"Contrasts & Metamorphosis" +Mixtape

Gentle Update. Contains Topics of Adult Content. Includes 1 hour Mixtape.

Oct 02, 2024

Tuesday 1 October 2024:

I’ve never been this sad and happy at the same time. That sums up my life these days. All day spent alone with the dog, cleaning, relaxing, day-bath, writing, reading, and some other things that are better left unsaid ;) Speaking of things which ‘haven’t seen the light of day’ for a while. Today, I pulled out the nail varnish and gave my hands a fresh coat of paint. Sky blue seems to be the order of the day again. I had a day away from my partner but it soon became my worst nightmare when he came home with a black eye after fighting with someone he knows. It has made me realise that I should put a little bit of emphasis on the good shades of the day. Like trying red paint first…

I did red the paint before removing it again instantly. I usually love my bright red thick varnish, but I’m not in the red feisty mindset at present so the red nails reminded of that old French ‘tart’ (or spinster) who used to dress up in every ounce of jewellery, pearls, diamonds, silver, gold, stones she owned, trowel her lips with thick rouge lipstick, and go sit at the bar, aged 80 odd, waiting for her dead lover to return(??). …‘ang on a minute’. I think I’m confusing people, pictures, and stories. That’s not the accurate account of the story I am trying to recall from memory.

Madam Bijoux is the person I am thinking of and her story is a bit different.

Madame Bijou is a photograph of an old woman who once led a rich life but now lives on charity. She read palms and told stories to receive food and money from gullible men. When Brassai took her picture and later wrote about her in his book, she felt very insulted and humiliated.

Wednesday 2 October 2024

Today I pretended we weren’t falling apart, that we were no longer enemies, that we were back in love, not drawing out the worse in each other, not summoning demons, and that I wasn’t sick forever with an incurable mental illness stifled by stigma. I made believe that things could only get better than before and I loved it. He was of course feeling more vulnerable with somebody else to hate more than he could hate me today. I knew it was a critical moment in time where I could get sucked back into thinking we were okay, without my own imagination, but by manipulation. I am weak in wanting security over a nice fresh new existence. A bit scared to be alone so settle for a less-than-mediocre lifestyle. His fighting isn’t limited to on me, but everybody. It’s like he is up against the world and no longer needs or wants me there by his side.

There are elements of his distance from me still present. I see it in his blue eyes the pin prick of dullness in the pupil whereas mine are open wide upon his arrival and I see an empty impression caused by my reflection in them. He is filled with a blue flame of fiery hatred towards me every day resentment. Just not today, he is feigning finding comfort in me, and I know that the slightest kiss from him is more dangerous to me than a yomp in the equatorial jungle! I must love living dangerously because I let him fuck me from behind in pure gorgeous silence. Listening to his groans matching pace with his swelling cock’s pressure pounding my parts like stirring my guts into soup, what a melancholic luxury to come together in all senses. I fuck like I’m still a ghost-in-mind disguised as myself from back in the day, but as mid-day sounds, the soul has to climb back into her day clothes, and let the togetherness go as there is still a dog to feed, take out into the garden, walks around town (him not me), jobs to do.

Tomorrow is a day closer to payday where we are going to be spending most of it on buying his PS5 console and headset back from the pawn shop, since my phone went in back 3 or 4 months ago; everything else seemed to find its way in there. I was having this conversation with a friend the other night. It sounds like we live hand-to-mouth and struggle through no fault but our own. We don’t take drugs all day every day, we’re not addicts, we hardly ever eat out, we buy food on a budget so low that the homeless people sitting in shop doorways seem to have more cash in the cups of chump change than we have in the bank for our shopping. £30 on two people for a week is not bad going - but it’s fucking shit. I have to share his socks and clothes. I try to stock up on joy during our shag, I’ll need it if I’m going to scale the mental glacier that he has become, a rock and hard place. I have been welcomed back into his realm for however long he stays sentimental and staggering through self-pity, it means I won’t need to be creeping flipping Jesus at 5:00 am every daybreak sneaking into the marital bed to defrost the blood in my veins again, and again I feel the icy solitude.

It’s weird too because he shouts at me for getting in the bed and I feel afraid to touch him when I’m in there. Stuffed up against the freezing radiator, I fix it by bringing all of my extra blankets in with me. I make a bumper behind my back and curl my arms up in the fetal position resting on his lava boiling back. He leans back into me and I feel the warmth of every one of the lost summers of my childhood flooding over me. I get to sleep another few hours like that. I try to wake myself up before he does. I don’t want to be part of the problems ahead of us everyday. What do I do when he wakes me in a rude and unpleasant way? I know I’m supposed to just do as I’m told to, I know this but I am like a monster when I’m tired and the only time I am true to myself is in half waking state. I stand up for myself then it is my fault that he’s in a bad mood for the rest of the day. It feels strange sleeping next to him again and not waking up in his tight clutches with his elbow pinning me down by the hair. I miss those things.

I’ve just spent the past few weeks confined in a lonely living room - where if life is suffering, I certainly did some living. I cried inside twice. When I saw his battered face come home that night, and when I was given permission to touch his hand.