the end.

& oh! i came home from the sea, hands full as usual (i steal shells & give them to my brother for his aquarium. for his ugly & mean apricot fish). (oh & i pick tiny orange nectar flowers, large bruise-coloured hibiscus, little white dot flowers.) & i sat down inside and i felt a little itch at my wrist & what should walk out of my clothes but a ( Read more... )

Sugar stalks into the kitchen; I don't even know who these people are. The kitchen is dressed in old laces, castle windows and about a thousand broken timepieces. The girl knows to stare at the clocks and the candles hanging from the ceiling; she knows not to stare at the stairway which Eddie might descend. He might walk in, clunk in, heavy ( Read more... )

My stepmother thinks I have a broken rib. I just think I have a knife in my lungs.

Even my six year old sisters check my temperature in the mornings. Just to be sure.

Oxygen masks aren't fun anymore.

I have a really high temperature but I like thermometers. I'm sick but I'm really happy. Is it sick of me to find joy in the side-effects? I can't even get through half an apple. Goodbye 2 pounds a day. 'Cause I'm shivering like hell. Can't sit still. Bones, limbs. They're trying to escape! I don't know how, somehow. & I'm fussed over by my ( Read more... )

jenbar commented that Mum was quite perfectly me, if I were composed of tunes and melodies. This reminded me of a thing I was plagued with a while back. A story I never wrote because it was too close to being the truth, & it traumatised me somehow.. & anyway at everything2.com I had the notes about it, a slight synopsis? scratched in my scratchpad. & now ( Read more... )

Dream of a thousand alices, in some choir, singing Curiouser and curiouser ((raspy angel voices, to tunes like Lamb's Gorecki or restless seas)). I have this painting in my head, but I have a thousand. Why must I always have thousands? Hmm.. 100s + 1000s = faery bread. Why can't I ever own one? One perfect idea, one darling project. One thing, ( Read more... )

Georgia wore olives on her fingers & looked like a perfect frog. She signed like mad trying to persuade me to let the bath overflow so that she could swim up to the ceiling and look around.

pixel dust! by jeff noon, what a swell collection of narcotic alice land ideas, urban fairy tales. If anything, I sometimes think Johnny (Depp) belongs in there. Tween the pages. Or Tim Burton. If he began to like all the colours in a drughaze, cyber kitsch & slippery marionette bordella girls. With (burning) mansions in their pockets. I have read ( Read more... )

Well I wish Kelly had never done this to me, I should have known that with a name like Betty and a life like Veronica there should be some truth to her Geminian birth. One the one hand she is tiny forest child, wingbud demon, a video game character seducing and medusing stupid sworded men with her violin bow. Stabs, flutters. On this hand she also ( Read more... )