Flowers

"you can grow flowers from where dirt used to be..........."

Mojito pannacotta's

I spent most of my day regretting drinking the Havana 25yr old rum and the rest fucking until sore. The evening before a blur of images yet to be deciphered and the persistent smell beneath my fingernails, in my hair and stained on my sheet a flashback worthy of exploring.
It is a few days before my birthday and although walking a fine line it is a brighter shade of grey with momentary explosions of sun. It's a strange time and place. Somewhere between nowhere and anywhere. Once again a bubble existence surrounded by punting and picnics yet shallow and transparent to the point of glass. The scars ae healing but the stitches resemble a stevie wonder hatchet job. There is still a long way to go. Mojito pannacotta's and foie gras ballontines capture the tastebuds and gorging on new season asparagus, jersey royal potatoes and cromer crab helps just a little capture all and every reason why i still do this shit.

I

I ate, I fucked, I smoked and fucked some more. This way and that, nothing sacred, hours upon hours, water, ice-lolly's, a long suck, a hard fuck and a mouthful of come, this way and that.

Insomnia

I remember it well - creeping and lurking, kicking and screaming and not letting me get a single restful eye of sleep. It consumed for nearly seven years and seemingly now is back, three nights of turmoil and thinking of ways to fill the hours until dawn makes its appeareance and sleep takes that natural urgency. I think there may be things on my mind. I fear the worse!

fucked up

It has been a geographical and emotional nightmare to date with specks of fairy dust to leave that lasting chasing taste on the tongue. It has been a rollercoaster, eternally scary, impossible to get off, controlled by the mystery hand of another and it has been bliss in a fucked up kind of way. Now.
Its sedation.
Mourning still consumes and throughts are banished, trod upon, jumped out until so distant and dreary they lose any real meaning. It is a point where everything should matter more than it does but in reality and in feeling, i feel nothing but an aching pain that morphs and evolves, mutates and spreads and finds different ways of fucking with me.

Sleep

There is no hope for a civilization which starts each day to the sound of an alarm clock.

Swings & Roundabouts

Indeed things are different.
Almost strange.
Following on the bandwagon of perversion into a world of school uniforms and al fresco activities the summer starts here. Where it finishes...... will be very interesting indeed.

Police

There was a phonecall from who was supposedly a police officer, warning, politely to stay away. So i did, have and will..............

NeverLand

Nothing is the same. Everything is different and that difference is a little disturbing. It is not a good frame of mind as the tears of a clown spring, dancing merrily through my active yet subdued mind. A man of contrary I am indeed. All is not well in the garden of My Nobody but at least its a garden, cloud with a silver lining kind of viewpoint.

I miss her eternally and I am not sure how anyone or anything is ever going to fill the hole she has left gaping in my life. Crying at hollyoaks at teatime and sitting in the rain under the garden tea lights at three, stars everywhere, flies nipping at my tears are not good places to be. Free flowing and energising yet filled with the sorrow of yesterday.

There have been so few that I have been in love with out of so many I have loved but out of all of them she was the one and its that singular fact that haunts and torments me daily and I can't seem to shake it. I sometimes manage two days thinking that everything is best but mostly i barely manage to make it past two hours. Her name resonating in my head, her smile atomically burned into my mind. Her voice carried in the wind and her smell, randomly and strangely stopping me in my tracks. I miss her more than the pain can be explained.
I am sure I am not alone in my misery and for all of her smiles, her candy smiles underneath lie the tears of a clown. I miss Pippy as intensely as her, the package seemingly wrapped in diamonte and shrouded in stardust. I miss my Wendy in my neverland kind of life.

Mr Nobody is for one night only Peter Pan, the boy that never grew up and learned not to play with love as you will only end up covered in fairy dust.

Hollyoaks

I found myself crying during Hollyoaks, in all fairness it was an emotional episode, but still, it is a very bad sign especially with a full restaurant about to pile in expecting food i wish i were not cooking.