You don’t really get stars in the suburbs, or at the very least you don’t get stars in my suburb. Even on the clearest night the light pollution and actual pollution are so dense that the sky seems to glow a faint orange; a thousand thousand streetlights reflecting off a thin sheen of invisible smog. I used to have a friend who I would smoke cigarettes and get drunk with and stars were a recurring theme in our late night conversations. We’d express how much we missed the night skies of our youths (having both grown up in relatively remote corners of the globe) and how much modern society just like, fucks us man cause we miss out on the beautiful terrible majesty of it all and then we would flick cigarettes onto the grass and make plans to one day go camping to experience the stars again properly. The one time we went out camping far enough to do that though we got drunk and smoked cigarettes instead and the only one noticing the sky that night was our photojournalist friend taking long exposures for her portfolio. Fucking typical.

I miss those nights, just like I still miss the stars. I was repressed then, angry and unhappy with my body and my life, but those nights seemed to make it all worth it. Between us we could put away three packs of cigarettes within six hours. We’d drink and we’d laugh and we’d have the same conversations over and over again and that was just what life was back then. At some point before the sun came up, when the world was at its coldest, we’d go to bed in separate rooms and hope like hell we didn’t piss ourselves in the night, cause we were never drunk in our own homes and peeing a strangers bed is one of the worst experiences you can put yourself through while hungover. In the morning we’d emu walk and collect all the cigarette butts and smoke some more and make plans to disappear that never seemed to eventuate in the way we hoped until someone with a car and a license and a lower BAC than either of us said they were driving to get breakfast. It wasn’t much of a life, but we lived it.

I have moved on since then but he’s still there I think, still living those long nights and fighting off the chill when the air seems to turn to ice. I hope he is happy, like I am happy, and if he is not I hope he finds his happiness soon. I hope he finally gets a chance to see the stars the way he has always wanted to. I hope I do too. But when that day comes, despite all our promises to each other on those long smokey nights, I doubt he’ll be there with me, nor me with him…but that’s just how life goes occassionally. C’est la vie.

everything is awesome

I want to be clear here guys, absolutely fucking crystal: when I went to bed last night I thought my phone was fucking dead. No part of me held any hopes for it ever breathing life again and I was slowly making my peace with the idea of dealing with my iPhone 5 again and all of the assorted ‘quirks’ it had developed over two years of heavy use (character, some might call it, or perhaps defects). So when I got to the office this morning and saw my phone again, right where the boss had left it after fussing with it all day yesterday, I wasn’t optimistic. It had gone swimming dudes, it had bathed in water and pee and dissolving toilet paper and that is usually not a trip any gadget comes back from, let alone a fucking iPhone. I didn’t touch it until the boss got into the office. I was terrified of getting my hopes up at all.

Apparently my boss is a magician or Jesus or something though because the damn thing sprung to life like Lazarus and proceeded to work like clockwork for the rest of the damn day. Everything is functioning! The screen is perfect, all the radios and antennas seem to be humming along with mechanical precision, touch works, the fingerprint sensor works, the cameras work, the pedometer works…using nothing but a high powered vacuum he sucked the water and pee right out of it and gave it a new lease on life. It’s a miracle! I was truly stunned. I even hugged him, which is totally not in my nature at all. I was just so damn happy that I felt physical contact was necessary.

Later I had an extra cheesy vegetarian pizza from Il Castellos and it was awesome. Everything is great guys. All the things, everywhere.

In a bad place. 

I destroyed another phone. My boss is gonna try and save it but I know, in my heart of hearts, that it is fucked. A lost cause. I’m kind of devastated about it because I really loved that phone. I don’t own much good stuff, not really, and that was one of the few things I could point at and consider mine. My car is falling apart around me and my laptop inches closer to death every day and my exercise bike squeaks and moans…at the end of the day though, at least I could say my phone was nice, and good, and new. Not so anymore though. Just another Molly Speechley disaster. A useless silicon and glass paperweight.

Call me penis fingers. I fuck everything I touch.

What News?

I have spent the better part of the last month obsessed with a guy who, I’m fairly certain, actively despised me by the end of our shared experience (mainly because of all the things I said). I got to experience all the highs and lows of lust and affection; the intense cravings and the bottomless wells of despair and the powerful rage only someone who has really gotten under your skin can generate. I have learnt a lot about myself! I thought I knew what love was but I was wrong, in all the moments before where I had convinced myself that the love and affection I was feeling for my female partners were true I had been instead embracing this strange shadow form of the reality. I have never felt attraction before as strongly as I did for Matt, never felt that magnetic, raw, animal need until I saw him and touched him and felt him and tasted him. I got through 26 years on this planet in a fugue state where I never knew true lust or arousal for anyone I had ever professed to love. It’s a kind of depressing thought, but also a liberating one. Now I know, right? There is literally nothing holding me back anymore. I  am as a rabid dog unchained, with hunger in my belly and fire in my eyes. Just try and hold me back.

The rest of life chugs along at its own steady pace. My career vacillates constantly between waving and drowning, my finances are a wreck and I am steadily pushing everyone out of my life who has ever even attempted to care for me. Eventually I’ll be alone, just me and my cat and my antidepressents and the ghost of a memory of what having somebody to confide in is like, and then I’ll either know peace or madness. Hell, why not both? There can be peace in madness. I can experience two things.

Today I bought Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon in the morning and an Optimus Prime Transformer in the afternoon. That’s all.


It is cold and dreary and wet. I want to nap but as if that is even possible, napping is a skill I lack except under very specific, very medicinal circumstances, and none of the conditions have been met to facilitate that phase transition. I’m feeling sorry for myself, I don’t know if I have the right to, though. I guess I don’t want last night to be a one night stand, but I don’t think that is a decision I’m in a position to make. That’s up to him, and his silence right now seems maddening and deafening and telling all at once. A nap would be good.

I’m happy to report the surgery was a complete success however and the results of that surgery held up pretty fuckin admirably under intense scrutiny. I also made pickled garlic today, which has less to do with fucking and more to do with preserving. I hope they are nice! I have never had them before and the quantities I used to create the pickling broth could be described as approximate at best but I am not without hope. Most things I try are at least a mild success, I am not sure why this should be any different.

Anyway. Until next time.

© 2015 Molly Speechley