Isle Of Wight

The Cult Of The Famous And The Dead

eer Being a guest inflicts a surgical light on complacency in a relationship. Calling the meaning of our lives into question. Deep breaths and clean thinking. Arbitrary movements, an outside analysis of a life curated without a care for design. How protective of our beginnings do we need to be to secure ourselves in life and reality?

Every movements gives away our portraits.

I play parts in my own disasters, in charge, how ever fleeting of my own chaos. Trying to deny something unusual is happening. Are we part of a spiritual something?

No, not just Jesus-God, Allah-God, God-God.


A concrete connection that reaches to you, to me, to everyone else. My perceptions of all this are my own, untouchable by group-you, but I want to know if heart-ache wrenches your stomach like mine. The last time my heart was broken, my chest hurt, my heart felt painful, as if missing a beat.

The less I am connected the more I feel like I'm attached to this whirring spinning thing. Which doesn't make any sense, not really. There's people out there having families, starting careers, traveling the world and enjoying ever second of it.

Here I am, hazed with a hangover.

The world is watching me as I try to plot my next move, and it feels as though everyone is on tenterhooks waiting to see if I fall, to see if I fail. Failing and falling. I have the best friends, I have the best boyfriend, I have all the support I could ask for. I'm a lucky little cunt at times.

If I told you a secret, could you keep it?


Morning View

"I suppose that's a common conceit, that you've already been so damaged that damage itself, in its totality, makes you safe.” 


I'll quote We Need To Talk About Kevin until the world makes sense again. Damage worn like a protective coat, making you and me and everyone else feel warm and safe. Forgetting your (my) own positive character traits to become a crazy.

Oblivion is where something goes into nothing, but in reality something can come out of nothing, apart from electric energy. Energy can't be created or destroyed, it moves between you and I and the spaces that we inhabit for even the shortest moments.

Is it pulling me down, or is it trying to pull itself out of the hole? I am never sure, especially not these days when my dreams are so much more than this.

Rain fell down the windows for days on end and curling into bed for a warm, unconscious respite becomes so wanton. I have always been left wanting. I am a stuffed animal with a heartbeat. tiny worlds swim in my head. Strawberry laces tying up my heart, you've heard this all before.


A broken record skips in my head, repeating the same collection of words in a vain hope sense. Throwing out clothes, throwing out things makes me feel like I'm shedding personalities that didn't fit, and never will.

It's ok, it's ok.

I'm not religious, but maybe we all need a little spirituality. Solipsist ideology slips into the forefront of my mind so easily, but maybe a new world order is not just ideal but imperative. I am alone, only my mind right now is here.

I'll rip my own face off and show you my new guise, and maybe things will begin to slip and slide correctly, for once.

(I never said I have all the answers).