Sunday, 1 February 2015

Je Suis

I don't think I could ever describe myself in one word. I don't think anyone can; human beings are infinite in their complexities.

I can describe myself in a phrase though.

Pleasantly passive-aggressive.

My resting bitch-face creates the outward projection that I'm moody, but I'm the first to smile if I make eye contact with anyone.

I spend my life in public visualising the agonising death/maiming of anyone who jumps the queue at the bus stop, stands on the left side of the escalators or wears double denim.

However if any of these individuals were to engage me, I would smile pleasantly and speak to them with the hyper politeness of an employee of the month.

The phrase itself is an oxymoron and I often feel like one myself.

Mind, conscience and body in constant conflict to behave, show that my mother raised me correctly and not take a machete to the tourists on Oxford Street.

I am a bohemian punk, divided between wanting to marvel in the beauty of the world and wanting to watch it burn.

Monday, 19 January 2015

Darling.

Focus, darling, focus.

The worries of the world are too small to contain you.

The enemy is too weak to keep hold of you.

The stars are too dull to outshine you.

Let your standard fly high and your trumpets be heard throughout the land.

Be spectacular.

Be courageous.

Don't let them win.

Thursday, 15 January 2015

Review: Not That Kind of Girl

Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She's Not That Kind of Girl: A Young Woman Tells You What She's "Learned" by Lena Dunham
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I know there's a lot of controversy and dislike surrounding ‪Not That Kind of Girl‬ but I loved it and will defend Lena Dunham until death.

I read so many bad and mixed reviews before and during my reading of this book, which I find absolutely baffling. This is a young woman's account of the events of her life and her innermost thoughts thus far. Memoirs aren't the kind of book that you can form negative opinions on. As far as I'm concerned, you either liked it or it wasn't for you.

There aren't a lot of young people, especially young women, nowadays who are comfortable being so shamelessly and brutally themselves. Lena is so open that she practically appears naked on the pages in front of you. She doesn't bathe herself in glory, neither does she downplay the fact that she's lived an interesting life and she thinks that people will want to hear about it.

Lena is certainly a character, and fair enough if she isn't for you, but this is by no means a bad book. Personally I think it's wonderful but that's because I think she is wonderful (fangirl moment, no shame).

She is very much moulded by her upbringing and, yes, she was luckier and more privileged (possibly more sheltered) than most, but she's honest about it and more importantly, isn't ashamed of it. None of us have much say over how we were brought up and how we behaved when we were younger as a result of this so what is the point of trying to hide it or evolve into something you're not.

Learn, grow, yes. Completely try to erase your past... What's the point? We develop from our past and that's exactly what this book is about: "A Young Woman Tells You What She's 'Learned'".

Whether you vibe with Lena's eccentric personality or not, she deserves the highest of praise for putting herself out there, body and soul.

The writing style of this book is witty, interesting and captivating; exactly like its author.

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Monday, 5 January 2015

Review: Deliver Me


Deliver Me
Deliver Me by Kate Jarvik Birch

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



I finished this in one night if that's anything to go by...

Absolutely gripped and horrified by Wynne and Odessa's world. The brutality of it all was almost too much to bear but I couldn't look away.

Some good messages about the state or potential state of our world in there too, if you want to get into all that.

I'm still reeling.

I hope there is a sequel. I don't feel ready to leave the girls yet.



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Friday, 3 October 2014

An Introduction to Daila Kind


My name is Daila Kind. I am 18 years old and if I don't have a child by my 20th birthday, I will be considered useless and discarded.

My mother is a model citizen. She has more than met her quota. I am the oldest of nine.

She tells me to go to the clubs, to not be so fussy, to actually smile and talk to a boy at least, but I am just not interested yet.

Rumour has it, there was a time where you didn't have to have children. Ever. Women would simply work, or learn, or even live with other women. Romantically. Imagine that.

I sometimes think I would like to live in these times, but I can't even write my name, let alone do anything of use.

According to our masters, we are being of use. We have great purpose and we are rewarded accordingly.

It's true. Our city is one of lavish parties and wonderful houses. I can't even remember the last time anyone was sick.

We are fed, we are looked after and, generally, we are happy.

We pretend not to know the secret.

You see, our masters never mention it. They never give us more of a hint other than calling us "cattle".

They think we don't know that cattle were once the extinct mammals known as "cows".

They think we don't know that cows were bred as meat to be eaten by us.

They think we don't know that all the meat is extinct, even though it turns up on our plates.

They think we're stupid because we can't read and all we do is go to parties and breed.

However, we do know.

We worked it out a long time ago.

We know that when we turn 36 and are taken to The Hotel, we aren't going anywhere but onto someone else's plate.

Wednesday, 1 October 2014

Seven Nights Before the Fall


Sleep is of the eternal state.
A practise state of the consciousness.
A never state,
An always state of the ethereal
And the earthly.
Careering on the cusp
Of a crumbling crevice.
Careening towards a 
Cavernous call.
Elegantly elevating every
Eternal Error.
Porous pity
Preposterous provocation
Petulant piousness on
The precipice
Of otherworldly outlandish
Origins.
Heralding heinousness.
Beware
A boyish bastard
Belittling broken beaks.
Sever the series of
Sleepless slumbers
Sanctimonious
And bleak.

Thursday, 28 August 2014


I dreamt that the world burned.

It started on my street; everything was alight.

First the cars, then the houses, then the people.

Wildfire doesn't spread this fast. Wildfire isn't as all encompassing.

I dreamt the puddles, the animals, the rocks were so violently aflame that it set the sky on fire.

The world was burning, smouldering, screaming.

No ash.

No smoke.

Just fire.

And then I dreamt the crows came back.