it’s kara’s birthday. happy birthday kara.

and: hello again, little one.

you know, you gotta learn to judge your own work the way you do other people’s. getting feedback is important, that’s part of it: true. but you gotta learn to sharpen your eye against your heart because that’s what your voice is.

yeah, you know. read it through, check where the feelings are. fix em up. nothing you don’t already know.

this weekend has been very zero. but before that, the start of the week, i missed my aeroplane. i ended up for a lil time still in berlin all by myself. it was nice. i got home sick. miss my girlies, miss my little life. but then i found myself at the gate. dimples at the gate. not this time, but thank you. and once again a metal tube, and once again a smaller tube capable of slow teleportation. “coffee? rarely. a cup every two to three weeks”. you remind me of someone. everything does.

and i’m smelling quite fascinating, and seemingly an article of interest worthy of inspection. pale, pink, crinkle cut. “semi-skimmed??? yeah! two semi-skimmed!! both of them!!!”. yes, yes. silent Y. every single little detail.it’s all [tktktk] right in (scratched but with intent, engraved? there’s a word with a pointed metal object looks like a mouse nose… it’s like that in my bones. like they’re signed or awarded to the top player.) and inside my chest, in the blood, the colour all diffuse like espresso over ice into milk (like marble) dark and stormy. and you’re like that. you have weather. sunny, stormy. and you warned me “sunny, stormy”. turbulence. the pool around the heart. suspended, kind of, (heart). everything is still except the “clonk clonk” machinery, the pipes, it’s like a ghibli. pictures and music. moving pictures. lights and cameras. danger, achtung, rumbling little wheels along the floor. roll zero, zero yaw, platform pitch and pierce aurora landing with an hour made up in air. and there’s nothing left to give! they’d know exactly who they aren’t, that’s not something i can do! and i can’t give up on myself, and i can’t let go of goo. i don’t think i’ve ever been home sick before. not that i can recall ever in my life. and i was so excited, in the airport, to be getting on a plane towards Heathrow.

and i got home and a dream where i was ███████ at ████‘s ███████ and i looked out the window down into the car and we ████ ███ ███████. i should have said something, but it was always the wrong time until it was too late. of course, Gil didn’t like watching the women’s tennis because of the sounds they make. and there’s the easyhotel old street, i stayed here after the breakup. all night drunk talking to nick, listening to cumbia. (peruvian.)

lmao remember that time sid called miss coulter a dozy cunt and got sent to the principal, and as he was leaving under protest he said it’s not even a fucking swear. nextistential fight or flightless birdy tap the window come on in your cracked up legs i know what’s next my box your nest you rest and nestle convalesce in darkness later acquiesce the window’s open i accept one day it’s empty no protest. from me, i mean. the window’s open. 2am. a spot right here. forgive the mess. barely had a moment, either coming in or going. but at 8am on monday, 5pm on tuesday, something happened beneath my bed and i’m not straight now (horizontal) je serais ton corneille

and this weekend has been very zero. at 7pm yesterday i finally left my bed after laying in one spot deathly hungry for a day. a couple came up to me outside spitalfields, told me that they warm to my energy, that i am a unicorn, that i’m sitting by myself on the wrong side of town. i got misgendered a lot and then i went home. it’s harrowing; we’re breaking up. that’s a soil joke. that’s a weather and gardening reference. then new things grow but the ecosystem is destroyed, think of all the worm holes. it’s a last resort. try planting a big long white radish first. today it’s Sunday, my big ambitions reach as far as Superdrug to buy the wavy hair conditioner (smells like passionfruit and coconuts) and maybe redye my hair and maybe i’ll veet my body til it’s dolphins, and repair my biome. need a week where i eat only what rabbits eat like lettuce, carrots, water, beets — sorry, thinking out loud.

oh i’m going to canada next month. like this:

🛫 -> calgary 🏩
🐯🫛 🦓 🧀 🍃 🏩
✈️ -> vancouver 🏩
🚣? 🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰?
🚣? 🏩
✈️ -> ottowa 🚍 -> gatineau 🏩
🏩 + 👯‍♀️
👰‍♀️ + 🏩
🏩
🚘 -> montreal 🏩
🏩
🏩
🚍 -> kingston 🏩
🚍 -> toronto 🏩
🏩
🛬 -> london (real london, in england)

let me know if you want to hang out. especially on those days when i’m only in a love hotel or hospital towards the end of the month.

and … what else what else what

elsewhither

hello

it’s me

the same rabbit as before

first day, second day. it’s okay that you don’t just because i do, and it’s okay that you don’t, because i do. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.

lights off, machine talk, night space, pre-watch. not raedy, not ready, not ready, not ready. midnight, one-two. testing, want to. sleeping, waking, all day, working, round and round and round and round. and it’s good now, quick dips and repair on the go. bipedal repair kit.

get up there and tell them. they ought to know. little naughty animals. next year, next year, next year, next year. who knows. sometimes. scraps from the table. this land, your land. pickled blood. i’ve a reason. a little salt. and not just that, but every day. potassium.

everything down on paper. paper is plastic, acrylic and pens. i’ll keep standing up, i guess. everything down. does it help? there’s a lot of it. the next part matters too. that would help. fusion, vision, future, fission. not because of that, but independently in response to that. like end of winter. pickled blood. a little nitrate. leafy grebes. starling, shrike. murderous shrike, head on a spike. painting of a warbler impaled on a thorn by an iberian shrike in the winter.

“whose side are you fucking on”

“oh my god i am so sorry”

don’t you apologize to this man, tell him he’s a cunt, tell keith he’s a cunt!

✅ highlight mentions

✅ highlight moments

✅ highlight breakfasts

radiate. or, i guess, emanate. waves. light, pouring out. rippling through. glow, shiver. doing okay? good, thanks. everything out on the table. does it help? there’s a lot of it. the next part matters too, it could help. nobody wants it? i’m partially undone. take it slow. break for lunch. queens. space. good thing. close up shop. nap time. dinner, trapped. happy. glad to be. share a secret, just a moment. building tension, walking bass. blood like apricots. washing faces, locked in place, softer, weaker, seventh seal or those are only there to make you feel better. have you seen this bird? that’s… a… cocktail tastes like popcorn paste the sun sets orange misty dark and hazy lilac crescent moon and darkened windows leaning back like overground and lower stakes and higher spirits churches basements jazz piano. and, it’s the fortnight after one piece torn and red and yellow tearing. string lightly held between the teeth. but not that, eactly. just, “tss-ts ts-tss-ts ts-tss-ts ts-tss-ts”, snare drum rattling, cow bell. i mean, it’s the story, all these strands over and over. that’s how, is what i mean. yes, just like that with leaves and trees. just like that. each one is all the other ones.

rar, but did i remember to write it down? thank god for the morning. and all those little parts. red september, red october. and, like we always do. and, the cheese. plenty of times. i didn’t mean it to be that way, all one register. we’ll work on that. i mean that i will. i mean, not exactly. i wasn’t on the plane when the plane went in the sky. but thank god for in the morning.

and the notebook making station. and that little corner where the memories come from. and es, the whole thing has been for three quarters of a year. nearly a ear. i feel a tickle in my chest and i sneezed twice. i’m out of estrogen. i’ll be home later in the week. maybe my lungs are tired from cigarettes.

but especially… there’s something there in the space between.

sorry if there’s anything missing.

okay.

what’s the next part? when did i fly?

on friday.

what week was it? monday, tuesday, wednesday. oh i remember i went to ilana’s workshop with agnes and bea and mimi and felt so lucky to be with all these incredibly cool smart funny women, and these strange machines.

and, then me and agnes went to termite and i met sam spike. spittle of the moon, milk of the fig, and then home to where my phone and glasses would be.

on Thursday i held a little baby. thought of all the pain and joy in this little animal’s future and right now with just small feet and tiny claws and alarmed to be born. AND i dropped my laptop down a concrete staircase cutting home through the Barbie.

and then i got up, and got on a plane with mimi. and then there was berlin. and there is a lot of busy. and i’m in a terrible mood because i’m being misgendered and having a terrible skin day and also another thing with july. but i’ll get through this month.

and then me and simon legg went to watch my match and i near but lost my voice singing vindaloo surrounded by norweigens.

several other important and beautiful things happened but i’m late and too busy to write.

awright gal, love ya.