Greeple Diary*

While recently repacking some boxes, I found another mostly forgotten journal/diary from some time ago.

I got it at a flea market in my mid-teens. Good, solid and unused, but with a bizarre handmade cover that wasn’t entirely green, nor entirely purple, rather a random patchy mixing / matching and merging of the two.

Perhaps it was someones ‘failed’ experiment at ink blending , using salt and other things, in the manner of watercolours.

It was without a doubt, one of the most horrifically ugly things I had ever seen, and I loved it instantly.
I bought it on the spot, and it was at the time, one of my favourite journals ever.

I called it my Greeple Diary ( GREEn/purPLE merged, obviously), (ok, so even back then I was no archetype of originality).

In the end, it was sadly under utilised, as I was reluctant to just fill it with mind-leak like my normal others.

There are however, a respectable number of poems in it over a range from mid to late teens perhaps even an odd addition from within the chaos that scattered my life a short time later.

I can’t say they are either my best pieces, still fairly naive, I was more comfortable with simplicity, yet neither are they my worst, especially in that light.

I read the following quote from part of a Tori Amos interview:
“I don’t think “negative emotions” is an accurate phrase.
Emotions are emotions. We can’t look at them as positive or negative, they are what they are. And they are your reality.
All you have on your plate is your reality. You decide whether you look at your reality or live pretending these feelings don’t exist.” -Tori Amos

Strangely similar yet so different from now, they were stilll my emotions and thoughts from that time. My reality.
And is very often the case, I agree with Tori..

They are what they, and to deny or avoid them is to deny or avoid that part of my life.
It’s kind of stupid if I do that because they may not have been perfect, for neither was/is my life.
So I will post.. most/some.. of them here over the next week(s) or so. As always, it’s your choice if you decide to menatlly ingest any of them.

I hope you.. if not necessary enjoy.. at least find something in some of them (and all/anything here) that leaves you somehow different to how you were before you started reading.

xx Alice

the leaky hooman

-for my cat. the only good thing left 💔

My hooman is leaky again. more than before, which I did not think possible.
(My hooman was already leaky a lot.)
it seems She is leaky from Her eyes Almost Always Now. are all hoomans so leaky?

Eats. Sleeps. Warms. these are Good Things.
maybe some hoomans too.
The Final Sleeps is not for worry. all breathers must Have their Final Sleeps, Some Time.

I worry she might run out of hooman jooces, so I generously Eats as many Treats as she tries to give me.
it seems to make her happy for a Short Time.
she Is worried about Me Having My Final Sleeps Soon.
I can feel It waiting, just like It has always waited, and will still wait until I Have It.

it is The Way Things Are.

it is The Way They Have Aways Been.

my hooman is finally having Sleeps.
I think I got an OK One, All Things Considered. I have Witnessed much worse hoomans.
I hope mine will be ok, I have looked after her All My Time Here.
what does my hooman call it ? ‘fortein yeers’
what is a ‘yeers’? silly hooman.

I will have Sleeps, Now, too. Some Time, Very Soon, I think, I will Have My Final Sleeps.
not Yet. but Soon.

Sleeps, hooman. try not to leak.

the first rule

I am Jack’s smirking bravado.
Performing such convincing shows
So all who watch will never know
The depths to which I go.
How I am beaten bloody,
Mind smashed ’til I cry for peace,
But still I grin through broken teeth.
And where is Jack?
Shown his true colours and fled,
While my own true colours have bled
Upon the hands of society.
Eventually I break,
My body and my pride,
Taking more than I can take,
Revealing the fear
I always keep inside.
The first rule of depression,
You don’t talk about depression.

Insomnia pt.2 – Nevermore

So I’m jiggling my legs like some frenetic junkie, waiting for the benzos and codeine to kick in.
It’s one of those nights where despite the warmth of the room, I feel cold inside.
My self hating nihilism is all-prevailing and the certainty that I will never be better, that I am doomed to endure day after day of misery and frustration, clings to me like a cold wet bedsheet.

The experience of staying awake all night, especially 2 or 3 days/nights continuously, not only creeps into joints and muscles as stiffness and pain, but eventually becomes a pressure inside the head, like a clamp crushing upon your brain.
Given enough time, everything about staying awake for extended periods of time becomes unpleasant.

My best efforts to boost my mood upward, to think of positive things, and to convince myself life is worthwhile, such as trying to believe that one day I may be even happy, is met every time now by Poes’ Raven, embedded in my mind, it’s vocabulary no greater now than from it’s famous past.

‘Things are going to get better’, I repeat to myself.
“Nevermore”, comes the inetivetible reply.

‘One day, I will be happy’, I even try to believe it.
The Raven croaks, “Nevermore”.

‘I WILL be happy’, I tell it.
“Nevermore”.

I wonder if it understands double negatives.
‘I will not never be happy’, I offer.
Silence.

In the end, I just return it’s ridicule.

‘I will not never inversely opposite become antithetically unhappy’, I say, although I doubt it will fall for any convolutions of syntax and reply ‘Nevermore’.

The raven just stares at me. I suppose because the raven is a creation in my mind, trying to fool myself when I know the plan, isn’t really very logical.

But logic seems to diminish exponentially as hours continue to pass without sleep.

As does motivation, positivity, and the will to live.

I’m beginning to become so freaked out that I can’t even cry.
I want to, I can feel the tears behind my eyes, but the raw scraping of my nerves won’t let them flow.

A tiny bit less control and I’d probably be laughing maniacally. Panic and lack of reason start burning hot in my chest, a strange counter point to the ceaseless icy chill in my guts.

From experience I’ll still be awake this time tomorrow (5.30am), so there’s always some potentially delusional posts to look forward to.