Bench

Apparently friends

Pure anger is what i'm feeling now, i'm so angry i'm shaking.

Why is no one grateful for my friendship? why is it always a battle?

It's either me holding a friendship by a thread and trying desperately to keep them from snapping off, doing everything I can for them, planning my life around them, waiting to take a bullet for them.

or i'm a selfish bitch that only cares about my image.

how can that be the same person?

I think about all my friends throughout my life every single day, I don't forget anyone.

I thought back-chatting was immature when I was in year 9.

I had enough of that shit in EGA.

I hate, hate, HATE people that are all friendly with someone, then turn around and say 'god i hate that girl'

I've seen someone do that and it made me think they were such a shit of a person.

if you dont like me, that's fine

but it KILLS me to know that someone who I thought I was friends with was saying they didn't like me behind my back.

I dont like being taken for a dickhead.

And I don't do 'pretend friends'

From Rock to Rap in Three Days

Mystery Jets @ Round House

Roll Deep @ Kingston Hippodrome

Procedure

This tea, this cup of tea, made of leaves,

made of the leaves of herbs and absolute

almond blossom, this tea, is the interpreter

of almond, liquid touchstone which lets us

scent its true taste at last and with a bum,

in my case, takes me back to the yellow time

of trouble with blood tests, and cellular

madness, and my presence required

on the slab for surgery, and all that mess

I don't want to comb through here because

it seems, honestly, a trifle now that steam

and scent and strength and steep and infusion

say thank you thank you thank you for the then, and now

Jo Shapcott

Woods, Etc

footfall, which is a means so steady

and in small sections wanders through the mind

unnoticed, because it beats constantly,

sweeping together the loose tacks of sound

I remember walking once into increasing

woods, my hearing like a widening wound.

first your voice and then the rustling ceasing

the last glow of rain dead in the ground

that my feet kept time with the sun's imaginary

changing position, hoping it would rise

suddenly from scattered parts of my body

into the upturned apses of my eyes.

no clearing in that quiet. no change at all.

in my throat the little mercury line

that regulates my speech began to fall

rapidly the endless length of my spine.

Alice Oswald

'My theme is memory...

that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time.

These memories, which are my life- for we possess nothing certainly except the past- were always with me.'

Feather

My 3 day Halloween bender.

week of uni.

Belal's 26th

'Do you even know her name?'

Milos Vuleta in London

Stefan's new pad in Spitlefields.

Bench campaign tomorrow....