#ares_rundown

[dreamland-is]

JOURNALS no. 1

[dreamland-is]

JOURNALS No. 4

[dreamland-is]

JOURNALS no. 3

[dreamland-is]

JOURNALS No. 5

[dreamland-is]

I wonder about him here. Or just around me, period.

Hidden in the background faces as I stand in the middle of the train, hanging off the pole. Makeup smudged and my hair a mess. Cap and sharp eyes passing in a snap, brown hair billowing in the gusts of hot air. Catching my face in their periphery.

Would I be the mark or the girl stupid enough to not bother a look over her shoulder on the way home.

And who fucking cares. The train's gone and I'm trudging up the grimy stairs. There's no other poor bastard here. You could grab me so fucking easy then. Course I'm only ever looking forward. Bracelet jangling around a limply hanging wrist. Literally who the fuck even cares. Who even fucking cares man.

Take it all. Oblivious. Oblivion? Hands in his pockets, gaze downturned. Eyes downcast on a seat opposite to where I'm standing, staring out somewhere ahead. Eyes blank.

His calculating but only by habit. Disinterested really. Master of indifference. But my dishevelled half-bleached hair and glitter-smudged eyelids might make him look closer. Just the one time. Arms still crossed, mouth set in a grim frown. Mine somewhere far away, tufts of hair blowing in the hot gusts of wind through the carriage, skirt of my dress ruffling around shiny red loafers and white school-girl socks. The sliver of a pale ankle each time the hem creases or my ankles cross over, one in front of the other. Red earrings dangling and dark brows permanently furrowed. Bothered fringe.

No second look. No second choices - thoughts. Some random grimy night on an underground train where he only looks twice and she resolves to only ever look ahead.

[dreamland-is]

Pinpricks in the fabric of the universe

They're the same stars as yesterday

But my heart is as forlorn

Reverie encased in stone

Bird-whistle cut from the slab of cold gold

Underneath the blistering pact of a truth

Dear dearly departed;

To watch is to be and to see is to have done

And I have done most of all,

All the things laid out bare, barren, forsaken

A covenant formed in strenuous whispers

In cold granite halls

In spaces of remembrance, patience ; peace

Behold the spectre of violence

Dulled by the sweet cherub sings

The ruddy cheeks, soft and sweet, of martyrdom

To life lived and savoured,

Pleasured by the tail-ends, whisps, of those cut dry

Severed and bled

Sweetly savoured

Undue courage unto those who came before

Church of St Michael and All Angels, St Michael's Mount

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[dreamland-is]

𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘖𝘩-𝘰𝘩, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥

𝘔𝘺-𝘮𝘺, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤 𝙞𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬

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[dreamland-is]

JOURNALS no. 2