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Finishing Alice in Wonderland feels so full circle idk.

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My first junk journal completed!! This is only 6 months worth of absolute rubbish :)

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Book Review: Pink Mountain On Locust Island - Jamie Marina Lau

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Jamie Marina Lau’s ‘Pink Mountain On Locust Island’ met every expectation I had prior to reading it completely. I found Lau while writing a piece for a University assignment and had the opportunity to interview her about Surrealism. She wrote PMOLI at 19 years old, which absolutely gagged me. She is incredibly intelligent and creative.

The writing style feels claustrophobic, highlighting how the protagonist ‘Monk’ feels in the situations infiltrating her life. Furthermore, the structure of the novel is exceedingly easy to follow and comprehend, however it does feel highly academic. I’m definitely considering re-reading and annotating it when I have the chance.

The plot is very interesting and definitely reads hallucinogenic. It feels like a trippy instrumental song playing in a spinning casino game room. This feeling aligns with the sequence of events that are enthralled by a clueless young girl being used by those around her in the street drug industry. Monk simply wants to find comfort in another human and they just use her over and over again, which is very relatable as a fellow girl. Lau’s Chinese heritage is very prominent and refreshing to read about, it appears mostly in Monk’s interactions with her Aunty Linda who keeps her culture alive through cuisine. I loved Aunty Linda so much, she was the only character who really cared about Monk.

The title is so smart and good. The “Pink Mountain” represents how Monk views drugs, something so outlandish and otherworldly to her, yet rather understandable to those around her. The “Locust” extended metaphor is threaded seamlessly throughout the novel, in my interpretation they resemble the people in Monk’s life who flock to drug use and/or distribution, surrounding the Pink Mountain like it is the greatest thing they’ve ever seen. Locust’s were the plague of Egypt in the Bible, which interlinks with Lau’s exploration into Religion and its effect on people. She is just a genius. Lau also produces music now, which is also a small theme in the novel. I just live for her. What an Australian icon.

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how listening to perverts by ethel cain at midnight got me feeling

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Book Review: Heaven - Meiko Kawakami

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

If you like feeling maternal while indulging in media, ‘Heaven’ by Meiko Kawakami is a must read! Heaven follows a young boy with a lazy eye being tortured by a group of bullies who also target a young girl named Kojima. The pair find solace in each other, understanding each other’s struggles. I was taken aback from how intense and gruesome the bullying became, extremely violent and heartbreaking (a big warning for people who aren’t good with blood).

The novel’s namesake is credited to a painting titled ‘Heaven’ that Kojima finds comfort in and visits often in an art museum. This idea really highlights the purpose of the novel, identifying the things in which people find comfort and passion in, no matter if it’s moral or not. The young men who bully the pair simply find a sense of comfort in the things they do to others, it simply makes them feel better. Similarly, the young boy (unnamed) finds comfort in writing letters and reading books, thus he fails to understand why anyone would want to hurt others. Heaven really underpins the divide of morality, what is truly right and wrong and how do different people define it?

The ending is the reason it lost one star for me. It wasn’t fulfilling enough for me. However, I feel it will differ between persons.

One of the main takeaways came from a conversation between the boy and one of his main bullies. The boy simply asked his bully why they bullied people and felt no remorse for their actions, the bully replied “It’s not that you wouldn’t do the same, it’s that you couldn’t”. This quote truly defines the exploration of this book, if we could do the things they do, would we?

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A second hand book haul! I love buying second hand, it’s cheaper and way more sustainable for our planet :)

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Reading dates are my very favourite.

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Thank you @zealouswinds for including me! It means a lot 🩵

My inspiration usually derives from my lived experiences and traumas. My biggest inspiration is my beautiful boyfriend, who inspires all of my love poetry. Nature is a big inspiration for my imagery in particular, I think humans are thought to be entirely different to other creatures, yet we share multiple similarities.

@teetheandflower

Since you’re always coming up with cool prompts and all, here’s a little one for you:

Not to sound like a nosy anon but, what’s your biggest inspiration when you write? Spill the tea 🍵✍️ And tag a few folks to answer too”

Great question! Really just little pieces of my life in general. Usually people I've met and the experiences we've had. I've had a very interesting life so it's the easiest thing for me to write about. So many different ways I could word the stories, so to speak. And so many different stories. I have bits of my life I've never touched in my writing, though I would like to change that.

@moonknightmaiden @noxnightingales @peepeepoopoo3d @butwhyareyoureyessosad @nyx-tenberis @faemaril @behindstonewalls

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Iris

Pale blonde hair dressed in pink ribbons

Princess shoes hugging little painted toes

Tiny glittered fingernails holding a picture book open

His blue eyes staring at me for the first time all over again

Half-eaten oatmeal left over from breakfast

Rosy cheeks peaking out behind a snowman

Soft talking to imaginary friends

I crave the moment I meet you

My beautiful Iris

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Exhibitionist

My breath lingers down your tattooed spine

Lifting the follicles a man’s fingertips once occupied

My presence filling your dirty chilly room

Laying with a new pretty doll designed for your pleasure

Your sins will live in his body

Devouring his flesh

Leaving him to rot amongst greenery

Far kinder than how you left me

Bleeding through a stranger’s mattress

My body up for auction

For the men you entertain

At a time, my head felt so light on your chest

Your soft perfumed scent filling the passage to my brain

Skinny fingers raking through my thick brown hair

I was different to you

Surely, I was different

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My Bailey

I saw your ghost

Pouring tea for your wife in the garden

Serving her the produce my father forgot of

Running your paws across the lily’s soft petals

Indulging in the life I stole from you

Your life once laid in my young freckled arms

My cold blue veins in between the fibres of your coat

Brown hair blanketing your white corpse

A soul the poacher set free

Dining with flora

Dancing with dandelions

Free from juvenile love

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Hey,

I’m Charlize.

Writing stories (mostly gruesome) is my utmost passion in life and the only thing I’ve ever been decent at doing. Writing poetry is also a deep joy for me.

If you enjoy my writing please engage! I’m open to constructive criticism, I want to be something special one day so this is only the beginning.

Thank you for the recent love. It is greatly appreciated!

🍵

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Neat Whiskey

Every snowfall

I reminisce on the times you filled my mouth

Rotting my body, enjoying the flow of my bloodstream

Spicy, the smell of your amber body

How I miss your taste

On these deeply cold nights

Put your tongue in my hollow mouth

Fill in the gaps of my teeth

Let me lick the excess of you from your glass skull

Let me dance in the centre of the universe

Far away from them

Away from this frigid winter storm

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Your Parents

There’s a life I’m missing

Where ribbons travel through the winter wind

She cuts my hair to my collarbones

The turning of pages sings my soul to sleep

Her aging skin, his balding head

Their soft conversations enlightened by the open fridge

His kiss on her wrinkled forehead

Stories which built their humble home

I wish I could sleep in her arms

Hold his hand before crossing the road

Be the product of their love

Like you are

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The Things I’ll Miss

I’ll miss the 939 bus

The way it smells in the summertime

Body odour, jasmine perfume and warm leather

Sweat lining my upper lip

I’ll miss the speeding cars missing number plates

Drunken jukeboxes keeping the night awake

Strangers who share my accent

I’ll miss my old rotting home

The way the morning sun peaks through my curtains

His scent living in my sheets

Dust settling on my bookshelf

I’ll miss them

My mother’s zombified state

My father’s insincerity

My sister’s envy

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The Sonnet of Us

Cradling your heavy skull

Our blanketed legs sewn together

Spots of burgundy freckle your cold face

Frozen fingertips travel across the thread forcing your lips to meet

I’m an angel creating melodies with your last shallow breaths

One soft kiss against the blue thread you chose

I remember the first time I saw you

Smiling across from me

Not speaking a single word

Yet somehow promising me the world

The world now at bay beneath my numb fingertips

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Fat Little Lamb: A Horror Story

The fridge light on the tiled kitchen floor feels like a gateway to indulgence. A place of freedom, where she cannot hear me scavenging leftovers like a rabid dog. My knees give into its glory; I kneel and pray for forgiveness. I pray for my gluttony to only be a sign of my growing body, not my selfishness. My stomach, a boundless pit begging for every carb, fat, fibre, and protein my tongue can salvage. The sludge I devour finds solace in my rotting gut. My fingers engulfed with my greed, meet the mouth she so wishes to close. My mother will find the carnage. She will prosecute me, peeling my flesh from its source, leaving me to look like an incomplete puzzle. I will rid of myself, separate my skin, isolate it until she grants me peace.

Needle and thread

Stitch through your soft cotton skin

Thick and ivory

A mosaic of my little girl

A fat little lamb

The little girl I fixed

Grimy, heavy, unappealing

Mended with a scale and scalpel

Mummy put you back together

I hate mornings. At exactly 6:00a.m, my alarm blares to remind me I need to change my sheets and clean the wrappers off my floor before my mother awakens. She barges in at 7:00a.m to scope out if I hijacked the fridge the previous night. Thankfully, I have learnt to cover my tracks. The times my alarm failed to wake me turned into lessons of sharp edges meeting my skin, with a piece of my back missing. Restriction was expected too. Surviving on rice cakes and cucumbers is not ideal but not eating at all was arguably worse.

“Morning, I’m proud of you Nora. You’ve been really good lately. I’ll allow you a special treat tonight.” Her lips graze my cheek as I pretend to rise from her touch.

“Thanks mum, I’ve been trying extra hard recently”

“Let’s weigh you in for today”

My weigh ins are scheduled for every Monday morning; she takes me to the bathroom and records my weight. It’s our little ritual, our connection. I need to weigh exactly 45kg. That is my supermodel weight. The perfect balance of skin and bone. My weight is the bridge between us. I can keep up my act, until the day she discovers her mutilation of my body does not live in solitude.

Art, my laying masterpiece

Exhibited by sunlight caressing your sleeping body

Awaiting my warm touch

Perfume, your scent overwhelms the air

My lips meet your cheekbones

Lipstick blushing your pale skin

Widened eyes, an innocent smile

You love to see the numbers decrease

I know you’re grateful for me

You know I love you

It only happens at night. After a binge. I started with only little pieces of fat from my midsection. Pieces I could hide. Pieces became chunks. The lard built up in my bedroom closet, becoming pungent. I began buying bandages and bedsheets in bulk. It was only a weekly habit. Until it was every single night. I felt lighter. Relieved. She loves me this way. Raw, barely human. My world is one painted in blood, so much blood. How comforting to cradle oneself? I’m warm, so very warm. Thin and warm. Thin and raw. Fleshless.

I remember how they laughed

Looking at my creation

I wanted to give you the world

I let you eat everything

Indulge in delicacies

Lick your fingers

Your tears flooded my clothes

You wanted me to save you from this disease

Skinniness is cold. Summer is nicer than I remember. The sun caresses my fatless body through my bedroom window, spotlighting glimpses of my ribcage, that I worked so hard to reveal. Every Summer, my mother watched me swim amongst white water and waves, observing from the shoreline. I never wore anything beside a rashie and swim shorts. She thought my body an embarrassment. Their legs were the equivalent of my arm, the other young girls. Stick legs. Flat stomachs. Wearing bikinis.

“Nora, maybe if you start eating less you can wear bikinis too”

I remember how the salt water stung grazes left on my knees from the gravel on my primary school playground. I know the ocean won’t be kind to me now. Salt will burn my insides. Cleanse my blood. Dissolve my bones. Carry me to the horizon, where the sun sinks and the moon rises. Ocean, I wish I could enjoy you again. In a slutty bikini, away from the young girls my mother idolised, who old men lusted over. Now, I would fit into their fantasy. So, uncovered. Completely tender. Untouched.

I found the fridge emptier than before

Invaded by a fucking animal

“I’m sorry, Mummy, I didn’t mean to Mummy”

Whimpers escape your mouth

A necktie holds sticky hands together

One fat face melts into my mattress

I butcher you

Like the animal you are

Slicing your first layer of flesh

You take it like a good bitch

Filling the room with your pathetic voice

You’re so angelic. Perfect posture. Thin, narrow fingers. Your outline imprinted so distinctly in my bedroom corner, calling for my carved body to inch closer. A radiant glow. Blushing cheeks, pale blue eyeshadow behind light blonde eyelashes. You’ve never looked more beautiful, Mummy. Even though I’ve always found you beautiful.

The flesh from my leg sits in my palms. I present to you, my sculptor: an offering. My body. My blood.

You accept. Gently devouring my flesh as my blood stains your lightly glossed mouth. I’m happy to see you enjoying me. Chewing through my tough skin. The bovine skin you raised on the pasture of our home.

You kneel to the floor, meeting my hollow eyes.

“Come here baby. I know you made another mistake. You know the rules.”

My heavy head finds comfort in your lap. Your white lacy dressed, soak by the remaining tears in my eyes.

“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy.” I beg for your boney fingers to rake through my thinning hair. I want them to trace the frame of my new figure. Touch every inch of the body I made just for you. “It hurts, is it enough Mum?” Words of submission finally leave my lips.

“No, baby I could never get enough of you now.”

Your luminescent shine reminds me of your consumption. All I have given to you. All I have fed to you. Disassembled. Unrecognisable. Loved.

Bloodied, beaten, benevolent soul

Bruise clouds painted on your baby fat

They cut your skin, so deep

They wanted to punish your greed

Abandoned classrooms

Pinned down, kicking feet

Juvenile carving

“Fat lambs are butchered; you’re a fat lamb”

It helped you, it made you better

You needed this

You needed to be stopped

I am wolf. A viscous hungry wolf. Eager to tear myself to shreds. I indulge in raw prey. Prying the fridge door from its hinges. Sinking my teeth into plastic wrap enclosing the food I will be forever denied. Licking its ridges, anticipating its toughness. Sharp, fang-like teeth separate the dead organism, giving into further torture. Remains stick to my molars. Pale lips coloured by wine-coloured blood, although appearing more violet in the sterile fridge light.

Crawling back to my den. Cold, I am so terribly cold. Creaky floorboards, crying to be relieved from the pressure of my gut. My den always feels warmer. I claw at my door, begging to be let in. Scratches make their indentations in pink paint. Dragging my body, I’m engulfed in warmth, laying in the fetal position. Blanketed by the rotten aroma. Little hooves dance on the decaying floor in front of my closet. A fat little lamb stumbles toward me. Long dark hair frames porcelain skin, kissed by the everlasting sun. Pastels conceal her stomach rolls, crinkling Hello Kitty’s face on her tight T-shirt. Her skin feels like cotton under my weak fingers; my nails accidentally graze her hanging belly. She lays beside me, her bowlegs finally succumbing to her weight.

“Where’s Mummy?” Her soft, delicate voice echos through my shallow mind.

“Did they hurt you again?”

“Yes, I want Mummy, who are you?” Her beady little eyes flutter, trying to see my skeletal face through tear-clouded vision.

“I’m you. Mummy hurts us now. I don’t want you to see her.”

“I don’t believe you.” Snot dribbles from her button nose, accompanied by sniffles, cute innocent sniffles.

“She loves our body, not us. I’ll ensure she cannot love again.”

“What will you do?”

“Something that will hurt her, like she hurt us.”

My fur-coated arm, concealed by dried animal blood brushes past her round sun-like face. She’s so plump, ready to devour. Tender, scarred, juicy skin. I want to lick her up, rip her apart and consume her. She inches closer, my arms enclose her chubby body, reuniting our hearts. She fits her face into the nook of my neck, finding comfort in the distant scent of decay deriving from my closet.

My body and blood. My little lamb. I crave to fill myself with you just to protect you from her.

I lay in your bed

Tossing and turning in your scent

The smell of your decaying body

My favourite smell

The blood stains engraved into your mattress

I raised an artist

The closet concealing your flesh

My domain of indulgence

I take a piece of you each day for myself

Running my nose against your blackening skin

My Nora, I’ll forever want you all to myself

My thin little lamb

Mother, you found me. After all this time of playing hide and seek, you finally found my secret spot. You have complete custody of my body. Complete and unconditional reign. You have everything you’ve ever wanted. You stare at me; from the haven I built to hide the only control I possessed over myself. I am no longer human. No longer sentient. You always wanted me dead. Just to finally own me. Love has never lived within these walls, haunted halls lined with my wails of pain, at the hand of your scalpel. I am merely an amalgamation of your imagination.

“I knew this would help you.” Malice fills the eyes of a woman I once thought would simply protect me from myself.

Behind my exposed ribs, a kitchen knife rests in my palm. My boney, skeletal feet melt into the freezing cold floorboards, sending chills up my vulnerable spine.

“You’ve never looked so beautiful baby. I’d like to see those bastards laugh at you now.”

“You don’t love me, Mummy.” Her face, in utter disbelief of the words I can barely let out of my mouth before revealing my blade, stabbing her in the eye. Her screams, are eerily familiar to my own. Gut wrenching, excruciating. Blood, red thick blood splatters across my white curtains and bedsheets. The knife twists, cutting any cord connecting her eye to her deplorable brain. She barely resists me. She accepts me. She accepts this reality. Finally. Singing a lullaby to me. Once sung to me as a baby. Soothing me. Retrieving the knife from her eye, I place it into her heart repeatedly. Blood, so much blood.

“I do love you, the closet.” Her last words. Hauntingly specific.

Her heavy head, fractured by my blade, collapses into my arms; almost breaking them. I lick my lips, smelling her rich blood all around me. Her flesh, so tender. My teeth meet her butchered body, ripping her ligaments, gnawing at her fat. I want to keep her for leftovers; she’s my first meal in years. She would want me to use a knife and fork. I want to lick my fingers clean, savour the taste of her pure organs on my tongue. The taste of freedom.

I’ll put her in the freezer, binge on her body. Her closet door is open. Her last words echo. My heavy body drags, slowly reaching the oak. Inside, a quilt. Made solely of my skin. Young flesh. Old flesh. My freckles, illustrate a constellation across the fabric of my flesh. I hold up the work of art. I never knew my body could look so beautiful, disassembled this way. I wrap it around my shallow waist, filling myself in. Mother, my tailor. Mending me back together, you love me, you really love me.

My job is done

You found yourself again

Like I knew you would

How I miss your chubby fingers

Digging into meaty burgers

Tearing my flesh

Feed on me forever

Fill yourself up with me

Feast on the body I prepared just for you to enjoy

I’ll find you once more

My fat little lamb