Oh I might as well be anyone at all.

We were never unimportant. 

There were seconds stretched across a thousand years when we were the whole wide world and everything in it. Just crammed into the tiny, difficult space between our necks. I read somewhere that every six months or so all the atoms in our bodies are gradually replaced so that twice a year, we are technically brand new people. As unreliable as this theory or the forgotten source from which I recalled it may be, it is safe to say that six months ago, 

we were very different people.

And yes, in our breviloquent entanglement, we were, I suppose, considerably relevant to the course of my tumultuous adolescence, and I imagine that our first perfect day all the way back when everything-was-always-ok was actually of cosmic significance. Although, of course, the only proof I have to back my claim is that I felt I had left our sad, mundane world and fallen fleetingly into a new one where everything was actually ok and made my head swoop until I was even less sure of my physical existance than usual.

But I think I am finally through.

 All the worlds you involuntarily but turbulently transported me in and out of have collapsed, as they always would, into absolutely nothing at all, 

and I am building new huge expansive worlds to navigate all on my own. 

I discovered this song by accident today when I heard it playing in the background and thought, ooooh that sounds like the girl from The Science Of Sleep, and oh my goodness, it is!

And that was called love for the workers in song, and probably still is for those of them left.

I like to wake up early, I always have.
I like being awake at the curve of the day when everyone else is still curled with their duvets around their necks in the safety of their pre-calamity dreamland, oblivious to the rest of the whole wide world. I like knowing that by the time they come back to life, i could be long gone, nothing but a berry-toned lipstick print on an otherwise flawless teacup would tell that I'd ever been there at all.

It's empowering.

This morning I opened my window into the thinning twilit dawn and let the young may air hit me, soft as chiffon. It was strange. In that moment, I thought; right now at this very half-second, I am older than I ever have been in my whole entire life, but I will never be this young again.

'Metamorphosis' by Aela Labbé, she is one of my favourite artists/photographer at the moment.

Found on tumblr, photo by Valeria Schettino.

Because I am craving summer, a picture of me and my friend from last year, isn't her hair incredible? It's green at the moment.

Also have a listen to Lana Del Rey's cover of this song,  I like it.

If you promise to stay conscious I will try and do the same

Walking home today I couldn't help but focus on the shadows the sunlight was making as it was obscured by my presence, tall skinny slices of shade gathering, surreal, on the edge of pavement. Ebbing and flowing inexhaustibly as the sea and pulling me inwards. 

I have been thinking a lot recently about someone I met one night almost a year ago, and wondering why.

 I have been finding everything unusually difficult over the past few weeks, or almost months at this stage, I guess, but I am healing all kinds of relationships, or atleast, trying my utmost to, and somehow I think I'm almost beginning to be absolutely, freeingly ok again. 

Right now I can hear a lawnmower coming from somewhere outside and birds singing and a tap dripping out of time with the music playing softly from someone else's open window. 

Summer is gorgeously close, and I am as impatient as ever.

 how pretty my overgrown garden is

from tumblr, you can follow me here: tarot-tart.tumblr.com

In the place where I make no mistakes.

I went to bed in an inexplicable panic last night, the kind where I turn off all the spitefully bright electric lights and curl up with my duvet around my head and try not to think about all the awful things that have happened, that might be happening or that ever could happen somewhere out there in our terrifyingly unsafe world. Obviously my inability to find a worthy distraction led me into an inward and inescapable reflection of the last turbulent year or so, from being elatedly perfect to being too low to think about and then back again for no reason I could possibly begin to understand,

 let alone articulate.

In the morning I failed to fight the grey dawn in it's unfairly successful attempts at bringing me back to life too early and I woke up thinking of your face on the first of March, as bright and open as the new daffodils but also just as transient. If I could have seen into the future that day I would have written myself a letter to warn of the self-indulgent, masturbatory manner in which you would regard my hurt and humiliation not even a whole month later. But then again, when have I ever been the kind of girl who heeded warnings? 

I would have fallen just as hard and fast as I did anyway.

And I know the sky has been ceaselessly grey since I don't know when, and there are times I feel so isolated and empty that everything seems utterly futile, and I know that some days are so heavy I feel I'm going to break. But somewhere in between it all there's been moments of love and laughing at stupid things and awe and incontainable excitement at the fact that I am here and I am young and I am breathing, 

and I know that right now, in this moment, 

I am and always will be absolutely, unbelievably, perfectly ok.

Photo by Robert Mapplethorpe. I just read Patti Smith's memoir 'Just Kids' which led me to the discovery of his frightening but wonderful art.

Hey look I have a twin...

To call for hands of above to lean on, would it be good enough for me?

I had an unexpected and not completely welcome memory on friday;
me, in the warm room, taking in the details of his suit jacket that time as it hung, too big around my trembling shoulders, how it smelt like him, artificially sweet and mildly chemical, and how the weave at first glance looked totally innocuous but on closer inspection resembled millions upon millions of tiny swastikas. I felt so uncomfortable at the idea of harbouring fascist symbolism, even at such a subtle, obscure level, that I had to take it off. 

My infallible discomfort continued, as if I was experiencing some kind of karmic retribution for the multitude of involuntary hurt I had unwittingly subjected upon innocent and really quite nice, normal people. It set me precariously on edge, clinging to the hem of my shirt and repeatedly reaching to tuck nonexistent strands of out of place hair behind my heavily pierced ear, I have never been so irritatingly aware of someone else’s movements before.

Today, not quite long enough since we first shared the emotionally illicit information to be as mundane and stationary as we are now, but long enough for it to affect the manner in which I receive his absent replies with a determinedly restrained flippancy. Anyway, he was too shy, too enigmatic, too contrived and utterly false. The casual, impersonal callousness he adopted in his discreet disposal of me made it perspicuously clear that I was, ultimately, not much more than a convenient, and evidently much-needed confidence boost, brushed off and discarded as easily I was picked up and fleetingly used.

And I don't care what they say, I'm not quite ready to be ok with that.

This is a picture of me from this time last year, i don't look much different but in a way, a lot has changed, it's strange.

My bedroom is more like a vintage shop/library, I might dedicate a post to it soon....

Also, my mum bought me a second hand manual Praktica camera for 10euro in a car boot sale, I am so excited to start using it, I think its from the late 60s/ early 70s.

Dear darkness, won't you cover me again?

Somewhere in between the bleak mundanity of days and days of getting over things I really wish I didn't have to get over, I've had some rare moments of absolute perfect indifference to the point where I'm not even aware of your otherwise imposing existence. 

Not quite healed, but hopeful.

 I was sitting in the unexpected sun last week, with my mother, drinking sweet hot chocolate outside the café I always go to to pass the time and listen to other normal people's conversations about their misbehaving sons and their tediously safe careers and the shoes they bought that one time that didn't fit properly but they kept them anyway. An elderly woman sat down next to me, endearing and distracted, and talking incessantly. At first I felt a mild irritation grow over me, I only wanted to drink my hot chocolate and forget about all the other dysfunctional people in the world just for a little while. 

As if reading my mind, she ceased in her commentary about the weather and the people walking by and crumbled the sandwich she was eating and fed it crumb by crumb to the gathering pigeons. For some unknown reason the naivety and vulnerability this act radiated created in me an overwhelming sense of absolute, inexplicable love for this insane old lady that I'll probably never see again. A few silent minutes later, she stood up, coughed a little, smiled at me and said enigmatically 

"I think friends are the most important thing, remember that. And everything in moderation."

She lit a cigarette with a lighter it took her a few tries to light, then she left.

Old pages from my hysterical journal, most of my posts are conceived here.

I've just become a contributor for a feminist and arts collective The Wandering, which is lovely.

The beauty of uncertainty

Last night I woke up abruptly at exactly 3am and felt inexplicably wide awake, this happens every so often, but always surprises me. It's mildly disconcerting that it always happens at the same time. In an attempt to quieten my shamelessly superstitious mind I clamped my make-up caked eyes together and willed myself to fall back into oblivious, safe sleep. When I eventually did get back to sleep, I had the most surreal vivid dream in which someone handed me a tarot card, The Moon, and explained to me that it meant something was hidden, someone was being deceptive, someone was trying to escape from something or someone.

When I woke up I didn't remember this dream at all until hours later when I distractedly picked up my own deck of tarot cards while tidying my horrendously chaotic room and The Moon fell out in my hands, the dream suddenly came flooding back in the way that only forgotten dreams do, and I found myself scouring my brain in an attempt to remember more. I couldn't. The sun shone unashamedly today, as if it hadn't just disappeared without warning for the last six months or so, and for a little while everything felt new and like I could conquer and regain control of my thoughts and emotions and everything else that mattered.

I watched American Beauty for the first time ever just an hour ago. It was perfect.

Also, recently I was selected to take part in a charity project for an Irish music website www.goldenplec.com

They took a video of me singing one of my songs, which is about Elizabeth Siddal.

If you like you can watch it here.