and the days are not long enough

sleep walks.

You are a...

You are a piece of music unlikely to be made.

A song about... potential, promise, promises.

Notes are samples of unusual sounds like... doors opening and shutting, birds coughing, humming heartbeats, sleeptalking, pills rattling in boxes, pages turning.

Written by... your boyfriend.

Recorded in... a basement.

An out-of-the-ordinary instrument played for your performance... pan pipes.

Produced by... an unknown individual.

Two genres combined to best describe you... acapella & experimental.

You are a game.

Called... Carriwitchet.

The primary theme is... word play.

The number of players is... 2 plus.

Components required to play are... a pen, paper, the mind.

The length of the game is... eternal unless you stop it.

Lessons learnt from playing may be... friendly mendaciloquence, and the limitlessness of language.

The winner... can get there by the stretches of their imagination and variation in use of vocabulary.

You are living with multiple personality disorder.

The tragedy that led to this was... an atypical incident, a random antecedent.

The number of personalities you have is... 9.

Most prominent personality is... sentimental, emotionally imbalanced, erratic and enigmatic.

First became aware of it when... I began to be an angry lesbian.

The good that comes of this is... I see through many different eyes.

The biggest fear surrounding this is... that I will become the angry lesbian.

Treatment is... Validation Treatment (used for dementia, though it has very little/no empirical evidence in support of it, concepualised by Naomi Feil in 1992)

When the least prominent personality looks in the mirror she/he/it sees... a bored person with a ponytail and too much foundation to conceal acne.

You are an instrument.

The instrument is... percussive and on a scale, like a glockenspiel

Played by... someone who is still learning.

Most commonly used to play... lullabies or songs that you can sing along to.

Made of... tinny metal.

Looks like... an arrangement of haphazardly arranged keys, not necessarily in order of length, that are knocked on with a spoon.

Played most often... in solitude, at dusk.

A famous musician that might play it would be... Fiona Apple.

Never used to play... R'n'B

Kept... on a shelf.

Someday used to write a song called... The Black Echo, The Gold Coin

You are aging in reverse.

When born, you appear... either 38 or 87.

Marriage will be... potentially a part of my life.

The handicap associated with old age you are born with is... poor mobility and bad eyesight.

You will date people of an age... that doesn't matter so will vary between the people I date.

Scientists will be allowed to study you because... of my willingness to contribute to the advancement of scientific knowledge.

Strangers don't get told about your condition because... it sounds mad to explain it.

You will live out your childlike death... wherever I end up, with people I end up loving.

When you die you wish to appear... in my early 20s.

Number of children you will have is... zero.

You are homeless.

Your cardboard sign reads... "I have always relied on the kindness of strangers." or, "Any books or blankets you can spare would be greatly appreciated", or, "A friend needed."

The street corner you frequent most is... the warmest one.

The last person to offer you a place to stay before homelessness was... John.

You sleep... hideaways on the Heath, like the hollow tree, in any hallways I can talk myself into, anywhere indoors I can exchange for unpaid work, probably with a few strangers, and otherwise anywhere that is warm or where I won't be picked up and put in a garbage truck.

You were kicked out of your last home because... I was messy.

You lost your job because... I was bad at it.

Your greatest fear as a homeless person is... winter.

The most common amount of money you are given is... either nothing or a considerably generous sum.

The hardest part of being homeless is... the cold.

You are a genie.

You look like.... a magical version of myself, dressed in a cloud made of sparkly raindrops.

Instead of a lamp,  you are rubbed out of... a paperweight.

The number of wishes granted to each individual is... 48.

The one thing no one is allowed to wish for is... something that compromises the free will of another.

You refuse wishes to... psychopaths and anyone under the age of 17 unless their situation is critical.

The percentage of wishes to actually make a positive effect on the world is... 15%.

Introduced as... a transient well-deserved miracle.

Became a genie because... I died and came back as one.

You are able to breathe underwater.

Most of your time is spent...  filming shipwrecks.

The sunken treasure you seek out is... somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle.

Your chosen body of water for a home is... a lagoon.

The body of water you spend least time in is... rivers.

The underwater creature that haunts you is... a trigger fish or spiteful stingray.

You discover an ancient underwater city and name it... Drowned Town or Over-Spill City.

The newspapers call you... Gill Girl.

You can safely swim... 80,000 leagues under the sea.

You take a pet and it is a... an anglerfish because it will light the way at night.

You are having a recurring dream about alien abduction. 

The investigation into the validity of these dreams... never happens.

Most willing to conclude that you are actually being abducted are... John, William and Adnan.

In the dreams the purpose for abduction is... to provide information for the aliens.

The most common things that aliens say is... 'Do not panic, homosapien.'

The famous person abducted with you is... Sasha Baron-Cohen because they confused him with his cousin.

The aliens have not made themselves known to all humans because... they are running an observational study.

You are singled out because... of the possession of a vulnerable & malleable unconscious mind.

The number one question you ask them is... 'Are wars fought on your planet?'

Human food they like most is... sushi, toast and hot dogs.

Aliens look like... something very similar to us.

You are your own parents.

Something you do differently is... never marry.

You do not change... my conception.

You name your actual self... the same, but I'm Daisy Christabel King from birth.

More often, you... adapt to become more open-minded.

Less often, you... disappear or detach from the past.

The secret to being a good parent is... empathy, supportiveness and open-mindedness.

The dream you follow in spite of parenting is... being a psychotherapist.

You are bring a dead person back to life.

This will be done by... inexplicably-presented opportunity.

The person that will die to accomplish this is... myself.

You bring back... Ella.

Close second is... James' uncle.

You bring them back because... they needed more time.

The biggest fear attached to this is... playing God and its consequences.

You suspect that this person will describe the afterlife as... that which cannot be communicated or understood by the living.

If this person does not remember who you are... it will not matter because I will be dead.

You are a building.

You have... 6 floors and an attic.

On your roof... birds make nests and rain collects and the ghosts of chimney sweeps leave sooty trails from midnight dance parties.

The purpose of you is... non-existent. I am not useful.

The tragedy that took place inside you that caused you to be haunted involved... accidental falls down flights of stairs.

When torn down, the building you would like to replace you is... a school.

Your most unique feature is... behind-bookcase secret rooms.

You are located... somewhere cramped between other buildings.

Your average temperature is... below 5 degrees usually.

You are dedicated to... a fictional character.

You are a ghost. 

You died... either by choking on a small piece of food or in an accident of some kind that was the result of my poor proprioception and clumsiness and/or impulsivity.

You haunt... people I knew, in a benevolent way.

You are seen by... the select few people who have hurt me considerably, glimpsed behind them in mirrors.

Your unfinished business is... finishing up making it up.

You physically interact with the world around you by... leaving symbolic objects places, tying up shoelaces, or writing messages on dusty surfaces/condensation.

The ghost to keep you company is... someone who died on the same day but who is much older.

You are yourself in a previous life.

You are located... on a pirate ship.

Your profession is... a cabin boy.

In a past life before this one you were... a concubine.

In your lives, you have given to the world... time to hear people in it.

The best thing about this life is... camaraderie onboard.

The worst thing is... getting scurvy.

You are currently related to this past self in... issues with food, messiness, respect for authority figures, attention needs.

Your names have had... Omar, Oksana, Bertrand, Mohammed, Johan, Kjeldsen, Emerald, Peggy, Clifford, Flavia, Septimus, Kitty, Joan, Elijah, Vakhtang, Wilhelmina, Xu, Bob, Mavis, Prudence, Friedrich, Miguel, Iqbal, Rochelle, Seo-Jun & Christabel.

Be good or be gone

I'm not sure if anyone reads this anymore.
If you do, and if you have a spare second, could you leave a comment?

I love this song, so after the cover was recorded I put together some old footage to go with it.

Edie pulling faces

Star-birth

In the darkened basement rooms, in between stacks of knick-knacks
from dated telephones to sculpted Tutankhamun heads to racks of clothes
dragged out of previous centuries (or from off of other film sets),
among the shelves of cameras, tripods, lenses, structures on wheels
and small cranes, with my eyes getting caught on every sight,
a perpetual snag, and the moths that pound their thousands of wings
in my chest, that make it so tight, flapping at vibration rate
in the place of a steady beat. But I find they completely placate
when the tall guy with the long hair and the Indian girl
with the dimples offer me their gazes and their smiles, silently
cheering for me and for the film they are making in the air-conditioned
subterranean space while the sun bakes on parks outside and people
sleep deliriously in pools of sweat, at home, on transport, in offices,
on lawns, in the big world of seasons, in the big world of social grace
and of reasons-- it's enough to make anyone forget, it's unreasonable--
and here, away from it all, I glimpse the creation of another world-
as whole and as seasonable, made out of midnight musing and
coffee-break conversations, built out of an arrangement of heavy
black blankets and angled light bulbs, everywhere light falls
the space it is intentionally orchestratedly using to throw just so
the shadows and illuminate the life into an idea. Those ideas that patiently wait
in the noisy room that I can't allow to open its door today.
Not today, but when I do, there will be so much light, I know
that it will seem that a star has become, not of me,
because I am not a star, and nor did I ever really want to be,
I just wanted people around me to be happy and laugh when they
looked at me. I wanted to light up their dark so things wouldn't be the way
they seemed to be, but they seemed to stay when night came
and fell and fell on me and my spark was blotted out, I tried but
could never spark the same. People would say they missed it, just
missed the chance to see it, but I was turning transparent,
I was feeling that I ought to be invisible, like dust, and I was too
much of an intrusion, a burden, an obstacle, too much and too apparent
and I told myself I was an eyesore until my eyes got sore too
and if there were stars, I couldn't have seen them. I saw only threat
where I'd left a vacant place where I should have had an identity.
In those basement rooms, I almost hear the crowds behind the noisy door
and the moths too, all communicating in a hum, 'Soon, not yet.'
But a star will become of me. That night that came and fell before
will get up and walk elsewhere willingly, shadows will shrink away, afraid,
and the shadows will no longer have faces or features to frighten me,
they will not be blind places. There is so much to be made
that is star-flecked, part of the star army, the night's apostles,
I could feel it, even in the darkened basement rooms, the light on me.



via GIPHY

Desperate from Data Collection Seeking Participants, Willing or Begrudging