August 28th 20:38 And then in the final throws it got too painful to write.
zine for a fuckboy disaster in chronological order
by mou dedicated to the messiest fling i’ll ever have (which probably wasn’t worth it)
February
24th 23:33
22nd 19:06 I’m scared. My vessels are channels of ice, My heart - a barren cave My soul - a cool breeze He’s sickeningly good. His vessels filled with sugar, His heart an open door, His soul a glimmering sun. we lie side by side leg through leg hip to waist. his shadow scratches softly at my cheeks, lips follow the path of my jaw nose bent against nose a gasp, a sigh you scare me, you scare me, you scare me
March 14th 10:33 Overall it is about relationships and connections: the relationship between creativity and a personal journey; the link between culture and politics; the bridge between the past and the present; the tie between colour and spirituality; between reality and fantasy; and the connection of the painter to the outside world. Marc so aptly described their urge in terms of the connection with nature: ‘to achieve pantheistic empathy with the throbbing and flowing of nature’s bloodstream in trees, in animals, in the air.’ Pantheistic empathy – einfühlung – is an attempt at an existential, yet universal understanding of emotion through a creative process. (his)
February
24th 23:33
22nd 19:06 I’m scared. My vessels are channels of ice, My heart - a barren cave My soul - a cool breeze He’s sickeningly good. His vessels filled with sugar, His heart an open door, His soul a glimmering sun. we lie side by side leg through leg hip to waist. his shadow scratches softly at my cheeks, lips follow the path of my jaw nose bent against nose a gasp, a sigh you scare me, you scare me, you scare me
March 14th 10:33 Overall it is about relationships and connections: the relationship between creativity and a personal journey; the link between culture and politics; the bridge between the past and the present; the tie between colour and spirituality; between reality and fantasy; and the connection of the painter to the outside world. Marc so aptly described their urge in terms of the connection with nature: ‘to achieve pantheistic empathy with the throbbing and flowing of nature’s bloodstream in trees, in animals, in the air.’ Pantheistic empathy – einfühlung – is an attempt at an existential, yet universal understanding of emotion through a creative process. (his)
16th 16:07 I’m ignoring you. Well, I’m not ignoring you. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re a parasite. You’ve invaded every inch of me. You’re in my blood. I feel you, rubbing your toes against my leg. I feel your stubble against my hip, my inner thigh. I feel your hands running down the curve of my side, resting over my stomach. I feel your tongue on my chest, your lips on my neck, your eyes on mine. I hear your voice in my ears the way you hear the sea in a shell, fading and hauntingly infinite. I close my eyes, I see your smile. I open them, I feel your smirk. I brush my teeth and taste your toothpaste kisses. I lie in bed and ache for your warmth. 3 more nights alone. I’m not ignoring you. I want you. I want you to call me, I want you to chase me, I want you to want me. 2 more nights alone. I want to move into your mind the way you have ingrained yourself in the depths of mine. I want you to think of me as you make coffee, as you make art, as you sleep through class. I want you to sit, waiting for the light of your phone, watching the painful deep black the way I do. 1 more night alone. I want you to count down the nights the way I do.
21:26 Your hands are cold, your lips taste like colgate. When you smile, it’s infectious. You have this passion for creativity… it’s inspiring. The people around you love being around you. They love talking to you because you make them feel like they are worthy. I like talking to you because you make me feel wonderful even when I’m feeling weird. Sometimes I force my eyes awake waiting for your reply. Sometimes we’re together and you want to sleep and I don’t let you because I am waiting for your reply. And yet I blink and it is 8 am and one of us is leaving. I close my eyes for a second and the time is up.
20th 15:17 i am in love with an enigma 20th 15:18 which means it probably isn't love (not mine)
16th 16:07 I’m ignoring you. Well, I’m not ignoring you. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re a parasite. You’ve invaded every inch of me. You’re in my blood. I feel you, rubbing your toes against my leg. I feel your stubble against my hip, my inner thigh. I feel your hands running down the curve of my side, resting over my stomach. I feel your tongue on my chest, your lips on my neck, your eyes on mine. I hear your voice in my ears the way you hear the sea in a shell, fading and hauntingly infinite. I close my eyes, I see your smile. I open them, I feel your smirk. I brush my teeth and taste your toothpaste kisses. I lie in bed and ache for your warmth. 3 more nights alone. I’m not ignoring you. I want you. I want you to call me, I want you to chase me, I want you to want me. 2 more nights alone. I want to move into your mind the way you have ingrained yourself in the depths of mine. I want you to think of me as you make coffee, as you make art, as you sleep through class. I want you to sit, waiting for the light of your phone, watching the painful deep black the way I do. 1 more night alone. I want you to count down the nights the way I do.
21:26 Your hands are cold, your lips taste like colgate. When you smile, it’s infectious. You have this passion for creativity… it’s inspiring. The people around you love being around you. They love talking to you because you make them feel like they are worthy. I like talking to you because you make me feel wonderful even when I’m feeling weird. Sometimes I force my eyes awake waiting for your reply. Sometimes we’re together and you want to sleep and I don’t let you because I am waiting for your reply. And yet I blink and it is 8 am and one of us is leaving. I close my eyes for a second and the time is up.
20th 15:17 i am in love with an enigma 20th 15:18 which means it probably isn't love (not mine)
21st 09:17
April
John Berger
27th 21:56
“To remain innocent may also be to remain ignorant.”
Nearer the beginning, I was ready for the end. Your disappearance I imagined to be swift and simple, with a clear motive behind it and a painless prospective future. There were countless nights where I would roll over, lie stretched out on my belly and tell myself to accept this goodnight as a final goodnight, and then I would wake up and be pleasantly surprised in the early hours of the next morning. So I stopped accepting. Maybe this is why, as I sit by my phone and wait, it does not ring.
“A people of a class which is cut off from its own past is far less free to choose and to act as a people or class than one that has been able to situate itself in history. This is why - and this is the only reason why the entire art of the past has now become a political issue.”
22nd 19:18 you dont get to be scared. i was scared. when you kept texting i was scared. when you called i was scared. because my heart was beating faster and i was picking my nails more and i could feel the hairs on the back of my knees and the wind between my ankles. because i thought i’d get attached and then unattached and then hurt. i was scared but you weren't so i stopped being scared and i got comfortable and now you’re scared and you’re the one picking your nails and not calling back and im the one getting hurt. its not fair. you dont get to be scared now. you made me unscared.
21:58 You have the upper hand and you are slowly fading away with me in your grasp. But I don’t want to fade so I struggle. Where are you going? Where am I going? Where does a thought go when it’s forgotten? where do i go when you forget me?
21st 09:17
April
John Berger
27th 21:56
“To remain innocent may also be to remain ignorant.”
Nearer the beginning, I was ready for the end. Your disappearance I imagined to be swift and simple, with a clear motive behind it and a painless prospective future. There were countless nights where I would roll over, lie stretched out on my belly and tell myself to accept this goodnight as a final goodnight, and then I would wake up and be pleasantly surprised in the early hours of the next morning. So I stopped accepting. Maybe this is why, as I sit by my phone and wait, it does not ring.
“A people of a class which is cut off from its own past is far less free to choose and to act as a people or class than one that has been able to situate itself in history. This is why - and this is the only reason why the entire art of the past has now become a political issue.”
22nd 19:18 you dont get to be scared. i was scared. when you kept texting i was scared. when you called i was scared. because my heart was beating faster and i was picking my nails more and i could feel the hairs on the back of my knees and the wind between my ankles. because i thought i’d get attached and then unattached and then hurt. i was scared but you weren't so i stopped being scared and i got comfortable and now you’re scared and you’re the one picking your nails and not calling back and im the one getting hurt. its not fair. you dont get to be scared now. you made me unscared.
21:58 You have the upper hand and you are slowly fading away with me in your grasp. But I don’t want to fade so I struggle. Where are you going? Where am I going? Where does a thought go when it’s forgotten? where do i go when you forget me?
May 4th 22:20 I don’t know what I feel about you anymore. I say that like it’s something new but the truth is I’ve felt like this for a while. There are times when your name makes me so mad, I just want to scream and yell and fling myself around the room in violent spins and let my pain take a physical form that goes unnoticed. I feel that and then I feel a silent calm where I think of your lips on that spot between my neck and my back and my shoulder blade. I think of the tips of your fingers, tracing me slowly, your eyes half shut, deep breath, loud pulse, exhale. I guess the truth is I think of you a lot. I don’t know what I feel but you’re always somewhere there. 9th 19:52 I missed you when you were what I was missing but now I don’t miss anything at all
12th 21:44 Why do we do this? We torture ourselves. We’re always looking back, constantly, at old messages, at old photographs, at what’s gone. We think of what we don’t have, what we won’t have, what we lost. We think of how good it was, how great it’ll never be. We hold out, even when we know that our arm is too far twisted for it to work, we hold out and hope and pray that the wind will change, that it will all turn around, that time will run backwards. We wait. I can’t remember time before you. I know that I was happy. So happy that I didn’t go looking for you, and then so happy that you walked into my life. Now, all I can remember are question marks. The flirtatious texts seem to have rolled of some other girls tongue, because they bear no resemblance to the cold and sparse way I’ve grown to communicate through now (no genuine desire, simply a lack of wanting to be humiliated) . I am left with the present pain that seems to never leave. The after. 22:00 i was scared of how you made me feel and i was right
May 4th 22:20 I don’t know what I feel about you anymore. I say that like it’s something new but the truth is I’ve felt like this for a while. There are times when your name makes me so mad, I just want to scream and yell and fling myself around the room in violent spins and let my pain take a physical form that goes unnoticed. I feel that and then I feel a silent calm where I think of your lips on that spot between my neck and my back and my shoulder blade. I think of the tips of your fingers, tracing me slowly, your eyes half shut, deep breath, loud pulse, exhale. I guess the truth is I think of you a lot. I don’t know what I feel but you’re always somewhere there. 9th 19:52 I missed you when you were what I was missing but now I don’t miss anything at all
12th 21:44 Why do we do this? We torture ourselves. We’re always looking back, constantly, at old messages, at old photographs, at what’s gone. We think of what we don’t have, what we won’t have, what we lost. We think of how good it was, how great it’ll never be. We hold out, even when we know that our arm is too far twisted for it to work, we hold out and hope and pray that the wind will change, that it will all turn around, that time will run backwards. We wait. I can’t remember time before you. I know that I was happy. So happy that I didn’t go looking for you, and then so happy that you walked into my life. Now, all I can remember are question marks. The flirtatious texts seem to have rolled of some other girls tongue, because they bear no resemblance to the cold and sparse way I’ve grown to communicate through now (no genuine desire, simply a lack of wanting to be humiliated) . I am left with the present pain that seems to never leave. The after. 22:00 i was scared of how you made me feel and i was right
June 7th 00:37 I was lucky because he was the kind girls would talk about and say He is perfect. I want to remember the way his shoulder locked into his neck and the line down the centre of his chest, I want to remember him biting his lip me biting mine (him biting mine) that officer’s gaze that soft burning that expanse of white ! twenty!minutes!
17th 00:41 i cant explain to you the pain that i feel; because i don't even know if it’s real.
is the tension sexual or is it just tension?
June 7th 00:37 I was lucky because he was the kind girls would talk about and say He is perfect. I want to remember the way his shoulder locked into his neck and the line down the centre of his chest, I want to remember him biting his lip me biting mine (him biting mine) that officer’s gaze that soft burning that expanse of white ! twenty!minutes!
17th 00:41 i cant explain to you the pain that i feel; because i don't even know if it’s real.
is the tension sexual or is it just tension?
13th 18:10 I keep picturing you lying on my bed. I’m working, You’re reading You’re nagging You’re staring. I’m naked You’re naked I’m not working you lying on my bed. but where are you?
15th 22:06 we were ships, that passed in the night. each on our own journey each in our own darkness.
13th 18:10 I keep picturing you lying on my bed. I’m working, You’re reading You’re nagging You’re staring. I’m naked You’re naked I’m not working you lying on my bed. but where are you?
15th 22:06 we were ships, that passed in the night. each on our own journey each in our own darkness.
August 28th 20:38 And then in the final throws it got too painful to write.
zine for a fuckboy disaster in chronological order
by mou dedicated to the messiest fling i’ll ever have (which probably wasn’t worth it)