Bliss

"She still had moments like this when she wanted to run instead of walk, to take dancing steps on and off the pavement, to bowl a hoop, to throw something up in the air and catch it again, or to stand still and laugh at - nothing - at nothing, simply."

Katherine Mansfield

Strasbourg

Roule, poupée, roule.
Serrée entre les cuisses,
Appuie, amante en cuir,
Laisse-moi glisser, coulisser,

Pédalant dur, je me tiens fermement,
Le vent dans les cheveux, la main sur la sonnette,
Je roule pendant des heures,
Descends et sens
L’odeur entêtant de selle usée.

Genoux pliés, dos cambré
Je l’étreins, proche, je freine,
Et quand je presse le guidon
Elle pousse des cris de plaisir.

Bousculade, jaillissement, je continue à propulser
Sur son cadre
Et quand la ligne d’arrivée approche,
Le caoutchouc brûle de chaleur.

Arrête, entre les
Jambes, elle est mise sous clé,
Personne peut la toucher,
Avant que je roule encore…

November

It's November, which only means one thing: it's National Novel Writing Month. These past few months have seen me move back across the channel to my much-beloved France. My current humble abode is a beautiful farmhouse nestled in the heart of the Limousin. During the intensely hot Indian summer, I revelled in divine solitude, read books for pleasure (a novelty, indeed), foraged in hedgerows, made chutneys and jams and contemplated the wonders of being entirely removed from the oppressive society I once inhabited. You may wonder what precisely is wrong with me. I'm not entirely sure, myself, but I am certain of one thing: I had to escape.

I know that the pressures of my final year at university pretty much drained my soul of any joy I'd ever had. It was a horrible year; one I will never repeat, and prefer not to think of. Embarking on my new life in France has restored me to my old wonderful self. I am no longer trapped by microcosmic university life, or arbitrary standards of living which demand a certain type of behaviour. Living alone is vastly underrated by the vast majority of people. I'm not bothered if I don't wash up one evening, or if I decide to blast music through the house, or sleep 'til noon.

No, instead, I choose a frenzy of writing. My target: 50000 words by the end of this month. I wonder if I'll succeed.

Make It Easy On Yourself.

...as the Walker Brothers so concisely put it. Easier said than done, perhaps, in this day and age. Naturally, we salute the wonders of modern-day social networks such Facebook, Twitter, etc, in love’s first flush. Seemingly, stalking is rendered socially acceptable if carried out on Facebook, but one mustn’t transgress the boundary of what has become our second ‘virtual’ reality and transfer such behaviour into our immediate reality. No, no. Nonetheless, this kind of behaviour is a great way of eradicating those post-first-date thoughts, like “is he attractive? I can’t remember what he looks like!”, and, most importantly “is he a freak/pervert/misogynist/loser/fuckwit?” Of course, there is a school of thought which maintains that Facebook has killed romance. We have become throwaway regarding our potential partners. His profile picture isn’t attractive enough. His status updates are boring. He doesn’t have many friends.
A few years ago I met a gorgeous guy in a bar, chatted for ages, flirted wildly, and developed a bit of a crush. Later that night, he added me on Facebook. I didn’t like his profile picture. He was dressed as a skeleton. I decided I didn’t like him after all. He messaged me “Hey, how are you? Really nice to meet you last night. Xx.” I responded a week later with the most bland and dismissive message imaginable. I blush now to think of how ridiculous I was/am.


On a more serious note, however, Facebook can be a source of unbearable pain. I recently wrote of an obsession that haunted me. It ceased to be enjoyable about a month ago, for reasons too painful to disclose. Needless to say, seeing his name in my list of ‘friends’ was, and still is, a problem for me. I can’t bring myself to cut him out of my life. Seemingly, if I delete him from Facebook, it means an infinite end will be brought to our ‘relationship’ and any link to a life I once had. When I talk of any heartache amongst friends, the immediate response is “DELETE HIM!”…as if this would suddenly cure all evils and represent some terrific act of revenge. No. To sound trite, I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Facebook is Fakebook, after all. We project a false image, a public persona, based on what we want others to think of us. We mock those who reveal too much of themselves online and make sure we never expose our true identity online.

Break-ups are awful. If you have the strength to do it, delete that person from your life. Not for the reaction such a gesture will surely engender from the party in question, but instead for the liberating feeling that will ensue! If you can’t bring yourself to do it, which is perfectly acceptable, find a brilliant distraction to prevent perpetual perusals of your ex’s wall.

But, the best thing to do, of course, is to get the hell offline. Make some coffee, grab a cigarette and think “Yes. My life is so much better without him.”

The Beauty of Addiction...

"Really?" I hear you ask. Yes, actually. For me, there is something thrilling about an addiction, especially if your substance abuse problem concerns a person, not a drug.


No, what I'm talking about is the absolute frustration, the all-consuming, mind-plaguing, adrenaline-rushing crush that I have not been able to shake off for one whole year. It sounds pathetic -- believe me, I'm fully aware of that. But this particular addiction haunts me. I do want to get over it, stop the perpetual obsessing. But, I enjoy my addiction. Perhaps I don't enjoy it all the time, particularly that moment when concentration is paramount, but the thought of him naked just takes you away to an oh-so-wonderful place. In all honesty, the beauty of the addiction lies in the hope that it will lead to something good, something worthwhile. Otherwise the crush ceases to be thrilling, but turns into despair, and empty obsession tainted with its own unrequitedness. I detest my own impatience concerning this crush, the desire for something to happen IMMEDIATELY, without further ado. I want it NOW. And, this just leads to more frustration, more questioning "does he like me?". Perhaps I will never know the answer to that question...but isn't it nice to wonder?

The Ugly Truth

We live in a world driven by love. Our society is fixated upon a quest to find love and to preserve that love. Of course ‘love’ is such an all-encompassing term, we very often cannot differentiate between the different nuances of love. Filial love, platonic love, romantic love, sexual love. Can we have it all?
An entire industry is founded upon this search to find love, in the form of online dating agencies. Single people across nations seeking that coveted phenomenon we call love.

Incidentally, for cynics like myself, love has become a cliché. Something to turn one’s nose up at. Something I don’t want, and have never wanted. I am, of course, referring to ‘romantic love’. Relationships. Everywhere one turns, we see bad films and clumsily written literature dedicated to this industry of love. But, are we losing sight of reality? In our daily lives, is love so simple? Do we always end up with ‘the one’? We do not. In our lives, romantic love can very often be source of pain and confusion. Something we don’t want. It changes our opinions of ourselves. If unrequited, we wonder what we did wrong, not the other way around. Failure in love is seen as pitiful and slightly embarrassing. We don’t like to admit to ourselves, let alone others, that we were unsuccessful. That our love was not returned.

Bridget Jones had the right idea when referring to ‘smug married types’. They seem to drift through life, content in their safe and stable relationships, smug and in awe of unmarried women. A single woman – heaven forbid!



Safety and stability. Do we want this? Or are we searching for something more exceptional?

In our quest for something out of the ordinary, pain may be inevitable, tears a certainty. But it is guaranteed to blow your mind.

Frenemies...

Two days ago, during a typical blah afternoon, I found myself listening to a recent podcast of ‘This American Life’. The theme: Frenemies.

A ‘frenemy friendship’ is hard to define. This may be due to the fact that so many (if not all) human relationships are so very different and completely incomparable. Yet, I find myself wondering if I, myself, have frenemies. In my own experience, frenemies come in all shapes and sizes. They are….that girl you drunkenly met once who is always oh-so-EXCITED to see you, the girl who loves to tell you all the details when she sleeps with the boy you like (and she knows it), and that boy who keeps you at his beck and call, who’s all talk, and not very much action.

Recently, in a moment of self-reflection, I pondered the fact that I seem to fall out with a great deal of people. We’re not talking about a simple difference of opinion, or an argument over the most mundane points of everyday life. It’s the moment when you realise that someone who was once a great friend to you is no longer a part of your life. In my case, these situations sprang from situations which grew progressively worse over a long period of time. Irreparable disputes over matters of morality. This type of moral disagreement is really an insurmountable object in terms of reconciliation. After a great deal of thought, I began to wonder if the problem was, in fact, myself. Perhaps it was. Although, I like to think otherwise (as anyone else would).

I’ve been told that as you grow older, you begin to lose friends. Not in the sense that people no longer like you, but instead a kind of amicable ‘drift’ where on separates the wheat from the chaff. Perhaps we grow less tolerant, less eager to please and less in need of others to please us. Whatever the case, one can easily distinguish between those who matter to you, and those who, frankly, do not.
Brutal as it may sound, this is the unfortunate reality of friendships. Even as young as we are now, I see myself deciding to take a step back from certain people. People I once enjoyed the company of, albeit in short doses.

These past few years, I feel my attitudes on friendships have transformed. At the age of 18 or 19, I was eager to make peace as soon as possible to avoid an awkward situation. Perhaps there was more at stake – no one wants to live in a place filled with an ambiance of animosity. However, this past year, I’ve found myself cutting ties with certain people who played a negative role in my life. Again, this is a difficult thing to do, and certainly doesn’t stem from any malice. In my metaphorical bowl of fruit, if an orange turns sour I throw it out. I do the same with people – although not quite so violently of course.

Likewise, I have thought carefully about the men in my life. Yes, it’s nice when he tells you he really wants to see you again. But when the endless promises don’t match up to reality, you know you have to call it a day. (I could be clever here and come up with another term like ‘Menemies’…but I won’t)

Frenemies are the kind of people we can all do with out. I feel like I’ve carried out an act of Feng Shui on my social life and it’s a pretty triumphant feeling. Even if the rest of my life is a mess…..