A five year plan….You mean…like Stalin?

July 29, 2009

A Bullet-Pointed Wednesday.

1) I watched Happy-go-lucky on Sunday, I’ve loved Mike Leigh ever since I watched my brother playing Tony in Abigail’s party when I was WAY too young to understand what the hell was going on. Anyway, the line came up “A five year plan…you mean… Like Stalin…?” and it stuck me as terribly true. I’m all for organisation but five year plans and ten year plans have always seemed faintly ridiculous to me – If a bloody dictator can’t pull it off with genocide, coercion and propaganda, – well – it leaves one slightly stumped in the face of time, money and human affection.

Do you have a five year plan? Should I stop being so naive and get one?

Saying that, I don’t even have a two minute plan at the moment. Recently everything  I’ve known has come under scrutiny as a long and beautiful relationship drew to a close. The way I live my life is being torn down and re-made on a minute to minute basis. I feel like I’m on speed, or watching a time lapse film on loop. Sepulchres crumble and are remade, foxes waste and die and are reborn in the the space of three minutes, their images hung between the tiny constituent parts that make up me.

 Some things remain the same. The steady, strong voice at the centre of all things for one, bids me to go onwards, not looking for a path but to move just for the sake of moving. I have a tremendous amount of energy.

I suppose it’s all just bio-chemistry.

All the bonds that held me to an old mode of being are breaking down, the energy released is tremendous.  My entire body is in overdrive, tasked with the sad business of necessary heartbreak. In the implosive reactions though (which see tiny empires die and be born in the blink of my eye) dead synaptic ends flail in the stasis, looking for a new connector to forge to. I’m trying to take it slowly  – I don’t want to have to re-break these raw, new bonds – there is always a danger of reactionism in these situations. I will be party to it no matter how conscious I try to be.

Underneath this huge release of mental energy is the slow, dull nauseous ache of mis-belonging. Soft, bile-yellow emotions cling on in my stomach, under my heart which still cycles through rising bouts of grieved anger.

2) The beauty of it all, is that I am writing. It’s flowing through me like never before. I’ve sketched an outline for the novel I’ve been meaning to write since I was sixteen, I’ve written three poems. My drawing has gone to shit. I can’t seem to hold a pen straight to get anything out but I feel language in me in a way I haven’t since I moved into this soft grey Japanese limbo one year ago.

Other things to be happy about:

3) My hair has quite suddenly stopped being short. It’s finally, finally long! I’m sitting here with still wet stands falling across my back. I have missed that feeling so, so much. Cutting my hair off was cutting out a lot of the crap that had accumulated along with it and for it to finally feel like my hair again, in such a frantic time it seems like a sign – like all the dissolved parts of me are slowly regrouping and it is a good feeling. Who knew that such a familar sensation as my hair falling down my back again would have such a positive effect on me! Terribley vapid of me I know, but in my wobbly state it’s perfectly acceptable.

Similarly, my skin is clearing up (touch wood, praise Thor, Allah and Jesus and my insane Japanese Doctor who likes to pat me on the tummy whilst calling me “Amigo!”)

Clearly… strange things are afoot … but very wonderful things too!


as always






  1. I love your amusing little writings, they make me smile…I must start a blog soooon…I’ve been writing and sketching lots of stuff in my sketchbook :-)


    • Eva – you really, really should start a blog :)

  2. U look gorgeous in ur picture!!

    • Cheers Amy :)

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