Commitment-phobe.

I taste fear in your tears. I touch when you tremble. Circular in motion, devoid of emotion. You laugh and you scorn "I wish you were never ever born" then clutch at my hands in shame. Sorry sorry whatever do you mean? A silent plea falls heavy on my ears. Heavy on my conscience, heavy when I breathe:

"Did you hear the story about the girl that broke?
She took his plea to heart.
They danced that dance that went on.
And on forevermore.
On for an eternity! he said, an eternity for me.
When she heard the news,
that forever was a lifetime she wasn't too keen.
Her heart began to beat, her mind started to heat,
where's the stop button? When can I leave?
The room began to spin, the shoes wore thin.
Her eyes turned in.
Faster he cried, faster therein.
Fingers bit into her arms, bruises mottled her skin.
Hair fell to the floor. She wasn't present anymore.
Faster he cried, and so faster therein.
Did you hear how it ends? I heard she broke."

x

The Fly

I hope you never read this

You broke my heart almost half a decade ago now. It's weird, I haven't thought about it some time. In fact, that whole relationship feels like a world away, a different life. I haven't been with anyone since, which some say is a bit weird considering I am so young. It's not for any reason to do with you, though. I've just not ventured down that alley, there has been no interest to do so. Well, in general there has been of course- I just haven't found it in anyone.
We have been friends since you ended it so abruptly. Not with initial ease, of course. The first summer after you broke my heart, it was hard. You had moved on so easily, to a few girls within the school year. In fact, it was when you went off to school that you decided to break things off. It wasn't face to face. It was cowardly. You admitted that in the summer after. The summer we reintroduced as just friends.
It was weird not sitting near you when we would hang out. It was weirder when I would have to, because I would have to force myself not to hold your hand by instinct.
These things, all of these things. I haven't thought about any of it in such a long time. We don't talk as often as we used to, but when we do very little has changed. I would consider you to be a good friend of mine now. There is no tension, no lingering feelings. At least, I don't think so. As I said, that whole relationship of ours feels like another lifetime ago.
The other night I had a dream that involved you. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but we were together again. The strange thing is, I woke up quite a few times in the night and bizarrely, I just kept dreaming about you.
It has been a solid four years since I have thought about you in such ways. Once I got over you, that was it. But was it? I never questioned myself until now. I don't know how it would be if it were to happen again. We're both in very different places, but we're still the same people, really. I haven't thought of you in that manner in so long, but it was nice to remember it. To dream about it was to be back there. I don't love you now, but I wonder if I could again.
A year after you broke my heart, you told me it was your biggest regret. I wonder if you still think about it that way.

Dr. John Butler’s Electro-Massage Machine

I found this article in the Scientific American. Absolutely hilarious. (And the poster is a gem too.)

One of the first electrical appliances made its way into the home as a purported medical device. For a sex toy, the vibrator’s roots seem amazingly antiseptic and clinical. Prescribed as a cure for the curious disease hysteria, the device for decades found clinical application as a supposed medical therapy.

Derived from the Greek word for “uterus,” hysteria occurred in women with pent-up sexual energy—or so healers and early physicians believed. Nuns, widows and spinsters were particularly susceptible, but by the Victorian era many married women had fallen prey as well. In the late 19th century a pair of prominent physicians estimated that three quarters of American women were at risk.

The prescription of clitoral orgasm as a treatment for hysteria dates to medical texts from the first century A.D. Hysterical women typically turned to doctors, who cured them with their hands by inducing a “paroxysm”—a term that hides what we now know as a sexual climax. But manual stimulation was time-consuming and (for the doctors at least) tedious. In The Technology of Orgasm: “Hysteria,” the Vibrator and Women’s Sexual Satisfaction, science historian Rachel P. Maines reports that physicians often passed the job off to midwives.

The invention of electricity made the task easier. Joseph Mortimer Granville patented an electromechanical vibrator in the early 1880s to relieve muscle aches, and doctors soon realized it might be used on other parts of the body. That innovation shortened treatment time for hysteria, fattening doctors’ wallets.

Patients were happy, too. The number of health spas offering vibration therapy multiplied, and the service was so popular vibrator manufacturers warned doctors not to overdo it with the modern appliance: if they met relentless patient demand, even mechanical vibration could be tiring. By the turn of the century needlework catalogues advertised models for women who wanted to try the treatment at home, making the vibrator the fifth electric appliance to arrive in the home—after the sewing machine, the fan, the teakettle and the toaster.

The vibrator’s legitimacy as a medical device declined after the 1920s, when Sigmund Freud correctly identified paroxysm as sexual. In 1952 the American Psychiatric Association dropped hysteria from its list of recognized conditions. When the vibrator was again popularized years later, women no longer needed the pretense of illness to justify a purchase.

New Life, New Life

On Wednesday, I set the ball rolling for what is to become my new life.
I've started to apply for Universities, and started researching what I have to do, in order to start this prospective new life of mine.
For years I have been looking forward and obsessing about moving to London. I know the city like the back of my hand, yet nothing terrifies me more. Despite being a frequent visitor I've previously viewed city as my playground, but now that I'm looking at London through the eyes of a potential student and future resident, it couldn't be more alien to me.
I'm terrified that I won't get into the University I want, I'm terrified that when I get there I will run out of money and be cast onto the streets, and even though I have lots of friends there, I'm terrified of feeling alone.
So now, t-minus 10 months to go and the stress is already mounting. I'm going to need as much help as I can get.

x.x.x

Display Purpose Only

Under the Motorway

suspended in Air

Outlived thier Purpose

forever Displayed.

x

Rebel rebel

Last night I grew tired of walking. I climbed upon the bendy bus.
I understand why people can't stand these ridiculous looking vehicles: Not only are they a disaster to look at, they're a pain to get around when driving in traffic. Not to mention, the fact that you can climb onto the back without having to flash a ticket to the driver means that many take advantage and just don't pay.
See, by nature I'm very bad at being a "rebel" (I also see the term as very outdated, I just can't think of any other word that would fit at the moment). Even the other day, while purchasing a calzone and coffee from a chain notorious for ripping off its customers, the girl at the counter had forgotten to actually charge me for the pizza roll. Instead of running with this, I was quick to correct her. I just can't deal with guilt, even when it's minimal and silly.
Anyway, I didn't have the change on me for the bus. So I did what most of my friends do on a regular basis and just hopped on anyway. In doing so, my only thought was This is going to be that one time when the cops run on board and make everyone hold up their tickets and Oysters and I will be left empty handed which in turn will be RED handed and I'll be arrested and shipped away to some defunct transit prison!!!!!
Of course such thoughts quickly leave when I realize, Hey, I'm totally getting away with this. I'm riding the bus for FREE. Screw you Boris!
A few stops later, though, my face froze in horror. Two stout ladies in ugly neon uniform quickly boarded the bus. FUCK!, I thought, It's bloody rush hour! Of course they're going to do routine checks!
They headed in my direction. I whipped out my mobile phone and started ghost texting, as to not make eye contact or seem too awkward. I heard some mumbling coming from one of their walkie-talkies. They grew closer. I felt my face turning bright red. My heart was in my throat. I almost wanted to cry out I'LL PAY THE FINE PLEASE END THIS TORTURE!
Thankfully, I didn't. They passed by me and headed towards a man in the back. There was quite a commotion, I suppose they were hunting him down specifically. During their confrontation, I pressed the "Stop Here" button and jumped off. I only managed to reach halfway to my destination, but I was content with dragging my legs the rest of the journey. I have learned.