I love the sound of Thunder. Loudly declaring its entrance across the sky in bursts of noise and tiny droplets of rain. Atop the roof we McGivered a makeshift terrace. Armed with Pain Au Chocolat, water, sun screen and countless fashion magazines we made our way up the less that sturdy ladder and hoisted ourselves onto the tarmaced roof. The Gherkin was in plain view along with quaint stoops and chimneys that lined the streets nearby. Dozing in and out of consciousness, I finally gave way to sleep as the clouds began to save us from the heat by overtaking the sun. Cool breeze gave way to still, then picked up again, a mild calm before the storm. A rain drop landed slightly North East of my belly button. We made out way back down into the house and I am now seated on the futon sipping a cup of tea as darkness overtakes the sky and the smell of rain drifts gently into the room. Thunder claps louder and lightning illuminates the dim streets of Brick Lane. I still smell like sunshine.

I love the smell of rain. I, however, do not love spilling tea on my skirt.

“you are honestly the most adorable thing ever
i turned skype on for a second and saw u sleep and just thought “awwwwww”
amazingly adorable”

Just my luck I’d be snoring in my sleep or drooling. Hopefully neither. But I make no promises. I needed a good night of sleep… about 7 hours. Good enough. I could have stayed up all night, I could have partied my ass off, but I was lacking in motivation to do so and I had obligations to follow through with as well as a desire for a friendly face. Not that I wasn’t around those. I just couldn’t be arsed. La Roux drifts faintly from the street into my window…

I hang my hopes out on the line ~ Oooh will they be ready for you in time

Sometimes the psychological rational for actions and feelings is sorely lacking. This doesn’t mean it has no basis in reality, but more so that things cannot be explained in the realm that belongs to human understanding. Thoughts and thought processes that often exceed the capable realm of understanding are so much thought to be “unreal” or “crazy” but I would have to disagree in the utmost of a vehement option. You can’t touch air, or see it, but you know its there. We’ve accepted that air (oxygen) is a natural component; vital to our existence. So why no intuition? Why not the gut feeling that something is right? Granted it is very subjective and cannot be proven by science, but on the same token I believe there is something to be said for people being able to trust an intuitive instinct and foster positive results from it. As is fact gleaned from science by preforming the same action again and again with the same results… as is intuition and instinct.
If someone were to question me on my reaction and attraction to said (previously) person. I would be able to give the a myriad of different reasons why I have fallen down the stairs of lust into emotional vulnerability, into what are my present feelings and thoughts. But at the same time, given the circumstances… we’ve been bred into our society to think that things such as that simply ‘do not work’ that it is an unlikely and improbable situation that has a sanctuary of safety that is acquired only by the distance that is present. While in many cases this social and emotional stigma reigns true and supreme I believe that people who are capable of surpassing that particular level of conscious need not have those same rules applied. The modern paradigm of emotional and mental connection is one that has been skewed and diluted through years and years of what has become an unrealistic set of standards… I supposed all this rambling is basically to state outwardly for myself, my fuckall attitude of people in doubt, and to shut off the sense of myself that caters to those external beliefs. Scared and vulnerable we go into the darkness, only the strong and determined survive and I believe that it is based on sheer gut, intelligence and a deep connection with yourself that is held by so few. We attract each other and within that we create an absolute balance and strength where we need nothing more.

You have no idea how excited I am to play this. Insane amounts. That and the original Mario Kart (Rainbow Road). I remember getting jacked up on caffeine with my friend Elise, over-taking her brothers room clad with countless anime dvds and game consoles and playing rainbow road til the cows came home. We’d sit there and scream and yell and act out with the expressiveness that is only found in 6 year old boys playing with Tonka Trucks in a sandbox as we drove around in circles and off the road, again and again and again…. Anime, sugar, rinse and repeat and some Dark Stalker Tetris once and a while. We’d also play My Little Pony’s (we were about 12) but we’d give them personalities and real life lifestyles. They would have drug issues and girl problems. My Little Whore & Crack Addict Ponies… or something.
Anyway, I digress, fact of the matter is that the reason I get to play said game is because of an extremely sweet gesture from an insanely sweet guy, and I have been bragging about it for the past however many days to anyone who will listen. Said situation kicks ass.

“You don’t mean that.” * “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” 🙂

Seaside get away, show me something new. Early mornings preceded by even earlier mornings. I don’t think I get nearly enough sleep. I don’t mind really. At least I’ll be on EST and fine about it.
Sipping tea, caffeine injection. Focusing is hard, I keep drifting off across the ocean. Funny how that works. Murphy’s law at it’s best/worst.

I question things a lot sometimes. Thinking to myself “Please god don’t find a way to fuck this up.”
It’s quite hard to explain. Quite hard to understand unless you just… you just get it. So I don’t bother even trying… it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks anymore.

And the fantastic thing is that I’m happy with it. It’s been good days for miles.

Groundwork and bare skin. Mysterious. Intriguing. It’s that electrical pulse that runs momentarily through my body. A slight internal jolt. Fleeting and yet it lingers. I’d move heaven and hell for a teleporter at times.
Even when things go horribly wrong they still go horribly right. You attract the type of energy you put out which means I’ve been quite positive and fortunate lately. It really has been my year thus far.
‘what thee hell are you going to do about the distance?’ Fuck knows, but I’m quite clever and can sort a way in almost any situation, and if Saturday was not proof of that then I have no idea what is…
Scheming. Give me my fucking money.

I hope you´re happy. Yes you… you ´mistakenly´ picked up my wallet, probably thinking it was yours (NOT). Then proceeded to make large purchases on each of my credit cards (if you were any good at being a thief you would have made mutliple purchases in small incriments as to not provoke suspicion with the card companies, you´re stupid… so very stupid). Luckily they were all declined. I hope you rot in hell, seriously, I do. I really liked that wallet which I got at a thrift store and will probably never see the likes of agian. Now I´m stuck in Barcelona, Spain with NO money whatsoever. All you really got out of it was 2 Euros and 1 pound, congratu-fucking-lations. And fuck you for giving me so much to do like making countless international calls to freeze all my accounts and cancle all my cards, thats not going to be cheap… All the while I could have been out enjoying the sights such as Gaudi (who I deperately wanted to go see) or working on my tan so I can trump Dan in our competition (which it is VERY important that I win, so if I lose because of your stupid antics, so help me god I will hunt you down and kill everyone you love, including your dog – if you have one). You… Sir… are a fuck. Die in a fire. I fucking hate you. Go play in on-coming traffic.

on a lighter and more awesome note- I have now swam naked in the Mediterranean Sea.

Then again, I define my myself with sitting all too close to the brink of insanity.

Take me to Barcelona, take me to Brugge. Poland and Cairo are next… It’s not that big of a secret, and it’s ‘pretty obvious’ now. I suppose I am not one to talk about my feelings the more and more I look at it. I always thought I wore my heart on my sleeve. But I was informed about a week ago that I’m as had to read as the facial expression on a dead Rhino (Okay, I made that analogy up but she would have to agree). PLEASE BE MORE CLEAR… it says. Apparently I’m oooh soo vague, and I say this with a sexy pout, wrap you up in cotton wool…
Homework in exchange for pancakes and back rubs sounds like a decently fair trade. I’m always up in the air- Floating around inside my head. A million thoughts running around, they are disjointed and non linear. Just the way I like it. Do you like waffles? They’re okay… I just don’t like plain maple syrup. Drink ’til we fall out of trees. Burn like a good bonfire in whatever you do…

A simple curiosity. What do you taste like? What do you feel like? All tied together with a common thread of healthy fear. It’s not like it’s some epic secret… or is it? Headstrong resistance gave way to inquiring minds gave way to the subtle attractive and now here I sit. Up before noon for the first time in weeks. Chuffed. The earlier I get up, the longer I wait, the longer I end up being awake. Some random cruel cycle this has come to be. Fuck knows. I could be headed for the ground without realizing. That’s what you get for jumping out of a perfectly safe plane… tread lightly as the sun rises.

If I may make a reference to (19 May 2009), you will note that I describe my desire to wander through the rain during a storm listening to Burial. Today brought the opportunity to do so…
Sitting inside I heard the distant clap of thunder rumbling through the sky making its way overhead. The faint patter of rain as it began its deliberate descent to the ground. Thunder claps louder and at faster intervals. The rain sounding loudly through the window ajar. I excused myself from my online conversation with “Hold on, I’ll be right back, I’m going to go stick my head out the window” and I did just that. The rain depends the colors all around, a vibrant green stuck out in great contrast against the grey sky. Smells of new, earth and life drift up from the ground and down from the trees. Feels electric. I grabbed my iPod and my flip flops and ascended the stairs. Stepping out into the rain, the air is warm and the drops splash against my face. From the door to the gate, about 20 seconds, and then I’m on the street walking towards Queen’s Park. I’ve been out of the building for a minute, tops. Burial is blasting in my ears as I walk down the street laughing in my head at the people with umbrellas. Out of the corner of my left eye I see a figure on a bicycle slow down in my direction, a black man with dreads, fit & attractive looking. I can tell he’s coming up to so I preemptively disrupt my musical journey to cater to what he is about to ask, & I know it’s not going to be directions.
“Excuse me” he says “would it be alright to ask you for your phone number?” “I don’t have a phone” I replied with a smile on my face. He immediately apologized and carried on his way. As I did mine. I laughed at the oddity of it all, then was immediately captivated by the loud rumble in the sky above me. Rain fell faster around me then eased up. As I turned the corner my pace slowed and I saw the sky light up. I stopped and scanned the clouds about for the light source knowing it would reappear. Music halfway up so I could hear the rain and thunder as well. Shortly after the brief pause of rain a torrential downpour ensued. I turned the corner again headed towards ‘home’. Flip flops became slippery as the wet seeped through my clothing and around my feet. Walking barefoot now down the walk. I looked to the sky twice, just in time to see the flash of light. Harder and harder the rain came down as I couldn’t help but slightly dance my way back onto the grounds. I walked past a man on the way to his bike, helmet and all & smiled between the drops running down my face. Ice now… the rain had turned to hail as I reached the drop. I was about to go in and turned around to look. stepped back out from the overhang shielding me and back into the storm. Puddles formed in the cracks in the sidewalk as I waded back and forth laughing at my childish satisfaction of it all… as quickly as I came, I left, returning a sopping mess to the flat.

There is an old man across from me, a table away. Nursing what I believe is his third Guiness (It’s not even 4pm). Sitting alone surveying the very anti-climactic happenings of the pub around us. Two middle aged gentlemen are carrying on about life at the table to my right. Against the far wall, a man and woman who’ve been here since before I came are still carrying one about god knows what. I remember her whinging about the tube strike, (I, myself, am not a fan either). Two other older men (mid 60’s – but looking MUCH older than my almost 60 year old, extremely fantastic looking father) are dressed very smart in suits and sharing a laugh over a few pints. But my attention has been on the old man in front of me. A blue button up shirt is underneath a blue jumper. Both long sleeved. His white, yet not too thin hair, is combed back, and he sips his pint as he rests his right arm along the ridge on the wall. Calm, and reflective, and just watching. We’re both alone. Yet I am preoccupied with my machine, which is about to run out of battery as I type this. 00:23 remaining. He taps his hand to the beat of the music that plays at a decent level throughout the pub. Doors open and close to the outside and the smell of cigarette smoke wafts in. I want one, but not really. I think they just make me sneeze. They say when you sneeze it means someone is thinking about you, if that’s the case then I reckon someone is mentally stalking me, and I would like them to stop. He sits there still, looking straight ahead. I wonder where he’s from, who he lives with, what his story is. I want to ask, but that’s weird, and I have to get ready to go. Strange dreams again last night. Something about washing my clothes. Laundry. I blame Dan, who was going laundry last night while we were talking. I did some today. Bypassed my laze to actually do something productive. Tonight will be wicked…

“Girls like you don’t come around that often”

I’m a sucker for late night talks anyhow…

You can’t spell wine without WIN!

Put on your poker face.
You don’t, no you don’t have feelings tonight.
Remember what they’ve always told you,
What doesn’t kill you only makes you wish you were dead.

Oooh, they sing to a melody completely out of tune.
As the gin pours like rain on this warm summer’s eve.
So put on your poker face, lest they see
Lest they see what became of a guard let down.

Time heals all wounds, leaves only scars.
But you don’t have to have feelings tonight.

The weathermen in London have a tendency to be right a whole lot more of the time than the ones in Seattle. I’m not used to this. I see that it is going to rain, I think “bullshit, I’ll wear my skirt anyway, it will be sunny” I was oh so ever wrong. Though I’ve still not learned my lesson, I’m sure.

No more than 3 minutes ago I was walking back into the flat after traipsing around looking for a top up station for the Heat and Electricity, which was not fruitful by any means. I did, however, manage to acquire a new shirt and a pair of leggings as well as some bits and bobs from the local chemist. How that happened, I have no clue. Anyway, so I was back on the grounds about 25 feet from the door when this little girl no more than 3 comes prancing up on the pavement towards me, dressed in her Sunday best (or something) with another child and her mom following behind. About 10 feet in front of me she leaps to a halt and stares at me with complete disapproval. A glare that would be fit or someone had I just shamed their mother, but no, she was 3 and I’d never seen her before. I’d like to believe that she was in awe of my pink hair, as most children seem to be. It’s not like it’s that shocking, but for a 3 year old maybe. On the contrary, it was a look of pure hatred. “I’m going to burn a hole in your soul if I keep staring at you like this.” I typically like children, but she can go to hell. Though that’s probably where she is from.

Piccadilly Circus. Sport club. Soirroco, I think its called. Jon took me there to watch football once. Tonight was hip-hop, the place throbbing with anyone and everyone on the pull. The bartender eyed me, once, twice, a third time. My bruised ego gave in. Someone to validate my looks, my shallow first impression intellect, if only for a moment.

“Why are you here alone?”

“I just moved here” was my reply, but what I meant to say was “I go everywhere alone, I am alone, and I feel rejected right now so if you pretend to think I’m something out of the ordinary, I really wont mind.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone” he said as he filled two shot glasses with some sweet green alcohol.

Cheers. After I finished my first and only drink I payed for, two more shot glasses appeared. Sambuca… and it’s disgusting. I thought if anything was going to make me ill at some point in the night, its certainly going to be that. I purposely didn’t eat dinner either. Another gin and tonic for the road… A double Bombay Sapphire with extra limes. He even squeezed them for me, how thoughtful. Where I’m from and who I am is not really his business so I made up half truth and half lie. I didn’t have a phone, but here’s my website. I’m confident he won’t be in touch either way. Thanks for the drinks, I’ll be ill at the end of the night, I hope.
My mission: get cunted. Not the best idea but I wasn’t past the idea of going off inside my head for a bit and forgetting that I have feelings to hurt.

Welcome to Matter. The Thames smelled of salt, glowing eerily from the industrial lights shining on the opposite shore. 2am, the sun will be coming up soon. Who goes OUT to a club at 2 in the morning. I do. After the 5k (not really) trek to find the front door, out on the final frontier of abso-fucking-lutely nothing, I get very (and by very, I mean EXTREMELY) thoroughly patted down and then given the go ahead to enter. Guestlisted, I am such a fucking spoiled brat. I’ve never paid to get into a club in London and I’ve been to the names. Blue lights, my favourite color, span the length of the interior. As I stepped inside my pulse started racing and my body shook of bass and I could be anyone. Sometimes you just go out there acting like you’re all that. Whatever makes me feeling better tonight, I thought. Taking in my surroundings; bodies writhing and moving under the lights above, and the smoke that trailed around feet on the dance floor. People everywhere. I made my way to and from the bathroom without too much difficulty. As I’m exiting, what had become at some point, a unisex bathroom, some guy who couldn’t be much older than 22 eyes me, grins ever so big and states “You are SO fit! You’re so fucking fit, absolutely fit!”
I smiled and kept on walking, but inside I lapped it up like a puppy, feed me please. I’m feeling a bit more confident.
“Oh my god so fit..” trails off into the music as I exit.
To the bar. Champagne, one glass down, another glass, and another… We pushed through the masses to the front of the booth. Wide-eyed children glazed over and hanging on to the cage which contained the DJ, the MC and other various VIP’s which will someday include me. Breakdown, and then the drop. The crowed swayed as one but arms flailing completely on their own accord. BOH
Another glass, and another glass. I think I’ll have myself another Gin & Tonic.
Slightly to the left of the booth, a bit more room to have a dance, which I did. *So sorry if I hurt you… We can fight our desires, but when we start making fires, we get ever so hot, whether we like it or not… I’m going in for the kill, I’m doing it for a thrill…* and the drum beats roll on. Another glass and I make my way to the balcony. The place is massive and packed. Tiered standing room. A proper rave vibe. A typical Friday night. I certainly could get used to having this option. Second room was brilliant as well. Though set times weren’t posted and I really would have liked to see Lomax. For all I know, I did. I think I’ll stick with that. Champagne spiraled into a blur, I managed to stay upright despite my heels and gravity working against me, which it often does. Drink it in. Don’t forget the champagne.
At some point, the overwhelming urge to go home and be safe came to a peak. I bravely, or stupidly, climbed onto the first mode of semi-public transportation I saw. I honestly have no idea. Made idle banter with the guy seated next to me, which then turned into him trying to get me to come along to wherever it was they were headed to. Probably more drink and drug, but I think I’d honestly had my fill. And while I’m savvy, and can fend for myself, I’m smart enough to know that running off with random people to some random location that might not even be in London is down right stupid. One van, then a bus, Where the FUCK am I? Some place that started with an S… The underground, which I can safely navigate from anywhere. Finally home, safety. Next time I’m going to wear different shoes. Ouch.

Men don’t like genuine, attractive, intelligent, talented or driven. Especially when they’re all together. It’s science…

Yet another intuition affirming situation. When the pieces fall together subtly in an indisputable way. Not so subtle to me, I suppose. Fuck-all strange since that first Siberian trek. I should have known better & taken the defense.

The Black Swan theory (in Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s version) refers to a large-impact, hard-to-predict, and rare event beyond the realm of normal expectations. Unlike the philosophical “black swan problem”, the “Black Swan” theory (capitalized) refers only to events of large consequence and their dominant role in history. Black Swan events are a special category of what is called outliers.

Sometimes I feel like that.