She paints herself with ink. Up her arms and on the back of her legs. Limbs. Ripped limbs from their sockets. She listens to loud noises that seem to make melody and waves her arms above her head with her torso moving back and forth, forth and back, sharp and quick movements that she compulsively chooses to do. The coral island is the place that we all shall rest, I’ll kiss you once for love and kiss you twice for days. I’ll hold you close for comfort. Now cut a hole in it with your penknife, and clap it to your mouth, old fellow said jack. She reaches up and grasps the book in front of her, its not the one that she looks for, but it is one that will do. Goldilocks and the three bears. There are more than three bears, there were about sixteen, or perhaps more when you venture deeper into the woods. The pharmacodynamics does not make sense. For if one plus one equals two, then how have we ended up with eight. She closes her eyes and his tentacles wrap around her tightly, slowly they wrap around her neck and before she knows it she falls into deep slumber. No. No. No. I will be there as fast as I can he replies and she looks down on to the ground afore her. She stumbles and he is not there to catch her, her spirit rises and pulls her back. Light fills the air around her and the sun shines down on rainbows from prisms. Let us lay here. Let us lay here. Let us pray here. He awaits her on the bench made of tree and the metal touches his bare skin and brings bumps on the back of his neck. Let us lay here. Let us lay here. Let us stay here and lay among the lemons. Orange, red, green, blue, white, pink, she picks a flower and wraps it around her finger. Her eye loses a globule of water and she places her finger to her face. The water wraps itself around the flower on her digit and encases it there forever. Setting hard like an icicle, never to melt. Why is it that she had it and perhaps I do not. Why do I have what I have and perhaps she does not. She types the words and the letters on the machine that makes patterns afore her eyes, he comes over and reads upon her shoulder. Perched like a small bluebird. There are messages in there to decipher, like a cryptic code of transcription. There are triangles, squares, circles, a circle cannot fit into a square and an elephant cannot fit into a cat. Triangles of pyramids and optical illusions, they are all optical illusions. Ten months and counting. And then I will see the shape that is behind that pattern. Close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close your eyes and exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Feel. Touch. Caress.   

Last night a unicorn came to me and whispered in my ear. He licked my face clean and hid kisses. His eyes are a mixture of things and again I put my pen to the screen, tapping my left foot in time with the clock that does not sit on my wrist. I watch the movies over and over again, for a glimpse of you in a far away land. Lick me clean and dance under the moon with I, me and myself. If it had been another path that you had chosen then I would be sitting next to you with child, looking at the lines on your face like the trunk of a tree, showing how many years it has been here on this plain. As I walk the bell around my neck tells that you that I am coming. As you enter me, it’s like I’ve never been touched before. Beauty stands afore me and I am consumed in those moments of candlelit darkness, you kiss every part of me and I can smell you on my fingers and taste you on my breathe. We drive through the streets and you hold me close, there are birds sitting in the backseat and we drive under the ocean to where I reside, I have lived here for five years, combing my hair with a fork and waiting to walk on water. There are shells and depths of darkness that you or I may never know. You have to let it in to let it out. She holds her nose and counts to three hundred and thirty two. She goes blue, lulu blu blue blu. That’s the moment she woke up. Fifty-eight ways to look at one thing. She collects all of the Asclepius around her and presses them in her books that, are filled with stamps and feathers. I scramble to find some leaves and vegetation; peonies can be classified by both plant growth habit and by flower type, each flower type becomes more complex in its arrangement of petals. 

I would like to own these.

Incredible WAH nails. Gonna go get me some! Dalston Salon and now in TopShop!!! Amazing work

http://www.claireanneobrien.com/index.php?/work/knit-stools/
AMAZINGGGG

When i was a child i used to collect rubbers. Ones that smelt like strawberry bubblegum, oranges or some other exotic flavour were the ones that i preferred. Ones shaped in all manner of different things, robots, toothpastes, ice-creams. 
I became so obsessed that i even contemplated collecting the rubbings that were made from using the rubbers....although....that didn't last long. 

Smell. You smell like rain. Taste. You taste like sunshine. Look. You look like you. Sound. You sound like presents. You turned out the light. This is my wall and I own it. She crept back under the rock that she had come from and counted sheep as they jumped over her small head. If and when that is what he contemplates, if she will stay and if he will hold her long enough to build a bridge to the land that seems to exist only in the movies. I pull my arm out of its socket and dust with it quietly. Hovering between now and then. Back and forth. I gather things and put them alphabetically in card board boxes. There is no point. No fucking point. I'll have to dig these roots up again and cut them free. Pearl, your name means pearl. It sparkles at the bottom of the ocean. We are different. You go up as I go left, we cross and loop in an upside down fashion. Black and white and colours that bleed into each other. You eat gravel for your dinner and i chew slowly on berries and leaves that I have gathered with my own hands. They deliver things to your doorstep and I want to cry in this second. The song loops over and over, it seems never ending and she sends you a message of desperation. I don't know her or you but I do know that she is lost and hurts with thorns inside her darkness.

i am walking backwards and i gaze to the skies as i am walking and then it dawns on me, like it has before. The blood covers everything and i am trapped within this vessel, i am here but i vacate my body constantly and then it comes. I made a connection with the small child that stands next to the stairs making noises like a frightened rabbit, something shakes my core and i am there again. Cellular equations that seem to make sense, I hold these things inside even though i know that is not why i am here. This gets in the way of being. once i become two then i forget about one. It happened like that, it is a lesson of being, this is what is told from above. Metaphysics that form paper cutouts, cardiac vessels and intricately stitched mazes. I am not sure of the lesson, i am guided towards these old branches that i must be beside, i must touch and ground. Ground from my insides and feel that drop of heat, remove the heat from the system, push it down through the roots and pull back some still energy. I have not been still for some time and this is noticeable, for other reactions begin to take hold. It will stop now. There will be no more, as i love you, i love you more than i can ever explain to you. You are beautiful. So much incredible light that guides and facilitates being.