Stalking 101

Things are a little heavy around here...and I never intended it to be. I thought a stalker blog would be a fun thing to do...especially as I'm an accomplished stalker minus the binoculars. Also I don't send my stalkees 14 eyelashes in an enveloped sealed with...well, it's better not to think about it.

I've been thinking of writing rules for stalkers. You know, so we can cease to be so creepy and everyone can just get along. I must say, stalking Mark all these years, and the way he handles it. has helped me create a code of behaviour so that everyone is comfortable, and nobody runs out of buildings screaming...

Actually now I think of it, some of the rules are for stalkers; others are for the stalkees.

1. Treat your stalker with polite distance; be clear where your boundaries are and how much stalking you will tolerate.

2. Memorise your stalkee's schedule; especially if they are a performer...they will appreciate you because performers need support in their gigs, and what better support than their very own stalkers.

3. Remember birthdays and try to give the stalkee something small, thoughtful and not over-the-top. (If you're mortgaging the house to buy it, it's over-the-top)

4. Be content to watch without demanding attention...if you're a pest, well, they'll think you're a pest.

5. Leave straight after the gig. Never stick around. Pretend you have to work the next day. Really have to work the next day. In short, have a life.

6. Try to bring someone else along. If you're alone, it's a little obvious...not that you care, but they might.

7. Memorise conversations, write them down - can be used later for cross-reference purposes.

8. Never join your stalker at a table...attention unsettles them and gives them false hope.


9. Never talk to your stalker for more than 5 minutes, OK, 10 minutes at most. (refer to 8)

10. Above all, exercise discretion...don't turn up for every gig, don't accept every invitation.

11. Identify your stalkee's scent and the source e.g perfume, body odour from countless hours spent in bars surrounded by cigarette smoke and alcohol, then replicate the scent, package it and sell. Gain income from stalking.

Of course, all this only applies if you're stalking Mark. If you decided to stalk someone else, well, you'll have to learn their rules for yourself.

Time and patience, my dears and we can all be good stalkers together.

Falling Off The Edge

The thing about being a stalker, is you live a half life, you turn into a ghost, and you're not there anymore.

Not really.

You blend into beige walls, you disappear into shadows and your smile...what smile?

Nobody can do anything about it.

Nobody can save you.

Some try. They shouldn't. Because they can't.

You are a country blasted apart by a bomb and everywhere around you there are only shards, smithereens.

Only you can pick through the debris and rebuild.

Only you.

But it's so hard.

And you won't.

So you look outside yourself for an answer, for someone to save you, take you out of this life, if only for a moment.

You get so sick of the ruins.

But how do you escape from you?

You can't.

You're there.

Still there when you wake up in the morning in a strange bed, shivering, wondering who, wondering what, wondering why you did it all over again.

The body, if there is a body next to you, is cold, unyielding, strange.

And you just want to leave.

Disappear.

Scrub out the encounter from under your skin. Scrub until there are scratches running down your body, scrub until there is blood running down the scratches.

That's what you want to do.

And you let yourself bleed into the ground, watching the blood seep away, turning into a ghost.

But still that country, annihilated by the blasting bomb, that country's there, waiting for you to return, rebuild...but you can't.

Not without love.

And there is no love left in you.

Only obsession.

So you become a creature of night.

Shadowy, insubstantial, weightless.

So you stalk another, borrowing a life, for a few moments, emerging from the dead, only to go back tomorrow.

There is no now. There is no tomorrow. You cling on to the moments with your fingernails. The moments slip away.

You tear great holes into your body.

What body?

You're not even there.

And if you disappear tomorrow, don't worry.

Nobody will notice.

Perfect Time

Why is the measure of love loss?

Maybe if I breathe slowly, hold the image, relax into it, maybe then...

I am not ready. She's coming for me. I was stalling and she told me there would be a reckoning. She warned me.

No escape.

Child, stay awake.

Why is the measure of love loss?

It's time.

No, I'm not ready. Sometimes the wind is moist and the raindrops make me cry.

It's time.

Sometimes on a cloudy afternoon, I can hear music on the wind.

It's time.

Sometimes there is chocolate cake in the oven and a mother who smiles and lets me scrape the bowl.

It's time.

Sometimes there is a glint of warmth in the eyes of a stranger.

It's time.

Sometimes there's an afterglow.

No more words.

I'm not ready. I haven't learned it. Please...I'm not ready.

Why is the measure of love loss?

Because there is no love.

Only loss.

Welcome To My Life

Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place,
Like somehow you just don't belong
And no one understands you?
Do you ever wanna run away?
Do you lock yourself in your room
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you're screaming?

No, you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels all right
You don't know what it's like
To be like me

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No, you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life

Do you wanna be somebody else?
Are you sick of feeling so left out?
Are you desperate to find something more
Before your life is over?
Are you stuck inside a world you hate?
Are you sick of everyone around?
With their big fake smiles and stupid lies
While deep inside you're bleeding

No, you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels all right
You don't know what it's like
To be like me

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life

No one ever lied straight to your face
And no one ever stabbed you in the back
You might think I'm happy but I'm not gonna be okay
Everybody always gave you what you wanted
You never had to work it was always there
You don't know what it's like, what it's like

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No, you don't know what it's like (What it's like)

To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No, you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life
Welcome to my life
Welcome to my life

I Follow

I've taken to hiding behind doors and pictures to get a glimpse of her. Skin like silk and a face as limpid as plasticine.

We don't always get to choose what we fall in love with. Or who. I meant who.

I listen to her voice in my head and us talking, only it's not us, it's her, I'm silent catching the words as they fall from her lips, saphires to be stored away, sweet saphires I pop into my mouth, sultry saphires that taste of midnight.

Ah, but the moon is orange tonight. And unreadable. And you saw me hiding behind the picture and turned and smiled.

Why was I stalking you?

I'm sorry. I thought if I did it quietly, unobstrusively, you wouldn't mind, you wouldn't notice.

And you offer me a glass full of blood. No, wait, it's wine. Yes, wine.

Drink up, you say.

So I do.

I always do.

If you told me to dive into my wineglass I would.

That's how much.

And then you've filled my glass again. I didn't see you do it. I was not looking. You always do things when I'm not looking.

She laughs, her teeth glinting like teardrops. Oh my, but it's wonderful here, in this world that shifts and wobbles and bears me up like waves. Motion. Motion is all I have.

I don't have her.

You.

You're just a dream and I'm not talking to you here. Not really. You're too beautiful and you only see other beautiful people.

Pretty maids all in a row.

I don't love you. I drown in you. You've taken my volition and I find myself grinning stupidly.

So I follow her dumbly, ducking behind doorways like she hasn't already seen me, accepting glasses of wine when she does, because that's all I know how to do.

I follow.

Love, love, love...

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life,
Or as sweet season'd showers are to the ground...

Love, love, love...

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire...

Love, love, love...

Don't turn around, don't smile at me, don't beckon and please, please, please...

Please let me go.