howdy daddy

i’m sitting on a train. i’ve just left cafe pacifico. someone outside charing cross said so much London in one sentence, maybe it was part of some kind of practical exam? “Oi! Hello! Hang on! It’s a bloody green man, isn’t it? You fucking cunt.”

well? hows u wee chick? hows tricks? u keepin well? aye. aye, same as me.

awk, poor wee thing you must’ve been scundered. ay, pobrecita.

what happened this week? i have the physical sensation inside me like i’ve been drinking litres of autumn and winter every morning. in a good way. on tuesday i spent an hour and a half with one of my favourite people to spend time with. on-line from far away. it felt like drinking litres and litres of autumn and winter. in a good way. the next day i attended an algorave and saw some other of my favourite people. and i drank litres and litres of autumn and winter in particular. and there were moments. and also there was an owl. and it’s important, something. in particular. i can almost feel the shape of it. but not quite. until then it’s just carry on. follow magic. do what must be done. alley oop.

i did a coup this week. and i am being supported by the military. now there is a coalition. it will be beneficial for all. overlords, benefactors, guides, stewards. it all looks the same from up here at the top.

as such, we are connected briefly in time to week 30 of the year, many several things that happened then are echoes now. louder now, in fact. echoes of now? reverberates in reverse? who knows how time loops, loop echoes, magic and alchemistry/god/wizards work. anyway, take this down your copybooks and draw the line. given enough metadata we can take Time down once and for all.

X X can no longer help you recover your account if you forget your password. to avoid losing access to your account, add a different recovery contact.

i’ve dyed my hair this weekend. bleached and dyed. and i’ve doused myself in the cheapest, pinkest Versace perfume. it good. a clear demarcation. there was that, now there’s this. ladybug on the wrist. breathing’s uneven, my body is slimmer. it’s a good day. more honest. cuter and more obviously unbearable.

i’ve sent 3 half finished tracks to Spotify etc for a Christmas Eve release called ritual.

i will post a link next week.

talking about next week, it’s a big one.

• maybe monyay
• softer software society social
• train to edinburgh, piercing change
• see jm, ls, back on the train to london
• some time during this close every remaining ticket

the oath was this time 2022. después de mexico en el verano, mucho después de sentimentos tontos en febrero. then there was the silence. then there was july, railway, party, boom, egodeath, radio, magnets, the second helping of sentimentos peligrosamente tontos. and then, what? a chance, i guess. a pause, in effect. but what if it unfolds in reverse? will i be skilled/chilled enough to chop hop at first goof? or, shards of glass. amour de soi. maybe it’s easy now, wee buns. no sweat, wee buns. sweet to the beat las vegas.

over and over, it’s something in the winter, going over the past over and over. i’ve been reading through the export of all my old tweets. i sure tweeted a lot about being a girl in 2011. i feel so sorry for this little baby rabbit girl. confused and closeted queer full of wild love and energy, who does not know what it means and can’t control it and is afraid to be honest and loves people and is scared of pain and is thrashing out at everything when it threatens to be good or peaceful or holy. drawn to chaos. and drawing darkness because it is dark. she somehow knows and doesn’t know. she is going to be in so much pain for such a long time. and just needs a little tiny bit of information.

at 11 applying for the all-girls school. at 14 pigtails on msn. at 15 birthday cards for parents “from your loving daughter”. at 17 veet all the hair off tell everyone “feels like a dolphin”. 19 emily, sometimes. “chee doesn’t count”. “later, when the boys come over”. never asking why, or why it felt good why it was right. exception. county kerry, rona, climbing into my tent with a rimmel kohl. there’s a decade left before any of that makes any sense, and it is going to hurt. poor thing. pobrecita.

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one time, trying to lift my spirits, someone described me as “a niche fuck”.

ok x c u bb

p.s. hello to lex if you’re still here