (extra hot chicken pitta, chips and coleslaw, can't go wrong). I also got my lip pierced, and I was weirdly more nervous about it than I've ever been about any piercing before - probably because it really was an impulse decision and because I anticipated a lot of pain (which I was kind of right about, still not as bad as my anti tragus though). then I realised that Triston would probably be kinda angry cause I hadn't told him beforehand and cause he really wants a lip piercing and cause he's always said that one wouldn't suit me, so I went to Ann Summers and bought some sexy underwear with which to reconcile with him.

Errr then I came home and partook in some illegal activity and then realised I have an exam tomorrow at 9:30am so I read the rest of The Great Gatsby which I'm being examined on and had a nap and now I'm in a public computer room on campus eating a tuna sandwich with some difficulty because of aforementioned lip piercing.

I'm also being examined on this guy tomorrow which is quite nice because I love love love love him.

ANIMALS


Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days
- Frank O Hara

under the bridge downtown is where i drew some blood

You do not always know what I am feeling.

Last night in the warm spring air while I was

blazing my tirade against someone who doesn't interest

              me, it was love for you that set me

afire, 

and isn't it odd? for in rooms full of

strangers my most tender feelings

           writhe and

bear the fruit of my screaming. Put out your hand,

isn't there

an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside

the bed? And someone you love enters the room

and says wouldn't

you like the eggs a little

different today?

And when they arrive they are

just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather

is holding.

For Grace, After a Party - Frank O'Hara.

^ I fucking love my course at the moment, for reasons such as this indescribably beautiful poem.