The other side of the horse

is where i am at the moment. I tipped over from sadness to anger on Friday, and while I'm not mega annoyed, it is quietly simmering and keeping me toasty warm.
G was on the phone to N on Friday night, as I was preparing to go to the opera with Tim. It pissed me off because a) he knows i work on the 5th doing overtime, and b) how can he be so fucking childish. I was furious. If I hadn't had Soulfly to listen to on the bus to meet Tim, I may have slapped an innocent bystander.
The opera was beautiful. In the beginning I thought it woudl turn into one of those not so good nights with Tim, but it was great. There are things we agree to disagree on, but then there are other things in which we are scarily similar.
We had champagne in a bar afterwards, and then he walked me all the way back to the office holding my hand. It was nice.
There was a huge email from Balint waiting when I got in to the office and it gilded my whole weekend.
Moved to Fiorenzo's flat on Saturday and then caught up with Sacha in the evening. It blew me away what a fantastic night we had. We missed the movie and just stayed together talking and laughing. He looks absolutely staggeringly beautiful- healthy and fit and mmmm. We left at 11 and he walked me home and I might see him again on Tuesday.

So, there is much light and a few happy squirrels in my life.

Budapest

I just don't know what to say anymore. The activities in Budapest are frightening and saddening and maddening. Even without citizenship, I really feel like my place should be there. At home. In my city.

It's hard for a mind as naive as mine to grasp that newspapers can lie, that this kind of thing can be going on, in a time when Hungary is considered a part of the 'west'...
how can we have lost direction so totally?

How could they have beaten Laci? I'm translating a transcript now...

Something is happening...

And it so shouldn't be. I can't even write about it. Not because I think anyone reads this, but because I really shouldn't be articulating it into words.
And when I say something is happening i don't mean happening to 'us' as it were, just in me. Nothing at all has happened, and in my butterflies-rampant state I don't know if anything will. But tenderness has an evil way of infiltrating my defenses, and you know all I really want is to have his arms around me, and for him to kiss the top of my head, and say things like 'don't be daft'...just for a little while, just while I'm here. And then I'll go home and pine some more.
Argh. Ugh. Pfft.

under Nelson's watchful eye-

I had dinner with Claudia last night, after a difficult, long day when all I could think about was Budapest.
Teargas, water cannons, riot police and rubber bullets- I wanted to be there. Not to help turn over cars, or throw rocks or shout, necessarily, but to be somehow in solidarity. To say the same words as them, to hold hands with Szasza... (he wrote such a beautiful text yesterday: if you were here, I could protect you in the crowd).
instead, all I had to offer were my thoughts and my (perhaps naive) hopes that people can make a difference. I've been reading every possible news site imaginable, and have been dismayed at how the western media ignored the 50th anniversary commemorations of 1956- and only began to pay attention when riots broke out. Give them blood and they will listen. It's disgusting, but it's true.
The BBC coverage, I have to say is quite detailed, and very good. A bone of contention is the arpad flag, which I'll have to ask Szasza to explain again, because the media seems to think it's the pro-Nazi flag, but I didn't think that was so...
Mum has her conspiracy theories, but I have some trouble believing in them. I await more news avidly.

But dinner- seeing Claudia again was just as fabulous as it always is. We had a nice meal and a very good talk. There were two dickheads sitting beside us (and grown men too!) who kept interrupting and wanting to talk, and one of the cunts, the more annoying of the two, touched my arse as I was leaving. If claudia hadn't been there I would have liked to put a stiletto through his eye.

But my mood was not tarnished by twats- I rode the tube home with a smile on my face, and possibly even giggled once or twice. And Rob wrote. Finally. My world is spread far and wide, but really it's a compact little place inside me. Now, goat anyone?

...remember that pride, comes before

a fall...

Up and down and back again indeed.

I watched the Devil Wears Prada last night at the Streatham Odeon, on my own, pulled down into the seat, waiting for laughs that were quite few. In fact in some parts the film made me cry. Just a little, but enough.

Afterwards i felt an abhorrence for sitting on a bus, and decided to walk home to Tooting, following the route the bus takes. It was raining quietly, and fireworks were going off, whether for Diwali or early prep for Guy Fawkes I don't know...
Music in my ears, tears all over my face, mixed with all that english rain.

I went to bed reasonably early but it was destined to be one of those nights. Scared of the dark, panic in my heartbeat, and after just one hour sleep I was awake, so that today I am tired and inside myself ...

bicycles in the rain and dark, and so much water under my bridge.

...

dusky

Everything...

A boy atop a bus stop- having his shoes stolen.
The shoe lands in a green bin. I felt on the green edge of snapping.
I feel that old familiar sinking into myself where I don't really even want to talk anymore.
Moss covered rock

Just alone

Am I tired? Or just tired of?

But things do get better. The weekend brought great gifts, reminders of tenderness and how important that is.
Also a tearful reminder that this is a fucking beautiful city, whatever one's perception of beauty is.

I spent a large chunk of Saturday walking throught the City, through all the streets that are closed during the weekend, when no suits and workers are around. It was overwhelming, and large and stately and special. My breath caught when I saw St Paul's again.

Today I've done home stuff. Shopping and cooking and writing, washing and reading. And I had a good cry (it actually wasn't that good- I felt like my soul was melting) while listening to Bon Jovi. Strange past and memories that sting.

Cocooned in tenderness. Bittersweet.

weber, and hungary, and sociology...yay

After a sad spell last night (I was upstairs 'doin [over]time' when I overheard a phone conversation between George and G and George asked if he wanted to speak to me, to which I assume the answer was no because no call came through.) It was that palpable closeness that set me off and I cried a bit on the busride home, but Ralph offered me some of his fresh jambalaya (more memories) and then I got an early night...

So...after said sad spell, I came in this morning to an email from Gary regarding honours, properly impressed with my idea to work on a study/juxtaposition of Weber-Hungarian sociology for my thesis. It lifted a huge weight off my chest and put a big smile on my face.

I've emailed my questions off to Murdoch admissions and hopefully I'll have some answers by tomorrow and then I can apply. I'm excited and buoyed by the idea of being back in Freo...maybe even a few nights at Bliss on Wray?

Fortunate

I was up at 5.30 this morning, ready, more or less, to grasp the morning and get to work on time. I took my rightful place above the driver of the 77 and whizzed into the still dark, reading a bit of Bryson and listening to a happy mix of metal :)
Dawn was just wheezing into existence, behind me as I got off the bus at Westminster bridge, and made my way across the Thames, the houses of parliament a muted silhouette before me. As I turned up Parliament Street, which becomes Whitehall, I thought to myself how very very lucky I am to be here. Here in London, here amongst friends and people that really care about me.
That I am alone in another sense, is partly of my own making, and I really shouldn't complain. But I do miss him.

My husband drives the 107 bus!

Manor House

It seems I will always hold a special place in my heart for Eade Road. The weekend was quite extraordinary.
After a slow start on Saturday morning, I took various buses to Kentish Town and found Vinum where the Breast Cancer fundraiser was happening. I found Nina in the loo getting ready and met the photographers who were all lovely. Luisa, the co-organiser, reminded me utterly of Claudia. I really can't wait to see her.
I was first up to get my kit off and flash the boobs, and I was surprised at how great it felt. Of course it made a huge difference that the photographer, Naomi, was female and really put me at ease. We took photos with a big red coat, with a peacock feather, and with just me, and my boobs on our own. Great fun.
For the poetry reading, I was going to sit on the bar, but then opted for a bar stool just in front of the stage. I was nervous- but got really lovely reactions. Luisa even said she'd consider putting some of the poems on the calendar (Holy Tetta 2007). I met Nina's boyfriend Steve, and a handful of lovely people.
I left around eight to meet Claire, Jolene and the others (whom I didn't know) at Tottenham Ct Road for Claire's hen night.
We went to Hakkasan- surely the fanciest restaurant I've ever been to. Claire wasn't even allowed to wear her flashing tiara. We had champagne and some incredibly prepared Chinese food- by which time Claire was well on the up, so Joels and I decided to drop too. Oh those old familiar feelings.
We were all happy and woozy and huggy on the busride home, because we decided that instead of Fabric, we would go back to the Manor and dance there. So, up in Murray and Claire's little attic room, eight of us went crazy. It was wonderful. Muz came home, a little pissed and groped to his heart's content, but even that was okay. We rugged up in the fake fur smoking coats that hang in the hallway and smoked int eh backyard, then lazed in the lounge, before going backupstairs, and finally, after five in the morning, falling into bed.
I left sometime around 9 and got back to Tooting two hours later, tired, but reasonably happy.
I spent the day in bed with Bill Bryson, cups of tea and warming soup. I slept quite a bit and this morning I wasn't too dead when the alarm went at 5.40.
The gap in my being left by G doesn't seem to be shrinking. Perhaps I am impatient?

Compulsive

Although I wouldn't say I am miserable, my nighttimes seem to be quite a chore to get through. And I stuff myself compulsively, even though I know I shouldn't. It was better when I couldn't afford food at all, because then I had a healthy piece of fruit or whatever, but now I cook and concoct and eat and eat and then feel flat and fat and awful.

I miss G. I think...no, I know that I took him for granted. That nasty crime I always told myself I'd never be guilty of. But I did take him for granted. And here's the big fucking gap where I used to be able to just call him and hear him and I can't do that anymore. Fuck.

Fitzgerald's short stories are the perfect length for my busride in. And I listen to a lot of Pumpkins, and I think a lot of Bud. I think a lot.

to live, perchance to dream...

Hm...

I enjoy colours in my day. Some muted, a very few sparky and vibrant:

Balint writes snappy emails that put a smile on my face and remind me how voraciously he grabs at life; sometimes I see new shapes in the hazy morning and i'm grateful that i'm here, other days the falling darkness at the end of the day pinches my skin and makes me hurt sharply for things i can no longer define.

This month has taught me much about tolerance and generosity, and even more about poverty. It's an interesting place to be, and I bathe myself in memories of what it was like when i lived here and i was reasonably cashed up. Karen millen trousers...bah! :)

I am practicing poems for Saturday's fundraiser. Am a little terrified! :)

Here's to friends, and sunshine and colours!

Randomrandom

I suddenly thought of Jono Tjhia yesterday...in fact, I thought about him recently at Nickiy's house, because I began to write a poem type thing...

"I taught you to cut
cucumbers
in your sun-stunned
Melbourne kitchen
with my arms around
your waist"...

The sky in Europe is so far away, it hurts to look at- the small streak of planes, flit flit between the clouds. And the memory of big skies, close enough to grasp in my sad little fist.
Hazy backlight, crouched beneath the sun.

Sometimes, just one word is enough to make me close the book and be winded by the force of memory. Coles bag, cutting off circulation in my hand; stopped to watch the sunset over the cranes.

And Berlin:
"In soaring rooms above neon skies
We smoked pre-Christmas Camel lights
in gaudy hotel bathrooms"

I'm wintoning again. I can't seem to decide what I'm feeling.

It ended in Oxford

Shall we continue in mime?
You said
Shall we continue at all?

- between dough balls and dessert
At pizza express
We verbalized the rubber-soled
Sneaking indifference
That had crept up on us
And snatched fistfuls of happy
From out of our bubble.

Time and distance
Wrapped in oxidized cliché
Without argument, or proper breakage
The unexplained and unsolvable:
We nearly missed dessert altogether.

There was the verdigris
On our recent days,
The creeping moss and all those
Sentences:
Now to remain unfinished.

What began with imaginary superheroes
And shepherd’s pie
Gay piano players and
Dead daffodils
Is now a memory
Following looping tear tracks
Splashed over tiramisu.

It ended in Oxford

How difficult not to think of all the good stuff. All the gooey stuff. The happies, that now seem to have drained away, strangled by every day life, and responsibility and habit.
Winterson was right (how many times have i said that?): What then kills love? Only this: neglect.

To be truthful, it wasn't messy (a few tears over tiramisu in Pizza Express) or bitter. I fucked up and he grew distant. Or maybe it was just the way this was supposed to happen. Time and distance, those dirty bastards have outdone me again. But we're going to try at friendship, and if that is salvageable, it will make me a little bit happy.

It was a beautiful day in Oxford. And all teh while we were walkign around this picturesque little park, my mouth was full of words that paralysed me and I couldn't speak. I felt like I was taking fairy steps along the frame of his new academic life, looking it at stained glass windows, drawing love hearts in the dust settled on books...but then (and I'm sure the dough balls and garlic butter had something to do with the easing of tension) we just started to talk, and cry a little and remember.

So, we dare to hope.

The new place i've moved to for the week, in Streatham, is fancy and homely and Susan is lovely. I am surrounded by books (couldn't resist a re-read of some Fitzgerald and Winton- words that conjure home and comfort- can't repeat the past?...etc) and i will be okay. Hard not to smile when in the pre-dawn all of London spread out before me on the 159 bus.

To see old Nelson again...

I never considered the end

We were so certain of ourselves. Of the strength and elasticity of our love that we even dared to say that evil word: forever.
And now I'm facing the end. I don't know, can't gauge if G can tell if something is up. We speak on the phone so seldom, and a whole new world has just opened before him.
I can't bear it. It's a weird mixture of feelings, but if I can't live in a bubble with him (which is the only way it can work- not his fault, mine) I can't live with him at all.
In over two years we haven't managed to gel together properly. It is a case of what Andrew said, way back a year ago, when he said that some relationships are place-specific. And to a great extent that is true. We both had our mutual friends here in London, but in Australia and Hungary it became evident that without the bubble we are fucked.
The spark is gone. I was saying to Matt last night that that was the bottom line. I want to still be his friend, but I can't deal with the rest. With the art and the movies and the saturation of our lives with what I no longer consider that important. Being up-to-date as it were. I can't do it anymore.
I grew up in Corio you know...

A strange and beautiful

filtered light..oozing through the windows of Weaver's House. London is not so bad, but boy do I miss Budapest. Or not even Budapest... aspects of.

I had a very coldly polite conversation with G yesterday- perhaps knowledge has pushed feeling out of his soul too? He is getting settled in at Oxford, and I am truly glad that he's there because learning suits him. The conversation made me a little sad yesterday, but today I am seized by some strange chirpy mood, and all full of smiling.

Rancid are playing on 16th November...shall I hear David Courtney live? :)

Where is home dammit? Where do I belong? KolozsvarBudapestGeelongMelbourneFremantleLondon?

But for today, drifting happiness, gratitude for people like Nickiy and Matt.

Once upon a time in Fougeres

Hard to put into words what the last couple of days have contained. It may be possible to bottle it, but harder to put into words.
Moving back to London; going to Nikki and Gilles' wedding in Fougeres, getting royally royally shitfaced and finally worming my way back into the UK for a little while.

The wedding..

Nikki was the most beautiful bride I have seen. Simple and ravishing, and seeing her with Gilles confirmed that what I have with G is not what it could be, or should be. It was a happysad experience. The reading I was given to do in church rang so true in my heart, that being in love is easy, it is the continuing growing together that is both 'an art and a fortunate accident'.

As moving as the service was, so boozy was the reception. CHampagnewhitewineredwinebeermorechampagne and then gin and orange juice.
Dancing, and visiting orange and white cats, and dark metal at 5 in the morning with Nikki's little brother and too much boozy woozy- Sunday was a chore. Just being alive and breathing took effort. But I wasn't the only one. Apparently Nikki's mum was chundering all morning.

It was amazing to see not only Nikki and Gilles, but also all the guys from London (Boris, James and Ericka- and their son Rex) and of course Odette. She hasn't changed at all, still as feisty and tough and lovable as she was in 2002.

I am tired today, and worried about various official things I need to work out, but I'm sure everything will be sorted by the end of the week and then I can kick back and work my tits off to make heaps of money.

I had a wonderful email from Balint today, he liked the writing that I sent him about the protest.

Budapest feels so close, and I really am feeling the pull of it. Not long till I go back. And the other scary thing was today on the tube, I looked around myself and thought, this place feels more like home than I care to admit. Of course nothing like Australia or Hungary, but comfortable and familiar.
Apart from the delays on the Northern Line- some things never change...