Grow up

Why hello, internet beast. As ever, it has been a while. I was actually going to start by prattling about the student protests and the UCL occupation. I'll be honest; I have my opinions on it all, fed and nurtured by news, views and having a sneak peak around the scene myself, but I don't really feel they should just sing out into cyberspace just yet. I have no idea why I brought that up, even. Probably just to mention that one day I SHALL be happy enough to have all my opinions heard anywhere/everywhere, like some kind of hysterical firework.

Recently I have been spending a lot of time trying to make sense and move forward. Trying to make tidy, sweeping statements about getting older, like "You know you've grown up when you do what you don't want to do, without having other people make you do it" or "being grown up is buying your own Christmas tree" or "when you stop snoozing your alarm that is when you've GROWN UP" or some other quaint little sentence that is supposed to make me feel better about all the chaos. Of course, no one ever actually grows up. It is an imaginary state, some kind of stick with a couple of carrots attached, like being allowed to drink alcoCOOL or rent a car abroad. Not even mothers and fathers are grown-ups. They still see themselves as wayward teens who feel like they just discovered important stuff like lying can sometimes go unpunished and everyone is at the very least a little bit shit. My, I'm all about the examples today.

ANYWAYS, here is to family!

Work to be done

My mind could make cloud ash
Look like violent violet victory-
I’m a desert storm scene,
A drunken craving-
The husband
Home from the pub,
his sly sneak up your back with an
insistent snake hand,
While you pretend to sleep away the matrimony.

I gave every neuron to the drama,
Stilled my coiling scenes with more flesh,
Flesh from my face and hands
And even meat minced from my mind.
But why should I not? You squeezed me out,
Yellow and wheezing,
Prickly all over like the sinner’s grin-
A sad sack of sallow.

Then you gave another to the world.
The Other One,
who tries to stomp two-footedly
Into the paw prints I leave behind.
My paws that clawed at your mothermilk
Before leaving, stretching paths to another country
and "pursue better opportunities”.

So now you are my work, bloodthing.
You are the tiny drip that leaves me inadequate,
A stalactite searing my spine.
It is more unfair than wolves or drowning
To labour you further over the loss.
I left you in disrepair and shabby,
How could you not grow crooked,
into a wind-whipped sapling
clinging to the rock face,
my face and
Memories.



The first stanza is preambling ambling, the next two addressed to mama and the last to ma soeur. I'm a drama queen.

I probably wont write before Christmas. So I'll wish you happiness, tinsel, twinkle lights and whatever the opposite of weltangst is, to see you into the new yea(H)r.It's going to be a good one.The Schmutzli told me.