Wednesday, 3 July 2013
There's something that has always summed up my relationships, a line from Radiohead's Karma Police:
"For a minute there I lost myself, I lost myself..."
With two lines of losing yourself for emphasis. It's the main reason my writing has been patchy, I run away into the sunset and my shadow stretches long. I haven't written for a while for the exact opposite reason, everything seems upside down these days. I feel good though, like the sea is a warm bath.
The dating column this was supposed to be has instead gained new life on an online magazine. Vada Magazine if you care to have a look. The column is called Hello Neverland, and I'm on about my fourth column but it's been quite a ride. Between, living, writing, editing and shameless self-promotion on a weekly basis, it takes up a lot more time than I ever could have. It actually feels like work, work I love nonetheless. I am in a happy place, but misterpalazzo.com has remained a touch neglected.
I woke up the other morning with sunshine streaming through the window, one of those hazy late mornings that steer into noon and there's nowhere to be but the womb of your blankets. Once I made it into the hallway My flatmate was playing Alanis Morissette, more notably Princes Familiar from MTV Unplugged. For most of my teenaged years I was completely obsessed with Alanis Morissette. She is the reason I started writing poetry, the soundtrack to my every heartache. Hand In My Pocket remains the song that best describes the person I am.
Somewhere along the way I lost that, I stopped listening to her, I stopped relating. Now I listened to the lyrics and related again. Yes, you grow up and you grow out of things, other things come into your life. There's an essence that's completely me though, the chunks I most happily give up at the altar of a man. I've spent the past year finding them again, realising I can make them fit with all the new things.
I was never pretty or stylish, those are new concepts in my life. The power of them slightly intoxicating, I have enjoyed bathing in those waters. At the age of nineteen I picked up a comic book again for the first time in a while and I have remained firmly in love. The past few months have seen me writing on a consistent basis. I'm piecing it all together, there is nothing I have to give up.
My flatmate's boyfriend has come of his books and DVDs on a shelf in the living room. I look at them and realise at some point they could have been mine, many of them I have read and owned and loved. Books on ancient aliens, conspiracy theories, religion, spiritiuality, Buddhism, philosophy, works by Joyce and Murakami, Alice In Wonderland, old beautiful editions. Japanese horror dvds and intense psychological thrillers. My depth, I gave up my depth and let it fly out the window.
I'm reading Patti Smith's Just Kids. I spent the entire afternoon reading yesterday, my legs propped up on the wall and the window wide open just like when I was fifteen years old and I found my father's vinyl copy of Radio Ethiopia.
Is it the third eye? You can look out the window and spend ten minutes observing the way the tree moves it's leaves in such beauty you want to cry.
I see more this time, in that dimly lit room. It's not just movement and brushstroke, in the empty colour square I see figures, I wander deep inside and see my own life reflected. I used to stare at the curtains at night as a child and see figures, stories and strange visitors. Out of the corner of my eye I see a girl fixing her make-up using the front camera of her phone. For her it's just a bunch of colour, her lipstick is the world. For me the world is inside that square, and I feel a stirring like the religious fervour I have always wanted and have never been able to possess.
I am not giving this up.