sung0d

[sung0d]

Fire song

The Cure, One Hundred Years, 1984

[sung0d]

We need to make a new subculture that has no outward appearance!

Leftist values and fun!

Tired of everything being bought to sell ideas rather than to spread hope and change

[sung0d]

I want to feel dirty. I want to feel it to be wrong. I want you to hide me as a secret. And keep our grossness pure. Just as long as you aren’t afraid to touch me and look me in my eyes. Just as long as you never stop touching me and loving me. Acknowledge me as dirty, acknowledge me as wrong. Just as long as we can hug after and you can take care of the calluses on my soles.

[sung0d]

I watched the film hoard today…. It’s a very strange film but one which resonates deeply. I’m not 100% sure why, I mean I did grow up in a semi hoarding house as a kid.

I call this a thought dump, some of it won’t make sense, but this is my online diary, take what resonates or move on.

I feel when you grow up in messy households, you carry that messiness into your life, into the person you become. My older sister became clean, she has her own place now and it looks so clean and tidy…. I became like my mother. My rooms stacked in useless junk…. The house is full of random bits of tat, still not as bad as it used to be, you can walk. It’s liveable. But my room is the worst. It’s not dirty per say, it’s just stuffed. Papers, books, junk, everywhere. It seems while my sister tries to never recreate the messy childhood and activity works to look and seem like an organised person. It seems that I have doven head first into it.

I’ve grown up in a house full of shit and piss on the floor, dirty dishes everywhere, black mould and cobwebs. In the rubbish I resided, apart of the rubbish. Like a whole new ecosystem, that I was part of. You won’t get it if you’ve grown up clean, but there’s a comfort, that all the beetles I was so scared of, maggots and cockroaches. We all live in the same place together… so I didn’t feel so alone. Even when mum never came home on time, or dad was too drunk on the coach. The dirtiness invited me in. All I wanted to do was stay in it. As a child of neglect, I find home in shittiness. I don’t like nice things because I feel I’m too messy and would break it. So this film resonated to me. Since my dad dying in 2021, I feel a part of me has been lost, the dirtiness. The ugliness. He was not a good man but he understood the dynamic of our family. He might have been the domineering, abusive force at the top of it all. But he too died in mess. Lived in it.

I don’t like being dirty tho, so I stick to cluttered. A middle ground. Not disgusting but certainly not clean. I wash the best I can, whenever I can. But it’s second nature to me as the kid who grew up bathing weekly and having matted hair.

And I guess when people get to know me, it feels like I have to hide that dirty part of myself. My dirty secret. My dirty shame. My inner child is not just wonderful and full of glee, but she’s dirty. When I see clean houses, when I enter into clean houses, I feel I might have ruined it. By being there. Even though I wash, try to be clean. I feel because I bring my dirty baggage stored in bin bags, dumping it all over the place…. I’ve ruined the cleanliness of the landscape.

It’s nice to see a story similar to mine. A story about dirty people, being dirty. Being gross. Even if it’s wrong, a part of me, connects to it. Because I feel most at home in clutter.

Hopefully someone out there understands

[sung0d]

I’ve decided to listen to Jarvis cockers Sunday service and planning on doing it on every Sunday. Perfect for lazy Sundays and hangovers.

Jarvis has such a soothing voice that I reckon if he was gen z, he would have an ASMR account.

I love to be introduced to all sorts of different music, from scott walker, to the wombles, to Spanish instrumentals.

The episode I listened to was not the first of Jarvis cockers Sunday service as I was listening to it on the internet archives, I’m unsure as to why bbc iPlayer no longer has it but I digress, it was January 2nd 2011. As much I was very alive in that period of time, I was way too young to be listening to Jarvis cockers Sunday service on the radio. I was probably on moshi monsters or something, or playing with my Christmas gifts. I was 5 almost turning 6 when he had recorded that episode.

Crazy to think I’m that young… only 5 in 2011, yet I feel like i remember that era of time more vividly than I remember things now. Things felt more real around 2010s. I dunno. But I’ve spent today laying on my bed reading magazines while the Sunday service plays.

I wish I still owned a radio, it’s always fun to randomly tune into a conversation or a song playing. Spotify doesn’t have the same effect, radio feels like you’re overhearing a conversation you shouldn’t be hearing. It’s sacred. Spotify podcasts seem too intentional to have that same effect. Maybe because it was live? Everyone hearing it as the same time as you, all huddle in the kitchen or living room hearing the same conversation. It felt holy.

Probably gonna scroll through social media and maybe watch a film, what are yall up to this Sunday?

[sung0d]

As a girlie will selfharm scars….. can someone just… (I need to stop thirsting like a dog on here omg)

[sung0d]

I fear I may be perverts….

i love perverts who r embarrassed abt it. perverts who clear their search history if they see you peering at their computer screen. perverts who stutter out euphemisms and vague "you know..."s when u ask them what they're into. perverts who lie. perverts who swear they're not weird, that they looked up porn of some disgusting fetish "one time" or "on accident". perverts who look the other way when they talk to u because if they didn't, their eyes would be glued to ur tits. perverts who secretly wish that you would find out, that you would force them to confess to all sorts of sick things about themselves, abt how they think of you. perverts that want you to hear all of their depraved fantasies involving you. perverts that need someone like you to make them admit it. ❂

MEN DNI.

[sung0d]

Fr fr

Jarvis Cocker on 'My Sex'

[sung0d]

A virgin’s guide to sex

The curtains wore my naked body like a cloak, like a morning cigarette and morning sex. But it was nighttime, when my eyes pierced upon the illuminating street light which flickers and shakes. The atmosphere of dilapidated houses and overflown bins vibrate like a continuous aftershock. Gasping and jittering under the touch of a domineering blush, the blush of the moonlight. Echoing across the road, two frisky figures emerge to stumble across the greenery. A perfect nest. The smoothness of each orchestrated touch inspired a hand to place itself on my breast. Rosey cheeks of the town’s shame never seemed to reach these shadowed deviants. Lips collide, hands brushed, hearts fluttered. Creating a musical passage. Cascading down, they lay, leaning closer, bringing the house to glorious silence. In one swift moment, a rhythm reverberated, syncing up to my heart beat. Back and forth, a tango of need made the branches fall one by one. In and out, an exchange of untold secrets lay upon the town. A defiance disguised in nothing but shrubbery, sweat and sleep. A protest to the robbery of pure unadulterated fucking. Lighting up every sense in the darkest corner of the street. Reeling in a makeshift show room, for the lucky few. For the lucky two. Delectably wrong. Unforgivably hedonistic. As the night drew thinner, participants of the ritual quickened their pace. Smearing their scent in sounds of ecstasy and glee, arching and shaking the view seemed to weaken. Blurring the shadows. And becoming one formless blot of ink in the painting. A wild fiery red on a sea of blue. A spillage of still life self portraits in an architectural floor print. An artistic fantasy playing out in real time. Present. Real. Raw.

Till these murmuring hooligans dulled to silence. Fading to background noise and wet moist pantie stains in the washer. Now a faded memory left to be forgotten in the sun. Dying out in the hustle and bustle of the day time. A long endulgent pause and they’ve parted ways. Leaving the scene of the crime. The night time cast, didn’t catch upon the direction of the street, instead directed somewhere entirely different. Aiming towards the glass.

And in that moment the blush and sweat was spread over my body. Post-ejaculatory guilt pushed the curtain fully closed and led me finally to bed. The birds had fled the nest now, but the cost was my lonely room and a light blinding my eyes, sobering enough to hear my conscience. Shamefully, cruelly highlighting the other. A observant accomplice. A vouyeristic whore. A lurking deviant that’s soul still laid in leaves the morning after.

[sung0d]

YES YES YES YES!

kylie minogue and jarvis cocker, 1995

scanned from the january 1996 issue of top of the pops magazine ♡

[sung0d]

My religion

bless

[sung0d]

The only reason I shave is in case I bump into this man

jarvis cocker/pulp, december 1998

from the book while we were getting high: britpop & the '90s in photographs with unseen images by kevin cummins

[sung0d]

Is it weird to say I want this hung on my wall?

Official Pulp merch from 1996. One size underwear.

[sung0d]

Second hand shirt

The second hand shirt sleeves graze my skin

Slowly, softly, kindly. Imitating the woven prints on your fingers, to me my arms were the place where we’d share a secret lingered intention. Brushing back and forth to create warmth, to express warmth. Lingering and loving. Quietly and silently.

The shirt doesn’t move with the same rhythm. Stagnant. Still.

It does not weave. It doesn’t flow. Just stinks of a place holders musk. Reassuring only it’s self.

Clinging to the joints of each crease. Eventually, sticking forcefully and becoming apart of my memory.

I was young when I wore the cell framed jacket of my youth, unable to fit now, as it shed and teared away to dust and ash.

But I’ll miss the way wind blew in the same motion. I’ll miss my short sleeved, vitamin D filled proof. Tanned, you’d smear sunscreen to protect me. Now from shoulders to wrists covered in a long cuff, replicating what you used to do. Replicating, a stranger who died cold and alone, repurposed but destined to imitate a dead man’s soul. Oh how time has made us grown, for worse of course.

I think it’s time for me to place your old age shirt in the thrift store.

[sung0d]

Someone take me back to pulp! Please! It was one of the best nights ever!!!

[sung0d]

Went to a gig not too long ago and I decided I’ll be the one in the crowd at a goth show to dance like no one is watching…

And I got noticed by the singer and the drummer!

The singer imitated me….

You wanna know who it is don’t you…. The lead singer of she wants revenge. Yeah! I am that bitch.

Then the drummer she came up to me ( at least I hope it was the drummer cos I didn’t have my glasses on)

She said she loved my dancing!

Proof you should be a main character! Live people live!

[sung0d]

Let me reintroduce myself…

Fucking hell, I was a depressing teenager! Hello I’m Sungod and I’m 20 years old now, had this account since I was 16. I was very mentally ill back then, I wrote shitty poetry and would cry to films. I was a delusional teenager and would fall in love with any man that was nice to me lol. Tbf I still would but men annoy me right now. I’m a lot happier, in drama school! And my writing has gotten better…. I think….

Still jobless tho so you win some and loose some! Listening to depressing music didn’t help anything. I’m now on a pulp binge and I am incredibly obsessed with Jarvis cocker….

Listen you can take the girl out of the delusion but you can’t take the delusion out of the girl.

A parasocial relationship might do me some good…

He’s the finest man ever, I love that freaky fucker and I got to see him live in Manchester! It’s was a beautiful moment! One I shall cherish forever.

I’ve stopped abusing alcohol and drugs and I’ve stopped selfharming! Yay! But I still am an absolute nicotine addict….

Again win some,lose some

But yeah life’s been better, not perfect but better! Will post some more hopefully better poetry and pulp content!

Love yall!