chchtrenbus

[chchtrenbus]

When we go running, do we have to pace ourselves? Would it not be more fun, to jump in and see what is possible? Would it not be exciting, to get up and just go, get up and flow out of the dirty wind in our homes. Would it be okay, just to know, if you could use two feet to hit on the floor and patter patter so far to a place you wouldn’t be alone. I mean, when the sun comes out and its just you on a hill looking down, if a thighs strength could bring a finder up to you, seeing better, relying on this focal fixer, seated on your throne. They bring up their fingers, and point where to go, from the hill into the right zone.

I keep thinking of my feet on the pavement, and that dust in my hair, knowing that wherever I am going, he’d hopefully be there. Throwing arms about and losing my legs, the lactic acid it fills me up and pains me, blocking the route ahead. Ginseng I took. Ginseng I took to lose this bit, but no, It’s something else stopping me. It can’t be the acid. I will have to disagree. The problem maybe Is that everything can be seen? Two glass cut outs over my pupils and numbers clearer to me. Seeing, maybe was not the best thing for this run cause it only lets me know of how far is left to go.

Crispy noises fill the air, swinging round my head, headphones on I listen to the song. Singing, crunchy and short, ambient and long. Big and strong. Beat does not give up on my moving legs, thighs, tum. Money spider, I spin you round my head and hope the fortune you bring is sweet. The blood bleeds gold and the teeth have it all over and between. A bell rings and there’s no one in the town centre. You better be careful when you go get her.

What are you talking about? Your mouth full of doubt, your hands full of debt and your feet arched, tired on the mat where we all slept. The distaste for your own type does not mean palm trees and coconuts will fall faster when you throw your dagger ahead. Moving like a snake between all of our hopes and our tests, you do not hold position of power with your unhopeful stress. We have a longing, a desire to live and to be. All you have is the sinkhole you dug yourself, not me.

Put that spoon on my tongue, let me taste all of this sugar, please. Stick it far down my throat and let me choke it up with all that is left in me. Put that spoon on my tongue, and let my hot mouth heat, the cold metal of its body. Put that spoon on my tongue, and can I show you, can you see? That my tongue is only here for that spoon, the one you give me. Feed me with fire, set me alight, give me all the elements, give me air, give me light. Grab me where its smallest, between my big shoulders and hips, thighs, grab me all over and throw me aside, pull me away from your grip. Pick up my legs and twist them, just try. Then make me run as far as you might. Put that spoon on my tongue, let me feel it in my mouth, in my nose and hear it where my jaw meets my ears. Let me hear the hit of it’s element, let me face my foreign fears. Put that spoon on my tongue.

[chchtrenbus]

Fans blow dust through my hair And I wonder where the tone will sweep me next. Running into boxes, Falling to my left, Wondering if one can be open to all of these unpaid debts Do you still check the sky for me? Traces of my shape in the steam from your tea Do you still check for me? Looking at red seats, buildings pass by and the big voice it beeps Next stop

You put hands on your head and tell me to listen for whats next You put your hands on my leg and tell me to sit down and not test

[chchtrenbus]

I went to Wales today, to photograph a girl I messaged on the internet. Her room was so messy. On the way home, I stood at Cardiff Kingsway Stop GQ. The bus seemed to be late and each coach that came was not the one home. A woman came by me, and asked whether she had missed the one I was waiting for. We ended up talking, then we went to stand together, then we end up sitting and yet all of the minutes gone by.. The coach had not come. The operator on the line for the company told us that it would be 45 minutes from now, meaning we would get into London Victoria very late. She then offers to drive me home. Two others join us. A girl who is going to Comic Con, she has packed her outfit in her bag. She is very small, did not eat at all when I was in her presence and had interesting views and a lifestyle I’d never got so close to in all of my cancelled friendships over the last few [teenage] years. The boy studied Physiotherapy, and I could have fucked him in the toilet if he let me. The boy was strange. He played trumpet, listened to old music - Teenagers in Love [which is what our designated driver had on her CD ‘Summer of Love’} - and then wanted to state about how boring he was compared to the rest of us sitting in the car.  

The driver.

Lets talk about the designated driver.

So, she works at a law firm. Is it bad that I completely forgot the details? Well yes, she works at a law firm and lives between Cardiff and London. She seemed a bit of a shambles but it was pulling me more towards asking questions about her life. I am going to text her some skincare recommendations. We stop at her house before we started to drive on the motorway to pick up her air-fryer which in her eyes, was a mini RTD2. Forgot to mention, we also had to drop her ‘ab slider’ off at the office before this. It was a large glass building, where her firm occupied all levels. The bathroom in the lobby was beautiful and well lit. It did not smell of much in there. Our drivers car however, smelt of Burberry, Weekend. Continuously sprayed over us, maybe one of us carried a stench? The time it passed in the car, the CD came on, we all got to know each other better.

As the car pulled into the city I call home, all of us flying our way down the motorway in the Burberry smelling box into Ealing, we ended up on the topic of star signs. Turning out that all of us had ‘compatible’ star signs which began to fulfil the belief in star signs in my head, as the dynamic in the car was insatiable, open, comfortable and nothing I had so closely felt before - with exception to meeting the woman who owned that huge warehouse photo studio in Peckham in Autumn 2016.

It perplexed me as earlier in the day, the girl who I came to Wales to photograph, we also saw that our personalities blossomed over the others in constant. Turns out, her mum is into astrology, and she said she’ll read my birth chart and figure some things out for me!

Back to the car.

We are on the topic of star signs, ble ble ble.. Then! Our designated driver begins to ask the Libra boy… “so… me and a Libra man are on a break you know? Having a.. breather? What are Libra men looking for???”. Two hours before this, she mentioned a man, who is a friend of hers, likes her and how uncomfortable it has made her, because she cant see anything with him, even if he is ‘nice’. I had the feeling she’s in love with the Libra. This type of behaviour is like a mirror to my eyes. Then, the pestering began.. Libra boy, what do Libra men WANT!!! Tell me!!!! I need to know, don’t tell me that you don’t date and the girls in the bars in Wales aren’t what you’re looking for! Tell me” The persistence converted the topic into something much more serious than just a passing relatable thought between us about star signs. Our designated driver had big feelings and boy were they filling up the car, quick!

Shortly after this, we arrive at Hanger Lane, in Harrow. We exit the car, say our thanks. The girl who was in a different way, went to meet her father with heavy bags on her shoulders. Libra and I walked to the station and both went to use the metal bathrooms. Wow, the bathrooms were unusual. Metal walls, metal everywhere. But the dryers.. the dryers were old! The dryers were DRY! Must I mention, the other girl who was with her father, also was in the bathroom, and we ended up talking between the thick metal walls of the cubicle. “So, Can I take your photograph? Can I come to a rally in Snowdonia? I love the makeup” I ask, I pester, I let it be known that I want her in my camera!

We now are on the platform, separated. Libra on one side, with me. Girl on right with her father, they’re getting on my train also. I say bye to Libra, give him a hug and wonder if I should have said something more. The hug was an experience. The air was chilled but not too cold, my coat stench of damp rain from Wales lingered. Hugging. Feeling his hip push against mine, he was not a stranger anymore and neither was the bones on his body. Lower body. Push UP.

No no no no. Train is here. BYE. Lovely to meet you, lovely to spend time with you, call me if you’re in my area, lets grab a drink! Have a good journey back to Wales on Monday! Yikes..

It’s gotten to that point where my ovary is asking me if I am truly okay.

Back to the platform, standing on the right, I shuffled over. With girl and dad. Dad has the most unique glasses, I find out on the train that he used to be an optimetrist. Decided for a career change and is now a daytime tV video editor at a big television channel in White City. This is great but also, what will happen when we all stop watching TV, TV? TV TV TV. That type of TV? Lets cross that bridge when we get to it. Hmm.. So yea… We’re sitting there and well he is just talking and I cant really hear much but I keep nodding. His daughter is looking away, then looks at me every now and then, and she smiles. Theres a sense of discomfort in her eyes, but it was my stop. Say your goodbyes and get off the train, then go on in your bubble away from all of the bubble inside that car. Playing Teenager in Love. Playing Sh Boom Sh Boom with it’s much too excited trumpets, that scare you the first time you listen to the song and possibly 6 times after.

Todays life lesson was, not much of a life lesson but more of a dose of life. To leave your bubble and to move and connect.. wow does that do something. It opens up opportunity to believe that not everything is as intense as it may feel. Not everything is as big as it seems. As to you it’s a big project but to a stranger, it could be a slice of nonsense handed on a well decorated plate.

Lets keep it moving! No bubble behaviour, I am trying to breathe outdoors.

[chchtrenbus]

Sitting here listening to the same old music that caught me in the feelings, sent me backwards, convincing me that it was a certain one who would be there for me. This part. The part that’s his. Booooooooy. Slice me up and sprinkle salt over all of these wounds! I am shook. Like.. what If when we meet for our drink, I ruin it all. I turn sideways and truth falls I knew who he was, and I knew the tone of that voice before we even connect over wine.

I think everyone has their drawbacks and their fun and I would only ever want to stop them over the belief that I myself, cant partake in this. Thinking that my health, stopping me from doing these things, would mean anyone could love me less. If it were someone else in my situation, and I was the outsider, looking in on the swollen… Would I love them less?

[chchtrenbus]

There were three green lanterns when she walked into the room. One dim, one fairly bright and another the brightest of them all. A tapping noise came from outdoors, which caused her to come in. She sits at a table, a round one, with 5 chairs. Girl puts in some headphones and for a moment she stares at a CD rack. She goes to the rack and runs her hand across, then picks up one discarded on the bottom, the messiest shelf of all of them. Girl shoves CD into her case and unbuttons shirt, sitting back on the chair. The window is facing hair, she is facing it. Staring through, its as if she is waiting for something to hit.

The song begins to play [Sleep Deprivation 1 by The Black Dog]. Girl begins to swing on the chair back and forth letting hair swing from the back. Running her hands through it. Then scratching cheeks. This scene continues for a while. She is picking at her fingernails, just sitting and listening. Rocking.

The song fades and the screen fades to black and back again. An alarm has gone off but she is still in the chair. Crooked neck. It smells like morning, like the time between 5 and 6am - dawn?

She picks up her things, grabs her bags and quickly washes her face with water. The sound is of noise, house noise.

Girl has bags hanging from her shoulders, big hair, hanging. Slams door, keys jangling puts them in pocket and leaves. It cuts from her walking across roads, in different environments. It looks a bit like lewisham and how varied that environment is.

Sherifa I thought her husband wasn’t coming to four seasons holiday. And well, I thought it was a girls holiday and then I found out last night he was coming. So I had to cancel it, and rebook something else. Zana, her husband is so strict and shes very uptight old English style.

[chchtrenbus]

My leg sits on its own in a frame. Mirror reflects what I wish to display to man and to audience, to all who wish to see, the performance I give, the performance ‘its only for me’. I wish to touch all edges with lips and brush by them with my hair, give them attention not only just glare. Wanting to want less, only makes me want more, knowing that this brain scatters one name all across it’s floor. Knock knock, here comes big mess at my door. One week I wait again, my heart dropping all. My expectations lowered so when good happens I put out a positive roar.

Kiss me on my neck and wrap fingers round my thighs, give me all the pleasure, let me lose my pride. Tell me that you want me, tell me to give some more. Ill do anything for you, anything at all.

Messy classics, messy galore. Reaching stereotypes, construction of words known before. Shaking my feet, shaking my head, shaking my back and shaking in bed.

[chchtrenbus]

Waiting around for you to come through Shoving my legs under duvet Hands imagine you Big veins running All over this mood

I kiss the floor in hopes it gives respect Enough for you to feel and not neglect I kiss your knees and hope it gives you the strength To walk to me and never have left

Two weeks ill be gone Two weeks In my head Ill see you below me Above And in bed

[chchtrenbus]

Will someone save me from this horrible path? Of where each corner I turn, a face it must pass. I see the bodies and the figures in my eyes, knowing they were fake but my mind it just lies. It lies to me about who is really who and what is really where. It lies to me about what is not there

[chchtrenbus]

I do not know much about dancing but I know when I think of him, I want our feet to match up and my left to follow his right, side step our way through stressful nights. There was a moment I woke up in the dark, beats pounding, my friends so far. I heard the sounds and I kept going, an attempt to release what dense growth was pushing itself inside me up into my core and trying to exit through my fingertips. Taking notice that I was in a room, the smells of others body odour kept flying at me. He would have been so good to have right here, right in front of me, that body of joy. To say the least, there was something good about the pace, the beat, the song. My legs kept going and there, the demon took thirty minutes to leave. From a few steps away, on the bunk, they watched me, whispering.

[chchtrenbus]

There is a lot of talk when I talk, about how much I say I. How do I relate to others? How can one skip their own pride and sit on someone else’s lap, fit themselves inside? Push their hands in their pockets and bustle their way into those tight sleeves? How can one empathise and believe what they believe?

[chchtrenbus]

Dark room. I see you! Dark room, boy boy boy what should I do!

[chchtrenbus]

There is a sound in the place of where I should be. A speaker divides us, tells us we is me. Tells me that I am she. That you are you, and you must be. Somewhere further, away from me.

[chchtrenbus]

shouldn't he know by now that i love him so dearly , the actions i take are spread out so clearly . flinching when finger taps arm and leg , he moves away, to the other bed . 

can i sit here

he asks, while I'm on the other side .so close i was, so close i could die. to the anchor i need ,to the one i need inside ,to the one who would be there for me, who would die . 

but maybe I'm blurred? maybe my vision is wrong, for the man I'm loving , I've been loving too long . if man loved me back, would he have not said ? this complicated game , my love supposedly hanging by a thread. 

thats not so true, i know its stitch tight, i know after 3 years the feeling he gives me will not be replaced by any might 

[chchtrenbus]

call it drought and famine while i have a tap by my side . the water it runs dry , the water it does not provide. 

i know theres a source, somewhere closer , but my arm cannot reach and is obstructed by him . i just want to drink from the source of which he provides , i want him to feel my touch and feel my sides . swaying in the wind of which his love provides, backwards and sideways , standing i cry . i don't mind the struggle if it comes from you but i mind it from others as they're never true . 

stuck in a love i made for myself , but reciprocation for man is not there, and he knows it himself . an action i make, a kiss on the cheek , but a kiss means nothing if theres no good speak , 

[chchtrenbus]

dream inside dream , one world i was in , second was fake , the first i can't take . lips on my lips , soft and salty but sweet . the bitter decision , of being at his feet . do i make that turn ? do i burn the bridge ? do i set a fire , to what always lived ? i want to end , the twist and the turn , of the true love i said and the true love i learnt  . since 15 my thoughts obsessed of his mind , something beyond his presence i’d come to find . that his body was nothing in comparison to the soul , all i wanted was his spirit , all i want is to grow old 

with you

with no one but him . with no one i see and no one can win , but him in my eyes. poetry it is not but just a statement to you , that ill have to finish our path and go back to my old one , that felt more true 

[chchtrenbus]

one hand holding , other on my hip . head in the sky , tips into the dips . the depth , the fall , the scaffolding it breaks , inside the man comes and inside i embrace