HOME IS WHERE IS HOME.

Without the summers heat, we've moved to a flat with a graveyard across the street. 

Home has situated itself in a place where reality speaks plainly and the sun stays tucked away.

Stays inside, bent on the hopes that the torrential rain will sort everything out, bring the plants back to life.

They come dressed  in black, with a somber hats that wilt to hide the mood and glasses that scowl reflections of the scene.

Just another afternoon in Dalkeith, 

Our city at a safe distance to keep the season's spirit.  It grows and breaths on thespians, on capitalism, on the dreams of seventeen's willing to work for three quid.

An exit from the depths of it,

My face gleams warpaint, my heart snipped from my sleeve.  I arrive too late, as everyone has introduced themselves to the festivities.  

How can I keep my composure?

Just another obstacle in the everyday retreat.

When one knows they should have stayed home to watch the mourners from the window and feel better about living.

Immobility as my middle name.

AT WAR.

I am a sap.

Three recognizable characters grazed the screen for a mere 36 seconds.

wet, soaking wet.

There is no rain in my Scotland.

WAR, missing warmth.  

Summer stings, his hot breath .

The film finished, the theater roared, 

unaware, unaccompanied.

I hold my own hand, silently.

I am a sap.

The night licks my hot cheeks, I brake the bottle on the castle walls.

I walk along side her volcano, I profess my love, 

wasted on rocks, on hills and meadows.

I am gothic, numb as black lips. black tongue.

I want to mirror her, the undying, undeniable charm.

she is strong.

Instead, I embarrass myself.

I am a sap.

I spit in the sink of a strangers pale blue bathroom.

I watch the violinist with hunger, his socks match his shirt.

I count eyelashes, prominent and beautiful, though his words don't resonate.

A lover kisses his mouth, I am quietly enraged.

I steal cigarettes, I reapply lipstick repeatedly.

I prowl and prance, I ask to see his bedroom.

I fall asleep next to a man whose name I don't remember.

He holds me, we freeze, 

the embrace, lulling.

I am a sap.

I wake, 

in sheets I've never seen.

 lights on, bra off.

I piss, I eat a croissant. I use his ex's lipgloss.

I take pictures of his typewriter.  

Ten minutes spent trying to open the door to the main road,

his neighbor finds me, drunk, on God's day.

bemused, disoriented, I can't find home.

Daylight casts a hideous shadow.

so, I sleep until it's dark again.

I am a sap.

with no method to mayhem.

this is all I know 

of war,

ME VERUS ME VERUS ME VERUS ME.

coexistence.

left.

there was no sun to set.   the light dissipated, simultaneously, the city glowed.

a group of spanish men observed us like birds in a sanctuary,

flapping our wings softly, making tiny noises with our throats.

we'd reached a peak.

upon flat moss and rabbit holes I wished I could crawl inside, we sighed.

for, this is a finer moment in life.

After, while guzzling gin beside a toilet,

the bleakest of black tiled walls,

I secretly wished these moments were permanent, 

not a capsule of time.

that she would stay, keep me feel safe.

ease the transition.

Sunday, I woke up with that daunting ache,

as though I'd slept with a man I loved,

but knew, it was 

over.

he was 

gone.

 left to fend, 

with my only friend, my only lover,

the city which breaths me,

keeps me warm at night.   

MURMUR.

wake, drown in drink, sleep, wake, drown in drink, sleep, wake.

the cycle consumes.

the weekends here are kept wet, 

in body, in soul, in mind.

we hitched a ride to the oldest pub in Edinburgh to sit coy in boxcar

quaff ale,

gobble ostrich.

refusal brings out the beast in us, lungs tight, clandestine.

a melody sneaks quaintly into our corner.

violins, fiddles, tam-tam's, the traditional bagpipe, a tin whistle.  

20 deep, locals have assembled to jam.

to romp,  to tap their heels. 

we watch, we steal, we run.  leaving the 'piobaireachd' behind.

transformed into mountaineers, we climb twin peaks.

the rain pours, Ring around the Rosie, we all fall down.   mud cakes between lacerations.

steep slope, stone steps carved in 1361.

hands held tight.  carrying the weight of the world, we totter until we're upright.

frogs squirm from pavement to grass, wishing us well.

dive into a dive bar full of 15 year olds in poor fashion playing bingo.

He's lost control again. On the floor, again.  We gulp as quick as our throats allow.

screaming, scolded.

sip the smoke, grasping the night air, again, we're out.

We galavant to an old movie house.

Intimacy surrounds.  One man down, and it's couples therapy.  We speak of failure, of loss, of interest,

of socialism.  Tarantino looks on. 

Two brutes appear in the form of women to ruin the fun.  I'm silenced, sensing tension.  He abandons me, once again reminded why I keep so cold.

I duck away, hide my face in shame, I cry.

In the water, I am beautiful.  I am honest. I am raw.

Bare, introduced to a former self. I close my eyes.

Where have I been?

just fine.

today, I wrote a letter,
the first of many.  
It took me a single try to convey fullness,
frugality of ink,
celibacy for the greater good, 
a higher power
idle is love.

93 days, 
count them on your fingers
your toes.

Sometimes FOREVER would be too SOON

though, tomorrow would do.

READINGS.

Included:

The Gothic; cities in literature, urban representation, literary theory, late twentieth/twenty-first century genre fiction (sci-fi & horror) queer theory, object-relations psychoanalysis, vampire fiction post-1980, literature/biotechnology, late-Victorian prison autobiographies by women convicts, & The films of David Lynch

Sure,

Time to soak in all the culture that is humanly possible.

Forgot how it feels to live.

there.

you are there. 

here, I sleep through days & dread night.

I finally saw city in light.

volcanic rock coats pale sky, bricks, bread and a baron.

isolation, the black block screams.

1660, dark ale & cold meat.

the city breeds life, 

hollow to me.

he's 15, he spits, he holds his member.

he's 18, an avid, angry drummer.

he's 25, the most beautiful man I've ever seen.

wink, nudge, nod, nude.

he's glowing, he breeds,

hollow to me.

distraction, distraction, distraction