I'm riding a comet through the space that fills the rift betwen the love in our world...

There is a desire for the soul to be loved. It stems from the very core of when we are forming as foeti in the womb. It’s part of the instinct that stays with us for the rest of our lives, it’s part of the very thing that our mothers gave us during pregnancy that we have kept and cherished and abused and lost and gained and cried about. But the desire for the soul to be loved is filled also with a desire for the soul to be filled with that feeling of joy, the one that is inextricably linked with happiness down to your very soul. The two are different, just like pleasure of the flesh is different to pleasure of the heart, just like falling in love and lusting are completely separate and different experiences. The two might occur simultaneously of course, but they are still different and in any case as simultaneous as they seem they are always out of sync. They always occur at different times even if it within the microsecond between a blink and a tear, between the breath that gets caught in your throat when you hiccup and the time it takes to realise that your breathing has continued as normal.

And this microsecond.

It’s like the unexplainable absence of time when you sleep. Like the moment you wake up and realise that several hours have past and you didn’t realise. And it leaves you horrified, it leaves you with the feeling that you shouldn’t have been sleeping in the first place, that you shouldn’t be attempting anything other than living your life to the full, that something deep within your psyche is holding you back to the extent where you will never become famous and never become what you always told yourself that you were going to be. Never writing that novel, never recording that c.d., never finding that little niche into which you place yourself and make a career.

It’s not as miserable as you would think though.

There’s a certain beauty about the way it works.

The way you suddenly notice that you’ve fallen for the one you lusted after for so long.

The way the desires of your very flesh take control and you are guided not by your genitals, not by your head, not even by your heart, but by the very ether of your being, the very thing that makes you who you are, the very blood running through your veins, the very skin that hold together your bones, the inner life-force that runs through your entire nervous system.

You’re just a shooting star in my life, a roller-coaster that I immediately regretted riding, but I had to ride and ride I did, and after the first big plunge, leaving my stomach at the top, I started to enjoy it, my heart starting to beat fast, the adrenalin starting to pump through my veins, the beauty of the view from where we lay, enveloped in each other’s arms, starting to open itself up to me, starting to show itself through the grey haze that had begun to hang around me like a bad smell.

At some point, like a shooting star, what we have will have to explode with an energy greater than that of the sun, bursting forth into the very fabric of time and space, filling the universe around us with our song our unbridled passion screaming towards the heavens, killing the pain ‘twixt the cradle and the grave.

‘Till then though we will ride the roller-coaster, we will strap ourselves in, grab hold of each other’s hands, knock back a few strong drinks and fly, use our senses to catapult us half-way to the other side of space, following the line of the universe as it expands and expands and expands, dodging the black-holes and misplaced stars, singing our erroneous heart-break to non but the very people who decided to place upon us the burden of life, to the very people who decided that we were strong enough to fight, that we were strong enough to cope with the pressures of being something more than a thought in a dream, a winkle in an eye, a spark of something down a neurone, across a synapse, and into the deepest darkest parts of the human mind.

We will sing with fervour.

A fervour that has been told in stories as impossible to replicate.

A fervour that would make people laugh and smile and dance and feel gleeful were it not for the simple fact that they do not believe that such happiness ever existed in anything more than fairytales.

And so there our story will end.

Our voices suddenly cutting out mid-song.

The length of the reverberations and echoes only comparable to the volume at which we sing in the first place.

So let us sing.

Let us dance.

Let us run.

Let us live like tomorrow never even existed in our minds.

Never even existed in our memories.

Never even existed.

xx

Song of the day: The Temper Trap - Sweet Disposition or Thom Yorke - The Eraser

Quote of the day: A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants - Bob Dylan and Generosity if giving more than you can, pride is taking less than you need - Kahlil Gibran

There's this girl...

There's this girl.

She's "The Original Woman".

That is all.

xx

I still love you with every little piece of my broken heart ...

So. It's been a while. I don't know why. I just haven't felt like blogging. Now is time though. Now is definitely time.

So a lot has happened recently. I've blogged about not being a student I'm sure. But for those of you who don't know... I'm not a student any more.

It's annoying.

It's weird.

It's screwed up.

It's an excitingly fresh, new start.

I have a range or emotions about the situation, mainly because I didn't drop out of uni. I failed. So y'a know, everythings strange. It's like my soul is overflowing with emotions so much so that I cannot control the very growing anguish of the pain that I feel inside. My umbrella always had holes in it. It's just that it's started to rain. What's weird though is that I almost like getting wet. I'm not to sure why. But it's nice.

It's interesting.

It's enjoyable.

It's helping me grow.



It's showing me that only I can shelter myself from the storm. (With the help of my wonderful friends that is; you know who you are.)





That's one piece of news. Onto another.


I am no longer with my boyfriend Sam Roulstone.

It's been coming for a while. I mean the second time we ended up in bed together (third time meeting him) he casually mentioned (during the morning pillow talk) that he was going to Bangor to study Environmental Chemistry "next year". I should have known that things were going to be difficult. In fact I did know things were going to be difficult. But I did this whole "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it" thing which wasn't too healthy. But it worked. We fell in love.

He was gorgeous,

He was sexy,

He was awesome,

He was cuddly,

He was ticklish,

He held my hand,

He was my first,

He was mine.

It wasn't working though. He was a nightmare to get hold of. He was virtually un-contactable for a while because he lost his phone. It was annoying and I needed my cuddles and my kisses etc.

I did go down to Bangor to see him. I went to the open day whilst there and will probably be there next year studying Music Tech. and Creative Writing. It would be awesome to do that.

But I digress. So yeah. I went to see him. Things seemed fine. they were fine. Then I found out that he'd kissed a guy at a party whilst still in Lancaster. This didn't bother me too greatly, or it wouldn't have done if he'd still been in Lancaster. Trouble was he was miles away and could be doing whatever with whoever. I ended it with him. In hindsight I found this a rather hasty decision so I spoke to him and tried to sort it out. I wanted to give him a second chance and to sort things out. Long story short though he told me he didn't love me enough to make it work properly. Not good. Oh well. So then and there we ended it. Our wonderful 5 and a bit months spent together just finished. Finito. Ended.

It's hurting more than I'd like to think it is. I'm not denying it as such. Just trying to put a positive spin on things even though it's still hurting. Not shit-loads. But a little. I haven't got to the crying stage yet. But I do need a shoulder to lean on.

That's that.

I loved you Sam Roulstone.

It's a shame it didn't work.

But I would never have changed the time we spent together.

It was awesome.

xx

p.s. My weekend is going to be tiring. I have the Roc. Soc. trip to Jilly's on Saturday night and then I have to be up early on Sunday for a the Pagan Soc. stone circles trip. It's going to be tiring but fun. I cannot wait.

Sweet disposition...

So I'm finally blogging again. Although unfortunately this will be the only one in a while due to not having the internet at my new house yet. It's a Lancastrian house I'm sharing with four friends. It's awesome. Except that it has no internet.

I waited from bout 5p.m. to about 9p.m. yesterday for a man called Rob to turn up with a router to fix our problems and connect us to the world wide web via broadband. That didn't happen.

It screwed me over mentally in a quite a weird way. I'd done pretty much nothing all day, just lounging around like you do when you're bored and have important stuff to be doing. And then I was waiting for four hours to be connected to the internet. I had to wait downstairs too so I could hear the guy knock on the door (we have no doorbell) and that was boring. I got all agitated at every car that came past the window, thinking that it might be the guy coming with the internet. I got more and more irate as the hours past and more and more bored and more and more upset and just fucking annoyed.

Then my boyfriend Sam called.

This was awesome. I know he doesn't like talking on the phone (neither do I much) but I'd left him a message earlier to tell him to call me so we could chat about stuff (seeing as he's down at Bangor university in Wales and I'm in Lancaster and I've not spoken to him since (on the phone) since he left Lancaster).

We managed to have a really good, lengthy chat about how he's coping down there and what I'm planning on doing and how he's feeling and stuff like that. It was nice. There were a few awkward pauses, but that's to be expected when you stick a dyslexic and a dyspraxic (both with slight phone phobia) on the phone to each other.

He's awesome. I love him. Very much so. I was thinking about giving him an ultimatum and asking him to convince me to stay with him.

Now I don't need to.

I know I love him too much to split up with him. It's going to be tough, but we CAN make it work.

It's DarkSide tonight. I'm having people paint me in many different types of swirls in an array of different colours. It's going to be awesome. I haven't been able to use my paint over the summer (even though I've been to a few DarkSides) on the basis that it would involve my parents seeing me in copious amounts of paint. Which they don't like.

I had my face painted for Midsummer and they saw it as "taking a step backwards". Like I'm supposed to grow up or something. It's annoying. They shoud know by now that I'm not going to become a serious adult like they are any time soon. Hopefully never. But I can look after myself. I've not given myself food poisoning and died or set the house on fire or done something stupid and dangerous.

I CAN COPE AND ACT LIKE AN ADULT!!!!

HAVING A CHILDISH SIDE TO YOU IS A GOOD THING YOU UP-TIGHT, FUCKING ANNOYING BASTARDS WHO DIDN'T GET THE CHANCE TO FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS!

*Ahem*

Excuse the small rant there. It had to be done. First blog in a while and all that. I have a lot of pent up emotions that are spilling over like the endless barrage of emotions flowing constantly from my soul, pooling on those around me, inadvertently affecting everybody around me with my mindless outrages and heart-less apologies.

This is good. Very theraputic. And it actually sounds poetic for once. Yay. Or not yay as the emotions might dictate. We'll see.

That's all for now.

xx

It's not a hill, it's a mountain; as your start up the climb...

So. Any ideas on how to stop wallowing?

Because I am. Not in self-pity. Not in self-loathing. But in love.

Yes. I'm wallowing in love. And to an extent it's good. It's nice. I'm happy in love. I'm the happiest I've been in a while. Truly.

But now he's (and by he I mean my boyfriend Sam) moving back down south next week. He's going home for about 5 days and then moving into his halls at Bangor Uni.

That's what, 79.48 miles. Which doesn't seem to far on the surface. But it's oceans to me.

It's oceans to both of us.

Sam seems to be coping better than I am. Maybe because he's done this before. I don't think he has. Maybe he's more secure in his feelings for me. I don't know.

All I know is that;

I LOVE Sam Roulstone

and that;

OCEANS WILL NOT STOP US!

That's all for now. I felt the need to vent. I still do.

I'm not rid of the unshakeable fear in my very soul. I'm not distracted enough to stop wallowing in my own thoughts about what's going to happen and how I'm going to feel and how I'm feeling right now. How stupidly upset I am that he's leaving.

Of course I'm making the most of our time together whilst he's still up here and that's nice. It's nice to know that our love has been strengthened by me becoming more sure of myself after Pride and other things that have happened.

But you know. I just can't help being all upset and "meh" and "blah" about him leaving.

It's understandable really. But it's still annoying.

That really is all for now. I'm out of words. The words I have already don't do what I wanted to write any justice. But hey.

xx

Song of the day: Either I'll go crazy if I don't go crazy tonight - U2 or Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap