Monday, February 02, 2015


I do not think of the brain as a unity but as a collective whose working, if unobstructed, is fluid and dynamic. When free from restraint it simply allows the world to interact with it and reacts authentically. It is without pattern because the world itself is only apparently patterned.

When we do not get what we want, we form fixed points in our brains. They are forced to return to those points, as though we had tied the brain to them. Without resolution, we are forced into patterns, over and over, and the unfree brain feels as though it is in pain.

What we want is a difficult concept and I don't think it is a real thing at all. I think we have disparate signals and urges within the brain that are without structure but some part of our brain demands structure and collates them into desires.

Do you not sometimes feel you do not understand what you desire? That you have somehow interpreted it out of a language you do not really understand?

If we did not, there would be an end to wanting but there never is.


Sometimes when I massaged a woman -- always a woman because their skin is smoother -- I would become focused so that all I consisted of was the action of massage. My mind stilled and I felt at peace. We talk about "losing yourself" in a thing and that is what I did.

I realised that relinquishment of the self brought peace for me. Perhaps even that the self is no more than the wants that we have interpreted from signals and urges we do not fully understand, and that if they are extinguished, we too are extinguished.


Sometimes when you are high, you can become fearful. You disorder your brain and small things can seem threatening. Cars pulling up in the street nearby are cop cars. The noise of the possums in the loft is burglars trying the door. Things people say seem double-edged, tinged with unkindness.

But sometimes you just feel your brain has no moving parts and whatever you are doing, you are doing it without concern. Reading, even, can become an incredible pleasure. Not what you are reading, that you are reading.

It seems simple. You only want to do what you're doing. When you are able to diminish what you want to one thing, your brain's working is free. You have no purpose other than to do the thing you want, so it is easy to eject the self.

I have not finished but I have stopped caring about what I was writing. A happy ending!

C'mon baby

C'mon baby
you can't hurt me
you can touch me but
you can't break me

The warmth between us is a shield, no one can enter. You feel the world shrink to these square metres. I'm not thinking about anything else but the reconstruction of Athens in the ruins. I'm not thinking about anything else but you, I promise.

You can touch me if you want to. Let it flow. Let what you have flow out of you and into my skin, leave trails for tomorrow so that I will know you have been here. Leave me gasping.

I'm not thinking about anything else but you, I promise.

Let the warmth you know you feel spill out into me. Let me know you are real and I will be real too. Let me feel you love me. I will die if you don't consecrate me. I don't care if you kill me. The only boundary is what you will be. Break me into pieces and you will exorcise me.

Let your fear make you my slave and me yours. Let your fear guide you into passages of love that you cannot contain. Break me into pieces and you will become me.

Make me real and justify me.

Be yourself. There is only me here to see. Shed your skin and deify me, sacrifice me, destroy me. Nothing hurts and I am free. Desolate me. Grow your teeth so you can eat me. Grow strong so you can crush me. Turn yourself inside out and you can drown me.

Nothing hurts and I am free. C'mon baby c'mon be with me.

Sunday, February 01, 2015

Vale P

I've been trying to think what I can say about P, who recently died. It's really hard though. I have spent more hours talking to her -- almost entirely virtually -- than I think I have to anyone else in this world. We shared a lot of stuff. She loved and hated me and I never really understood either.

She hadn't spoken to me in a long time and I didn't know how sick she was. I knew she would kill herself with drinking. She had become desolate in a way I think most people cannot grasp is even possible for a person. But I can.

I loved her. That's what I want to say about P. I loved her and I wish I had been better able to make that worth something to her. Because she was worth a lot more than she believed about herself.

Also, ffs, Puck, why'd you have to do that, you cunt?