hear me speak

at 13:29

Wednesday, 28 January 2009

I guested (along with MrOdd) on the latest BeatBritish podcast run by the irrepressible Paris. It's massively long and contains incredibly fast talking on my part and some actual sense on the others' parts. Clocking in at a whopping 2 hours it's something of a marathon listen but worth it if you feel like hearing five people rant about games (with occasional sidebars into Spanish horror movies, the works of Murakami and some philosophy).

Listen to it, and my incredibly British voice, here. Let me know if you do in the comments!

happy birthday, darling

at 20:46

Monday, 26 January 2009

The first time we kissed, when he was free to kiss me, it wasn’t a case of something exploding in my head, no fireworks, my knees didn’t turn to jelly beneath me, it was just “oh, I see.” It wasn’t that my entire life fell into place, nothing so simple as tha but I was certain of the way one bit of it would go. It’s a strange feeling, this certainty, this absolute lack of doubt. I’ll always feel, deep down, that I should be chastising myself for being the way I am about it, this, us, him but I can’t bring myself to. By the time he’d finished kissing me, that three second kiss hello, I knew I loved him. Until then I’d thought that I must be mistaken, assigning meaning to something I couldn’t figure out but soon I realised that wasn’t important, it never was.

And so I throw myself into this, entirely, because I don’t have a choice in the matter. I am honest with him; find myself blurting out the things that I don’t want to say. Things I thought I couldn’t tell him, empty fragments of dreams filled with terror, telling him with tearful eyes that he caused the fear in me, of the crippling paranoia, fears that I would start loving him more, lose my interest. He knew all my secrets before he ever woke up beside me. Confessed in the dark to a computer screen he knew me better than anyone, even those who had shared my bed. His analysis was so painful that I avoided it, avoided him, convinced myself that it was melodramatic and did not apply. He’s always right when it comes to me. He takes every piece I give to him and he treats it as precious.

And it sometimes it takes all my effort to not feel subservient, to not feel like I’m scrabbling for approval like I have done so many times before, I fear becoming a shell again. But every time it creeps up I’m met with sweetness, whispered words or halting admissions of fear from the other side. I understand in him the things I could never reconcile in me and seeing myself in him makes me better. I see myself as he does and it’s something occasionally beautiful, patched up but with none of the cracks glossed over.

It seems strange to say but my world is brighter now, the edges are less keen and the knocks don’t come as hard, not with him there to pick me up. His love for me tints everything, my every moment is colourised by the hue of it. It’s always there – an underlying thread that ties the fragments of my mind together and keeps me grounded.

He is my safety and my security, my thrill and my adventure, my newest discovery and my oldest urge.

He was a gift to me. I didn’t fall in love with the boy, I am in love with the man, the man and the words he writes.

on hollywood

at 19:44

Saturday, 3 January 2009

How I feel about the world today[Subnormality]