Tuesday, 10 February 2009

No subject needed....just my voice

No subject needed....just my voice

As I write this my mind is wondering and turning over. As a writer I always wanted to do the best stories and secretly spurn out mind blowers like the brilliant writers of our time; past and present ones ranging from A to Z. Earlier on during the hand in period it dawned on me properly that I have not even reached my own peak and had only begin to realise my own voice. The voice I only wanted to use was not the voice I had. I've yet to gain the voice that I so badly wanted. I wanted to be the litererary, omniscient, powerful, every word hits you type but I am far far far from that. There are basic story templates that I cannot even follow because of a lack of reading, attention, basic effort...I'm the only one at fault here, no one else can be blamed.As much as there are the classic questions of what makes a good story writer as well as there being different types of work can be as good as the traditional forms I know that its not the fact that it's a case of my work's quality being questionable but the work itself just not being of a good pedegree. So I will take personal strides to improve before the final year. Maybe I was lying to myself all along about this whole writing thing. Maybe I'm not for this business. An author I will not be or even consider at all. Strangely enough though I will continue to do this in my own time because it is still a great release when the frustration and academic pressure of making it good are taken off (officially next year...hmm).Well now at the moment the usual mix of home, ex friends and current ones, work, my future, the past and my dying university career are on my mind. The other day I was with one of my good friends in wetherspoons and I was more wet then a johnsons baby wipe. I had so much shit on my mind that I couldn't talk about because I just know that certain things should be kept closed for a while. Combine that with tiredness from working everyday and boy.....a mixture of all sorts will happen. A module redemption form came in the post as well and having that on your mind will fucking bite you, It certainly made me a miserable shit for the rest of the day. And I know it probably will not be the last one. Later on in the evening which was spent with my friend after wetherspoon I made more of an effort to be better company in order to deter myself from talking about it completely. There is something that I learnt from my lecturer not long before I handed in my work; Leone made me realise that my own life can be interesting. My life is my own and no one else's. I have my own experiences and if I convey them with clarity and the sheer essence of the events then a good piece can be achieved.I will continue withn the new voice and form before I proceed to improve the one I want so badly. The third and not the first. Boy yesterday I was at work and it was a good thing that I was there because drama once more unfolded. Not needed, unneccessary, uselessness foolishness. Oh and a cat followed me, my sister and my cousin last night. I'll save that for another blog.To be continued, the dodgy academic. xxxx

The best since.....well like EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Share

The best since.....well like EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To Everybody,Today my friend and ex-colleague from Urban outfitters alia took me to me with her to see N*E*R*D live at the Vodafone TBA concert in Brighton. I was told the news and was frankly elated. This was something I so badly needed and it has come at the right time.So much has gone this year from the good to the very very ugly, besides me discovering more about me and everything (people, education...baby you name it...) around me. I'm in a place right now when I'm learning so much,taking so much in and much much much more. Therefore this was DAMN WELL NEEDED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Thios has turned me around in the sense that it made me so happy, and I will frankly never forget the feeling when I was lifted from the audience and put on THAT stage.People may think that I may be over reacting or a bit crazy but this saved the day and gave me a flash of lightening that I haven't had in years.I'm not saying this is the solution to my problems but it was the drink; the way people release anger or frustration was the way I released my emotions. The strong feelings of being freed by my own body, as I was allowing myself to be taken by the music made me so happy. I have not felt like that in ages and this renewed feeling is one I want to last for a while. Or as long as it can.Being on that stage at that moment; that precise moment of intensity, fire...the feel of being around N*E*R*D was a brilliant brillant feeling. A feeling that has not been felt in so many years and one that has awoken me and has put me on the road to a sense of recovery. To recover my spark. what makes me tick. Hugging Pharell was brilliant, seeing N*E*R*D was a dream, I will always thank Alia for it and boy I won't ever forget it. Not in a million fucking years.From the true N*E*R*D fan and lover of free soul and music.

Life bites and I hate people.....

Life bites and I hate people.....

I hate people...............They are annoying! Or am I emotionally consumingI am feeling the feelings of discontentment and annoyance! I am enraged for nothing because I am beginning to feel the thoughts of unhappiness again. I out do myself because it takes one thing and I'm fucked over...all over again.Writing helps and I need to keep myself busy too!I want to get away from it all..................Just somewhere else, with other people and other things.When will I be happy? Properly? When will I be free of misery? When will I have my desired wants or a good relationship or a good anything? When will the eye of my affections find me? When will I feel good?bad mood and hot feelings

Abnormality of dwellings.

Abnormality of dwellings

Sunday, August 31, 2008 at 9:47pm
She dwellls all day and or all night long. Everything some how seems to bother her one at a time or all at once.An event, which could potentially need one explanation, can be blesses with 500,000 by her. Whether they are jusitifiable or just plain ridiculous.She needs better friends, a new job and a better life...a new place would also be good.She dwells on things that upset her. She dwells on those little comments but does not what she should at the time of event occurence.She dwells on fools jokes and allows them to affect her. She hates everyone secretly and wants a baseball bat...but wants to use a human head for the batting practise.She dwells on the guy she obsesses over, even though he wants her supposed good friend, she dwells and fanaticaly fantasizes over a relationship because loneliness is eating her soul.She is a confused dweller who dwells on more.........she wants more, makes ways to get it but still feels inadequate. The dweller of the century....the moaner of eternity....the wrongful misery bearer of her youth.The cross bearer for depression,The docile worker,The secreter of deceitfulness.The dwellings of an eternity, for the dwelling dweller.

For the sake of my sakes...A truthful piece of me

For the sake of my sakes...A truthful piece of me

The body of my soul is light like goose feathers.
My pony tail is at risk of thinning because it hates the chemicals that I cannot live without.
Crack cream? Get it! Crack cream....
Once more, my thoughts are circulating like the circle line, continously rounding up then down then up once more.
Hot chip is in my ears but I wanna hear kings of leon. Just for curiosity. I've never listened to them before.Oh now I hear it, now I hear their tune...How late am I? No trend setter for todays youth.
I'm 21 but feel more like 27...weird isn't it because I still feel immature!

Uni starts next week and am I bothered...in many senses...no.
Grateful as hell that I was allowed back but on skins on teeth? Fighting for something which maybe was never meant for me.
Am I a writer? NO!
I am a beggar of the pen, the paper and a amateur blogger.Am I an expressive person?...when I wanna be and when I feel comfortable.At times even my own peoples do not see the real me...

I show want I want and when I don't, I'll do an anti-social on your arse. Fuckery but deep down true. A potential prisoner of ones self.
Do I see myself as a lyricist? I would like to be, but me answering my own question may not produce the truthful answer.
Counting the days until the student rat race of module reading, lecture sleepings and once more looking for something to spark me up but not finding anything.The course which I do not enjoy anymore, because my love died and sunk as low as the remains of the titanic.
Back to work, back to class and the harsh ceiling lights which highlight your lack of sleep and vitamin k.Back to going cinema and watching the same shit.Back to wetherspoons and having the same chocolate fudge cake.Back to wishing that I would get another payrise.Back to wishing I never met some of the people that I did meet.Back to saying "Yeah I'm gonna go theater and eat sushi again and have my paul and sister coat". Yeah right.Back to walking past the local African grocery shops when I go to see my mum.Back to that life....Back to my aspirations and what I want because I refuse the life of mistakes...even though I'm dangerously close to it.Back to hanging out......Back to attempted budgeting.

Back to my life and the innocent glances that I secretly look on with other people's lives.
Back to my life. The tall trees that animals shit on, the 242 bustop and the tesco express (I swear they are coming everywhere...are tesco wanting more money out of us? Duh!)
Any who, The rambling is over. Toodles.

Back to Black

Back to Black

Walks of roaming on her heart strings,Her footprints are matching the footprints of others.

Warmth of fur, like a polar bear, Sitting in front of a wooden fire.Her natural gold of reliability is a con for her.

She may or may not love you but she'll help you anyway,then she'll go back to black.

The shawdows will await her once more,once the one she helps returns back to their light.Then, she, walks back to the black.

The cold pavement fills her soul and wells up her eyes.

Eternal heartbreak will be her demise and resentment is starting to pull at her earlobes, The whispers are shamful.Stone cold leather boots take a step.

A gloomy glaze of deadness has washed over her eyes and her skin is tight with cracks of neglect.Her fantasy of a bond crashed and collasped on her head.The happiness of her dreams has been quashed.

Back to black she goes, the souls of the dark accompany her.
They watch her and she,
hmm, she relunctantly walks with them.

Dreams of bonds

Dreams of bonds

As we walk through the stoney path, we are laughing at weird shaped onions.My clammy from-nervous-sweating hands are clasping onto your dry long fingers.

We exchange cheeky winks and lustful grins with sprinkles of flirtation afloat.

I have burger breath with leftover fries in my bag but you...you don't give a shit about that.I'm your girl and all you wanna do is accompany me thru the disco nights and kebab take-outs.

We're past the stage of carefully applied mascara and clean blazers, yet when I am on my way to see you, I still make the effort like its the first date.

The 242 is coming and we're both running for it. we're on our way to Leicester square to view the lights of youth (and clubbing!).As our feet clammber to the top deck I trip up but you lift me up and we both giggle like seven year old girls.

My side fringe gets in the way and you sweep it from my eyelid. We sit at the back and we both fight for the window seat, then you finally...give it up to me.

Our talk of smelly onions, dodgy nollywood films and rising costs of london are precious.

Confessional bland sinner; of the modern age.

Confessional bland sinner; of the modern age.

As I take the sip of Evian (in a desperate attempt for better health...failer folks, failer)I look and see the potential opening to wreak my business onto the suspecting public.I'll put onions on their eyes, as I spill the not so secret beans.A desperate attack on the blog which was blantantly designed for shameless, unheeded writings of ones personal journey.

In words of sorrows, misjudgings, anticipation and sheer curiousness, I, the expressist carry out the prolonged attack on the reader.I write some shit and have a niggle of a feeling that you might...just...might relate to it.Oh wow...originality there, eh? Some form of sympathy wrapped as empathy because no one can ever really know how you really feel.They can regconise it but not empathise entirely cause similar means just that. It doesn't mean the same thing.Boredom was the reason that I am writing right now, I feel bored. Therefore I confess then call it 'poetry'

Am I too, guilty of the confessional poetry?Do I allude mysef then give the expressed jumbled mumbo to my friends or any Tom, Dick and Larry...

I'll give myself peace and this a poem. It will make me feel better.I cannot lie; this confessional does me wonders.Is this now a contradiction or will I allow it and say that the confessional poetry shall be left as being called poetry.Maybe the title is deserved because reading the sheer simplicity of someone else's thoughts is a valued fascination.

A confused, bland confessonalist. Help the dying keypad and my sore eyes....

Lives of the lovers, the kindred fatals.

Lives of the lovers, the kindred fatals.

Entwined souls of the hipped joined lovers.The smiling woman and the scowling man.His fist just might upper cut a delicate cheek.

That throwing down the stairs can fuck you up, or at least put you in a wards bed.They hold hands and read Sylvia Plath together. Manic depression should be his name.

They go to Paris, in her hope of the passion to outgrow it self.That happens with the rages instead.

She forgets to put peppers in the left hand draw in the corner of the fridge. She then has to go to the doctors for a broken hand.

The frown from the kindred turns to a delicate insult.Then the delicate insult to a swear filled one and then she responds back....

The first offical slap and she goes to her friends house. But staying with 3 kids and a another married couple is not the one.

After a desperate attempt of finding a flat, she returns to the kindred spirit she longs for.A slap then a trip to Venice. Cold milk over her midnight curls and she gets another salon trip to have her hair straightened; he likes it that way.A kick in the pregnant belly and the baby dies but they're at it soon after.She is going mad inside but loves the scowler. Eventual periods of time are taking place; for mental breakdown is not a quick thing.

She thinks its her fault even though its not.She thinks she has no one even though people are there for her.She tries to avoid the inevitable egg shells but cracked they already were. It just took time for them to be seen.As each slap is becoming more and immune for him; the pain is fresh for her.The what if's and buts and hows are emerged but ignored.A fairly confident woman is now reduced to a wreck inside; a pretender she is now.A smile from her colleague at a mutual party and she knows what will happen when she gets home.

The living shit will be battered and kicked out of her.The lengendary beating is her last.

She runs like an animal unleashed into the wild.She's one of the lions now who looks as though she's gonna eat that cub.

Bit by bit she was moving her clothes out with her prized possessions.She's heading somewhere else after 5 years of captivity with a beast.The scowler only finds her letter after washing his bloodied belt and cleaning his nails.He hangs himself 2 years later; after she had just found someone else.

At her secret visit to his grave, She looked at the stone and let her heart become just that.

The memories of Paris and Venice,
gallerias and shoreditch.
The theatre and ballet.
First kisses and touches.
First slaps and punches.
Her very first rapist.
The lost baby and those kicks.

She drives hereself home and has 2 bottles of vodka; in remembrance of him. The scowler.

Back to black; again and again and.....

Back to black; again and again and.....

What is new? Nothing.
* feel pulled at, bugged, angry, pissed off, not happy at all. No sense of peace because there is so much going on that well...people would not guess.How long will pretense last for? How long will the patience last for? How long will it be before open their eyes and things for what they are? How do * have to wait? How long?! How long!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When will it end? After trying and trying and trying but falling back in the trap!?Black hole? No...* am at the earth's core. Save the body from the earth's coreHey, can I borrow your patience? Oh * can I borrow your self-esteem or...don't wanna ask for too much but can I take the piss out of you too?




And I make that for me. I need to get out and get out soon.Walls of sandy stone will break and crumble down like cheap apple crumble.The thinnest layers are stretching like cheap glue, with see thru tints.Do I see gold...no...just clearness; nothing is there.

Deadly depression...is now the question, unhappiness of moaning and holding...in. The steam of hot headed-ness.Maybe not depression but unhappiness that is noticed but not dealt with. Complications of fluctuations of feelings are the heat that burns the shoulders and itches the eyes.

No room for sole companionship, no place for overnight talk, no space for the headcase.The paranoia is in official ramblings and * is distressed.

Gross and icky skin, hair that is losing body, the body that is losing its glamour. Encripted crys of help are taking place and people are listening but then * lie. Lie and lie and lie.A lone rider is maybe what I need to be now; ride my own cause its all getting to me.Work is getting to me, I don't know how I feel about uni. I feel like the fucking special dumb kid who they let back in on a snippet of actual merit. Some people would kill me if they heard that but thats the truth although *believe me...* I am still grateful for the bone I was thrown. I'm still trying though to be a good student but how long will that last for? Does a zebra ever change their stripes...or do they zip em up in a tight body suit?

Maybe I should pack it all in and say fuck it all to all of this shit? Maybe I should be a someone who works 5 days a week and have money with not much happiness.Know one will ever understand me; They'll only ever accept me because sometimes I still try to understand myself,

What does Abiola really want? What makes me happy? Why am I alaways on the shelf in every aspect?Why do I need? What is best for me? Who or what do I get rid off in my life?Another blog; with answers that only * can find.

Whilst I'm doing my homework....

Whilst I'm doing my homework....

Coldness of season.
Conditions of change,
Give me your graces andI’ll show you my lane.
Show me your thickness and let me live.
I will forever be at God’s mercy and at the Holy Ghost’s feet.
Begging for another chance from sinners lane.
Fiery rough of forests and splintered trees.
We hold hands and you sing sweet Redding songs to me.
Oh love me tender and lick me till I’m blue.

And whilst I'm doing my homework.....I made a short series

And whilst I'm doing my homework.....I made a short series

The white screen blinds these eyes slowly.Gently and quickly; the dirty air will cease.In this room, I feel my own breath and inhale my own body warmth.The road on the next morning is there for pure unadulterated shitting,wetness from the night before is setting into the ground and my tears may follow it.I have no reason to be this emotional; actually, that’s a lie. I have every reason to feel this wave of angst and indescribable shame. The greyness of my eyes and skin give away the hot pain of the lost youth of my freedom. Freedom of my 90s is the freedom that died.

Buttercups and dandelions. Blossoms and tulips. I watch these flowers and their eyes are on me. Obscurity in its deepest form when entwined with watchful nature. Man’s own sightings are dogged by conscience and the drippings of greed’s fat stink up the fucking air.Flies on wall and the homeless crawl the sidewalk. Oh, wait, I meant the pavement; I forgot I was British for a second. Well, the night is young and I’m desperately trying to feel it up.

My mind, my head. Is gone.My spirit, these eyes are weak.The love and living of my youth is dried.I feel old. So old.Weathered and battered.I smell of garlic. My sister told me that.

Races of the cultures, fellow fathers of all falls.Legends of my falls and glitter of tomorrow’s ancestry.Gentle swayer of the old and new world; commander of the guilds.

Am bored as f***...so maybe passing the time should help...

Am bored as f***...so maybe passing the time should help...

Boredom is killing my time.Me very bored.Boredom is eating me hard.
I hate people
They suck cause humanity sucks.
Humanity sucks cause no one wants to be humane.
Inhumane is the name of the fucking game.
Even if its evil........................
We are not a healthy bunch of people.....this is wrong



Coldness of your navy tongue. The same tone as unaired blood,

Oh when will it be possible?

Oh when will it be possible?

Free your mind and mine...please...
Give me your water and quench my black thirst.
Free your mind and give me strength, beat the written script,for me.
Beat the script and break the rules....I
'm crying now, I'm dying inside to be redeemed, for lovers sake.
For the sanity of my purest feel, feeling that, feelings that evoke my tears.
I am lost in my own emotional mind map, branches all over the fucking place.
Am gone, again. Am gone, with strong currents from the wind.
My water that I want

Monday, December 8, 2008 at 11:39pm Edit Note Delete
This body needs to be cleansed and cared for,I need my water.It's been a long while and I need my water,I need to be washed and soaped.I am not at one with myself.I know I'm wretched and HE* sees my soul for what it is; nothing is hidden cause he sees all.I need to be bathed and lifted from my heartache but I need to help myself first.I need to lift myself first before he can hold my hand again; I need my own engine starter.

I need the water,

away from the adverts,
the packet food,
the facebook,
the myspace,
the oyster touchers,
the rushers on the picadilly,
central and every other line,
the t-mobile top up,
urban outfitters,
my house,
my family,
hard core consumerism,
alluring look of drugs and too much drink and wild sex that I constantly turn away from,
the organize gangs of authority,
the 'education'
this life of great clothes that are made from other peoples sweat,
the expanding over million mountains of technology (not all, some),
the mobile,
mind numbing retail from the capitalists,
the conservatives,
the racism,
the rules,
this life of restriction and greed.
Of deceit and hatred,
of bad and evil and downright wrong,
of the people who have fucked me up,
of those people who ain't what you need,
from the chemicals of hair straighterners,
serum and spray.
Of the monotonous music that ain't music, the pretentious skinny jean, full fringed army crew (not saying that everyone who wears skinny jeans or has a full fringe is all part of that) who hang out in brick lane or shoreditch or portabello road or old street.....

All of it is just trapping and claustraphobic but yet...am I the biggest hypocrite of them all, am I the pretentious one...am I another zombie who doesn't know herself. Indoctrinated with mans absurd ways of life...Am I a sheep?

What makes me different...cause I don't know anymore...Cause I'm gonna go back to the same life cause I know no different. I'll be the 'good guy' who ain't really good cause I'm really like everyone else.What makes me different, when I, can't leave...the mental entrapments....what makes me any better when I too, am a sheep.

Let me pour my soul like water from a jug, let me be a baby again, let me be free. Let me wriggle and be naked, let me feel free in my movement and thought with untamed curls and no trousers.

He will clean me
He will move me around
He will move me around.
That water, The water that I want.

When will I be good enough?

When will I be good enough?

When will I! Be good enough!When will I be good enough! Will I ever be good enough? When will I get the A? Or even the B?Or is C my forever, mine forever set in stone.

When will I be good enough?When will I be considered?Why won't I be good enough, When I try and fight through the words and punctuation.In almost every way...I feel almost devoid of any writers worth.I should pack it in and just stop, I know that the critic should only make you stronger but maybe I don't belong here.Maybe, should I...maybe I...maybe. Just full of maybe's.

When will I have the words of 'wow' or 'oh my gosh' from the regconised regconition from my lecturers.When? 'cause' boy...graduation is on its way and I want the A piece and the wow story.

Maybe I should devoid all emotion from this writing business, cause maybe I'm wack.Maybe I should spare everybody the written spew and just mentally stew in my peppered mind juices.

I'm just gonna give up. Write for acamdemic purposes; This is officially discontinued. Fuck this; fuck not being good enough. My words are not fufilling and I thought I was getting better.




be good enough.

I couldn't help myself...I'm too in love...

I couldn't help myself...I'm too in love...

I failed my own promise. I just couldn't help it. You beat me down everytime and I keep coming back. Each time I get stronger but each time ain't strong enough yet. God watches me and My struggles and I fall then beg him. He listens, even if I ain't one to be listened to...I can't ever let you go.

Even if I wanted to. You're not number one anymore but you're not far behind....I love you, even if you don't love me. I try for you even though you don't try for me....I still use you and I still haven't reaped your complete benefits.

I'm the writer and you're my wordsThe most painful relationship I've ever had.

Heartbreak in a pen and my paper, imagine that.

Fly away

Fly away...

I wanna fly away and not come back.I have so many plans and not enough time.I wanna get some wings and get outta here, I'm too young for commitment and work.I wanna fly away...from everything.

Let me glide and slide into the celing with no glass that I can see.

The bees won't sting me cause I can't feel.I can't breathe cause I'm too high.

The shackles will be off and my time will soon come for me to bounce...Its me against the world and my space-ship too.

I'm not really here, only my body is.It operates for my mum and family.
It (painfully) operates for work.It operates for my family

It operates when it needs to.

But I am so far gone, I'm not here anymore cause I'm a drifter.A drifter who wants a fling. A drifter who needs no holds. A drifter who dreams endlesslessly.A drifter demanding more than the mental metaphoric dream.

A drifter of dreaming

Always interuptted.Always interuppted.
Why can't I help myself? I just love him/her too much....

I write and he comes out. or she.Whatever sex it will choose,I write and he comes when I'm horny or in sexual need.She comes out when I'm writing about my turmoil and how I feel or what I'm feeling for.

But they don't want me or my bent back or my spotty forehead or my muscular shoulders.They don't want me and I'm not good enough for them, I've a long way to go before I reach.I hate myself and I am starved of those words.

I am an addict for that written expression. I cannot be asked yet want to be.I'm not even making sense cause I'm in numbe pain. Numbed out in virtual livings and my own denial.I'm sleep walking.

I love these words, I love them so much or maybe I don't cause I don't know what love feels like.

Infatuation could be it instead.Complete ramblings that are actually near completion.
We go back...no. I went back...

I go forward, and back but not forward.We reverse the curses of our fellow men and children who take the heroin.They inject. We reflect.The orange leaves of gold... stay on the pavements, as we march to the funeral tunes.

The misty air entraps me, as I walk along the mental beaches of my tranquilities.The imaginings sing to my soul and I cry to them back.Tender touches of my thought to feeling.Aching throats and undying subconcious thought.My life and loves are in the balance.Everything is in the balance, my soul and fucking sanity are in the balance.

Pain. is at the whims of my fingers.Swift moves will be there. Torture is all I write of.It's all I think of.



Me is everywhere.I cannot live this constricting life of repetive strains and maintainance of maintaining legal pain.Everywhere is me cause I wanna be a bird but am I a swan?The swan whose beauty justs stays on the murky water, for eye service?


I am a black bird, dark as ebony and never staying.My wings are metophoric and my speed is mental.I'm in Japan and Spain and Austria....I is everywhere and everywhere is myself.

The me I wanna be...not this London bound robot who journeys thru shoreditch every fucking day.We are travellers. I am the traveller through my eyes and heart.I feel the buzz of the take off in the terminal grounds.My feet are gold on the destination point.

Me, everywhere.You, with me?No, lone flight...sorry Calvin.Once my degree is done...Once my degree is done.I'm will speed with my wings and take out from the take-off.

Wind is blueish enhanced by rouge, on my hair.Speed is that phenomenal.I speak so that I say I can go.Take me sky and propell me to through the burgundy moons.



when the music stops, who will hear your crocodile cries...bitch

Grad After

Grad after

The robe is black but the mood will not reflect my skin tone.Class walks and deep grins will be aloof as our feet hit the podium.Hats on, then down and upward.The script is rolled and and wil it be the 2.2 or even a 2.1?Music will be glorified with cameras and twinkles.But what after?Grad after, a black girl grad...Shiny girl with even shinier hair.I'm that new kid on the block and I know that I rock.

After graduation...free hopes and costly dreams.

After graduation...free hopes and costly dreams.

After the 1st note got lost..I'll just wrote another one.I'm sitting in the dark, on my laptop doing fuck all. Mostly outta lazy arse bordom but hey..I've got like 5 months left than I am gone and will be a grad. And, that thought is one mixed with a lot of feelings. I am not unhappy nor happy but I am very keen to do something out of my routine. I am aware that I have a long time till I decide what I want to do long term. I am aware that even older people start over or still don't know what they want to do either. There is no rush to suddenly find the 'job'. Not saying that everyone should wait but it helps; each to their own depending on the circumstances. Even so when you graduate, chances are that (unless u r lucky or have contacts) that you may not a graduate job (even at trainee level) for a very very very long time. Nothing is perfect and frankly...that 'perfect' job may not exist for everybody; however a very good job is within reach; not in easy reach but within some distance hopefully. Even so, when people do work their jobs, they may change them because its not what they wanted or they are still looking for something that they ain't got yet.After graduation I had plans to do this and that and whatnot but plans...they don't always go according to plan. I constantly lied to myself saying that I wanna be a author when it was never true or ever gonna happen. The writing world is a world that I have seen closer up and its one that I ain't feeling. So now, I don't know what I wanna do but I do know this...I will work fucking hard and use my 'I don't know time' wisely. But before I do that, I'm taking a complete month off and then a holiday...lol. Volunteering and work experience are being taken up right now by myself, and I will continue to deep my hands in different areas because having experience is pivotal. However, having a range is just even better; particularly if you're in my position and am not sure of what you want.I do have a few ideas but...I am still just floating with them in a sense. But what I do know is that I wanna go and explore. I don't know where exactly but I wanna get up and get. I'm thankful for what I have but I'm striving for more. I cannot settle for less because my sanity might take a battering and that will be soul destroying. Its not easy and its certainly not guaranteed but I will give whatever I choose to do my best shot.After graduation, I'm gonna relax then do my thing and see how it pans outs. I'm not terrified yet but later on I mite be but I'm taking it in my stride cause I wanna live. I wanna live and enjoy life too. So that for me is too, another integral reason why I ain't rushing. I do not wanna wake up 40 and realised that I worked without a purpose or without any heart.After graduation, I wanna fly out from everything. I don't wanna see anybody for a while because of how I feel about everything right now. I'm questioning so much right now and I need room on my own. I need my own space because I am becoming a woman and need to learn about myself more and how I can cope without my familiarities around me or those same things being the very reason of me not prospering. The graduation after party...who knows what could happen.To be continued...

Demise with my heart rate rapid

Demise with my heart rate rapid.
Intense scrutiny of one's situation and the destroying effects.Left broken and burnt.Cut up and feeling so angry, these times are so testing.Tears are not that far but they will not come.How far are the bad times gonna go?How far will I regress?This life is not on and maybe this may be another encripted lehp ryc fo desperation.Pitiful, secrecy of the worse demise.Discretionate sadness, then lying to say that everything is alright.Deep unrest, never with both eyes closed.No one will ever feel the way that I do right now.So close to the unmentionable, so near I can taste the door of darkness and the door takers breath.Smlling the lucid air and holding back my tears.No one.I want no one near me yet I wanna cry.So internal, so still.Oh my lord, My heart rates rapid.

A favored clip...

A clip from one of my favorite songs...

Evertime that we walk the streets, I try my best to keep up with the beat. You're everything that I never could keep. I hear that sound and it starts to repeat..

Concrete Dandelion

Withered greys of leafy yellow flower.The dandelion that still stands, almost alone.With nobody but herself, really...The wind and tornadoes have come. She's takes the batterig but stands still cause she is concrete, even though she looks so small.The family are far away and her friends are nearby but not in stem shot.The root is tested but Dandelion holds the ground, stiff like cement.A silent tear leaves her flower, she only allows one.Just one tear, for the minute comfort of expressing herself.The seeds are closed but she still grows, her body still evolves.She will make it through this tough season. The concrete Dandelion.Braves my times and only cries inside. Raw but sweet.