Equal rights for the strange & beautiful Loch Ness monster’s alternate form
Cape Town, South Africa
Joined September 2023
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Curse has broken, fck how many selfies does one girl need.
if you’re here for that, you’re going to have to try be open minded.
I’ve missed the girl below, she actually had fun.
Never let girls with too much filler & hobby jobs get to you.
I’ve had what I assume is food poisoning for the past day(ish), the kind where iced tea feels like a solid food.
Here’s what’s weird, every time I’ve been roused from sleep for a further expulsion of what right now feels like my life force, I’ve been feverishly thinking about the casual brutality I and others have experienced in romance.
The best sleep I’ve gotten over the past two days was when my cat let me pass out on her chest. I felt very loved then.
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Last night, yeah, getting ready early was smart because I like going to bed early nowadays especially if I get to eat an orange melon in bed whilst listening to a podcast on the history of the domestication of pigeons.
Bad hair day, weird venue, nice friends
A man let me know this gem this weekend:
"you’re really beautiful but you’d only be my type if I grew up in the suburbs."
Fair tbh.
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Going through things only Anais Nin, Pam Anderson and Britney spears would understand.
New jeans are cute though.
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I have maroon claws, my hair is redder, it’s cut into a shag, I’m wearing a white nightgown— I’m me again.
Before “I don’t even treat you that good girl, why are you smiling?”
I had “she thinks she’s the one but she’s just one in 24.”
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A promised reply about intuition via Tik Tok
Side note: personally I don’t want an optimised life, I want one I actually enjoy living. Yet, some fucking how those videos still end up in my bookmarks bc I have yet to learn to trust my inner voice. That’s my next quest.
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I cut a bit off my hair a week or so ago. I said to someone it was symbolic of change. I had previously asked this same person to call me out when I’m being full of shit and they let me know, I’d hardly taken anything off. I emphasised that it’s SYMBOLIC!
“Well, symbolic of a very small change then.”
I insisted they didn’t get it and satirised myself by saying I’m a poet; everything has meaning— I knew it was a fucking weak-ass metaphor.
I let the words sit in my head overnight, woke up at my dressing table with hair shears in hand, layered my hair, and then freaked out.
I love it now but the thought of such severe change, even though it really is just hair, (ffs,) scares me to my core.
Everyone discourages impulsivity but I think sometimes, when you’re someone like me, who will stay in her comfort zone even when comfort is a feeling that hasn’t been present there in decades, a good shock to the system is necessary.
It’s like a mirror affirmation sans words,
“Change isn’t a bad thing.”
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It’s a Monday in October; you go shopping with a friend to buy wrapping paper and a gift.
Whilst browsing in a local artist-centred gift shop, a whirlwind appears. It hurls you both up to a liminal space.
Now, time is absurdist and, friendship is the only true force of gravity.
It viciously attempts to swallow your friend with noise and what you guessed was dust but might be hashtags.
I guess, sometimes, you feel reality— truly. However, the feeling is inexplicable; perhaps that’s humanely designed for everyone but the person who needs to speak.
Wednesday comes; you can’t remember much.
You have a video of your outfit from before you had to cancel your plans to get matcha with someone who thinks you’re pretty and only speaks to you because of that, and a memory of staring up at the trees looking at the blue sky between the leaves, feeling the first hot day you’ve experienced outside. You were outside in the sun; everyone says that’s the cure to everything you've felt this year.
You return to the cloying atmosphere lingering in your apartment. That’s both gratitude and grief.
You log, a note into your diary; it’s a reminder you exist. Then, you greet the other people who have also fallen from freak storms and landed on algorithms. They’ve become your friends, despite the immense distance.
Over the past couple of years, it’s been proven to you that only a few people with strong, loving grips hold onto you and other people they love while stuck in the storm. In your experience, the ones who won't let go are named after gemstones, toxic flowers, or women from myth and scripture.
The rest of the time, it’ll be people who don’t even know your full name, who will find you on a feed, in a crowd… anywhere someone can be lost.
So diary, this week I was in awe of someone, who refused to let others and the fact they’ve held so tight onto me in the same way too, for so long.
This is what I wore to go shopping with her, before she had to prove her namesake yet again. The stone of human virtue, green like the heart chakra, a protective shield.
I’m grateful to all my strange storm survivor friends here for giving me a space to express. If you’re scared, I’ll be here, checking in, reminding us we still exist but I recommend getting something made out of jade or a friend or two, if you’re lucky they’ll be named Jade.
Me too but I want to do them every Friday.
It’ll be fun, I promise 😇
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I desperately need a holiday, I haven’t had a proper one in 10 years.
I know, I can’t believe I’m coping either— it’s tragic.
I want to smell new scents and walk down streets my soles have never touched but my soul has yearned to.
I want to stumble across something I couldn’t fathom the existence of. I want to be spoken to differently, perhaps learn a language of love that’s never touched my lips.
I love my patch of sky but I need to get away and see a different piece of the quilt.
10 years without a holiday, is a very privileged complaint but my brain feels starved of experiences. I am an escapist by nature, so perhaps it truly is a malady that I need to cure. Swifly, before I find a substitute that will evoke the untamed and barely subdued menace caged inside me. This desire is actually an act of community service.
I need no more stuff, I need memories. Unfortunately, I need financial stability first. Reality can be such a buzz kill.
I cut my hair instead, they say “change is as good as a holiday.” Despite enjoying looking like a fairy now, I haven’t grown wings— yeah, still antsy. Fuck.
There was a time, when I was so down bad for a man that I had to dig incredibly deep into my mind for any SLIGHT flaw I could find in him and look at that list in my notes app daily. It didn’t free me, it did soothe things. Turning the love into poems was the medicine for me.
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