The heart thumps in my ears Bodies squish closer Brush my hand, my hip, my hair I shiver I can smell them Intermingling molecules All sweat and too much perfume The smoke—I could choke Heart in my throat Where to look I squeeze my own hands Dig broken nails into the skin Cracks fingers inside the palms They’re cold and clammy Another stop More bodies pile in I can taste his neck Scratching stubble I’ve nowhere to go An eye catches mine Don’t! Please don’t Don’t look at me Another stop More bodies Less space I can’t breathe Her eye on mine again I can feel the colour of her iris bleed into mine Brown to blue; the earth to the sea She can see every crease How my skin is dead and withering The corpse paint can’t fake life like it used to I can’t see my feet Only a stranger's ass Her leggings are snagged And the boots muddy The heart keeps thudding It’s in my throat Get off! Is it time to get off?! Another stop And more squeeze in—smiling clowns Just breathe! I feel the noise in my dry eyes If I get off, I’ll have to do it again Wait it out… The majority push and shove off the stop before mine—grinning cat-rats Departing they rush like my soul screaming to break free Breathe Breathe It’s just a fucking train.
Werewolves were mentioned, and it spiralled downhill, uphill, and Zoom!
I’ve never hosted a virtual watch party, so don’t expect this to be well organised. Maybe more attempted organised chaos?
As annoying as online stuff can be, it’s pretty cool to have international get-togethers. Sure, it’s not the same as picking up some videos from Blockbusters and grabbing a Dominoes, but it’s pretty good, eh?
If you fancy a sort of introverted anti-social social movie night, drop me a line (natashasinclairauthor@gmail.com) with your email, and I’ll throw your name on a list and send you the link on the day.
When: Saturday 25th May 2024
From: 8pm GMT
Where: Zoom
We’ll be watching (and chatting about):
🐺Ginger Snaps (8:15pm – 10:05pm)
🐺Dog Soldiers (10:20pm – 12:05am)
🐺Underworld (12:20am – 2:35am)
I’d like to stream the movies via Zoom but not sure if it’ll work—sometimes international calls can be a bit shoogily as is, so I recommend you have the three movies available and we ‘play’ at the same time. I know they are all on Amazon Prime and Apple to stream. Other services will have them too.
I met you before You wore another face Another body Same eyes that sparkle and die instantaneously Warm love and cold hate fight to dominate The soul fractured as hammered bones and rusted nails I’m drawn to broken things; my reckless heart hurts with the need to lessen the pain. Abandoned, I’m magnetised, hypnotised, bewitched With everything to lose and nothing to gain I’ll stab myself with all your broken pieces You don’t notice the blood You offer life and death in one smooth blink Crimson reflections are of your face and hate You play at more than you can give Loveless devil of the dying heart Your air is a replica Like a vacuum in the presence My mouth is dry I can’t think straight. There’s dewdrops on the blades and never Enough to quench You’re never enough I’m always left dying of drouth Chasing the desert for a spring I’ve known you before I see how this plays out Blood pools around my feet You stand before me with a cool glass of water A mirage of “I don’t lie.” The “don’t” is silent Your glass beyond reach of my parched lips—with those eyes of love-hate bemused. It’s a filter A lame game I crave your touch like air My skin is screaming And I’ll die without it All lies, and I made them The drops of poisoned water From a loveless lover And you’ll fast forget my name Player Boy and Cowboy—just the same They love themselves and their toys Fed from temporary validations The ego always needs another hit Obsessively compulsively dismiss and onto the next Nothing sticks Just a posed picture There’s nothing else inside Built up from superficial shit Station your play This time, I’ll stay away.
The world is full of pain, ills and wrongs, and I am far from naive. The suffering could consume me, the anger that swells deep in the gut, and I have been in desperate agony and rampant with rage from what I’ve experienced and witnessed. This world is full of sharp edges. It can be ruthless and cruel more often than not. But that cannot and shouldn’t make a home inside the soul. At least not for long. It has to be managed, processed and let the fuck go. We’re only here for a little while. It simmers down to choice. Today, what do you choose?
This term was mentioned to me when my kids’ father and I split up. I knew it would come up but I’ve considered it a lot since. Honestly, I considered it many times before that. Here are my thoughts:
‘Broken Home’ when used as a label towards kids that don’t grow up with birth parents who are in a relationship or married to one another is mostly bullshit. I’ve experienced and know of many far more broken homes where the parents remain unhappily together. They stay together with sticky notes of excuses, ‘for the kids’, ‘for the vows of better and worse’, to ‘prove a point’, to not ‘disappoint family’, because they’ve become unhealthily co-dependent. They stay together for fear of loneliness, judgment, the unknown, financial reasons, practical excuses, and lies they tell themselves that it ‘might get better’ and ‘things will change’. They trap themselves and their kids into true broken homes. Even though I knew better, I did that too for a time. Kids see that. They feel it, even if they don’t say it to their parents, though, sometimes they do. And when they do, it hurts hard.
My kids are not of a broken home—we fixed that when we chose to raise them in two happy homes instead of one unhappy one.
Break those toxic fucking cycles and fuck those ignorant labels.
I’ve recently become painfully aware of patterns I need to destroy. Upon this realisation, I am vulnerable. I hate that. Even as my muscles twist into firmer roots, I’m dwelling in absences between the letters. Sidestepping silences in the peace. I’ve lost my logical mind to other neglected pieces. I swapped suffocation for drowning. The dry field of broken branches and trampled flowers is filling up with rain. A swamp will be made of this ill witch of ill wishes. It’s soul-shattering to consider. The pieces I tried to squash down deep, bury, ignore, I was a party in their neglect; my neglect.
“Hurt me.” That’s what I told each of them with my eyes. “I exist for you to take and never give.” “Use me up.” “Suck me dry.” I meant to say, “protect me”, “hold me”, “let me go”, “love me”.
The bones are rising from beneath the dirt, the undergrowth is thinning. And I cannot pretend not to see them. The gouged-out skulls at the corner of my eye. Did that one furnish me with a wink? Don’t make eye-socket contact. I shiver, bat off the midgies catching in my hair. I shake it off and turn up the volume. It’s a trick. It did wink. And the record spins again—this is a trick.
I’m shrinking. I watch the horizon rise. The trees are getting taller. Paper-death limbs elongate with the shadows; books that I’ll never read. I sink. Mud envelopes my boots, the thick brown goop sticks to my skin, moulds itself around my calves and sucks me down. Geese honk overhead as the mud invades my nostrils.
Clan Witch & Word Refinery 