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06/01 Direct Link

'Generally, our knowledge is imperfect. We cannot know anything. The only exception to this is mathematics. There, knowledge is pure. Unlike your precious English, you cannot dispute that two plus two equals four.'

'You say that as if it's a bad thing.'

'It is.'

'Well, you are, of course, correct.'

'Evidently.'

'But that means nothing. I have never experienced joy when trying to figure out an equation. I have never looked at a mathematical proof and thought, 'That perfectly describes how I am feeling'. English tends to my soul and my feelings. They, I would argue, are far more important.'

06/02 Direct Link
Let my sadness wash and ebb over you, a tide of oil black sea fouling whatever it touches.

It stains my heart, makes it heavy and unwilling.

My mind pulls the plug on the electric colours that usually fly around. A dull greyness descends, like the colour of discarded clay, unable to be fashioned into anything useful.

I let it come. I think it improves my writing. A writer shouldn't be happy. I'm not allowed to be happy.

My soul is a small, sorrowing spirit, grappling at your chest.

Please, put it rest.

Why won't you put it to rest?
06/03 Direct Link
Sometimes, I hate the way I speak.

The condesending, arrogant, posh tone, which always seems to be just below the pitch of a whine.

A sound that scrapes across the ear. Something that pleads and leers and makes you feel like an idiot. A voice that deserves to be silenced.

This is why I prefer writing. No need to inflict my tones upon unsuspecting people.

If I could steal someone's voice, it would be Andrew Motion's. He has the most wonderful voice. Rich and full. Something you could drown in. Warm. Very warm. I have always had difficulty with warmth.
06/04 Direct Link

I've been dead for a long time now. Dead so long, I've forgotten what it feels like to feel anything.

I can't remeber when, or even how, I died. I assume it was painless.
It's better this way. I no longer have to suffer intolerable feelings. My mind can no longer mock me. My mind can't do anything, anymore.
There is no pain, no joy, no work. I no longer regard myself as useless. I no longer have to worry whether people actually like me, or just too polite to tell me to go away.

It was a good move, dying.

06/05 Direct Link
I just wish you knew. I really do.

I wish I could show you my mind. Show you the whole section dedicated to you. Worrying that you hate me, that I'm not good enough for you, that you are too lovely to say that you hate me.

I would show you what colours explode in my mind when you hold my hand. I would show you how my mind smiles and purrs when you say hello.

Of course, I would only show you those bits. I wouldn't show you the rest of my mind. It would probably drive you insane.
06/06 Direct Link

I am used to metaphorically vomiting in front of you. Luckily, I didn't really do that today.

Instead, I physically vomited in front of you.

If I could move the stars to form an apology in the sky, I would.

Nevertheless, I did learn some important things.

I will stand up for myself more. I will insult you more. I will, like the butler in 'The Remains of the Day', try to improve my bantering.

I will hold you to the dance you promised. I will not fall in a ditch. I will not collapse.

I will get better soon.

06/07 Direct Link
I feel better.

I think I had to reach the peak of patheticness before I could finally realise how, well...pathetic I was being.

I feel much better, now.

My paranoia is filtering away. It's like a shadow that falls over my mind. Now, the sun is starting to rise. The shadows are being chased away. Far, far away.

I almost feel perfect.

It's stopped hurting. My thoughts have stopped drooping , like dead flowers. The poorly-made shacks have been demolished, to be replaced with a surer foundation.

I feel good.

You may have the power, for now. Don't abuse it.
06/08 Direct Link
Move him into the sun.

Gently. It's touch will wake him,
as it always has. At home, he would watch the
sun rise, feel it touch his arm like a lover.
Look, he's rising now. The kind old sun knows
how to rouse this drousing boy.

Think how it wakes the seeds,
woke once the clays of a cold earth,
allowed limbs to grow, nerves to form
and stirred new life in the old world.
What was the reason that this clay grew tall?
What made fatuous sunbeams toil
to break earth's sleep at all?

I don't know. Love, probably.
06/09 Direct Link
Definitions.

Exhaustion: A permenant state of being, where your eyes feel like they have been painted with lead. You start to lose the will to do anything, and doing nothing just seems to make the situation worse. There is no cure.

Love: A state of being where you a permenantly kicked where it hurts. There is no cure.

Hate: A state of being where you permenantly kick someone else where it hurts.

Sadness: Where your heart leaks holes and sinks into a bottomless pit. Often felt when in the state of love or hate. Music has been known to help.
06/10 Direct Link
Rip out my heart and throw it to the birds.

Let them fight over it. Let them choke on the lumps as the blood spills and clots in their throats. Their feathers can soak up the fluid as it spills over their beaks.

I no longer want my heart. I want it to be ripped and torn. I want it to suffer, as it has made me suffer. Its pumps should close down and its walls demolished.

I no longer want to feel anything. I don't want to live. Just let me survive.

Take my heart and throw it away.
06/11 Direct Link

A day of paradoxes.

I've never felt so depressed, or felt so wonderful.

I've never cried with laughter, and felt like my heart was crying.

I've never felt more loved, or more alone.

Are you simply testing me? Are you trying to make me angry, to make me stand up for myself?

Or are you simply slipping away, distancing yourself from me for whatever reason?

Why did you lie to me? Why have you stopped talking?

What have I done wrong?

How could it have changed so quickly?

What do you want?

What can I do?

All I have is questions.

06/12 Direct Link
'I know you're feeling pretty down at the moment...'

'Yes...'

'And I brought you something that I thought might cheer you up.'

'Thank you very much. What is it?'

'Duct-tape.'

'Duct-tape?'

'Duct-tape.'

'Why did you buy me duct-tape?'

'Everyone loves duct-tape.'

'And how is this supposed to help?'

'I don't know. You could...duct-tape things together.'

'Like my heart.'

'Look! I'm fed up of your depressiveness! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and...man up! So you feel alone and worthless? Everyone does! You're a narcissist to think that you're feelings are completely unique!'
06/13 Direct Link
They crowd round, whilst simultaneously calling to give him space.

He can't breathe, and his eyes are buldging, almost comically. His face has turned a morning sky blue, and his tongue lashes out, just like it always has.

He grapples at his neck, in the attempt to prise it open. His fingers scrabble at an invisible latch and nails bite, trying to rip through the skin.

All the while, people watch on, facinated and horrified, watching a living being turning on itself, trying to survive.

The man is choking. Choking on his words. Choking on his emotions.

Choking. Just choking.
06/14 Direct Link
I went into the garden, today.

I took a shovel, and tore into the earth. I dug a hole, drudging up dirt and kept going, even when my arms protested with ache.

I had to dig it deep. For everything to fit.

I made a mass grave. 

In it, I threw in my hopes and dreams, strewn like bodies. The future that I had planned was dead, and it too was placed in the grave. My happiness went next. Then my peace of mind. Finally, I threw in love. I don't think I'll be needing ot for a while.
06/15 Direct Link
I wandered into school and climbed to the roof of the maths block. My rock was there.

'How did you get here?'

'I'm part of your imagination.'

'Of couse.'

We sat in silence for a while.

'You know, I've often thought of throwing myself off this roof.' I said.

'Why?'

'You're part of my imagination. You should know my thoughts.'

'I do. But I think it would help you if you worked through your thoughts.'

'I suppose. By throwing myself off, I would kill myself.'

'Obviously.'

'Obviously. And then, I wouldn't have to feel anything anymore.'

'You don't want feelings?'
06/16 Direct Link
'I don't want these feelings. Assuming there is no after-life, then I will no longer have to feel, and the pain will go away. If there is an after-life, most religions agree that I would go to hell. But, from the way I'm feeling, I'm already there. So there would be no change.'

'I see.'

'The problem is, I don't really believe that.'

'So what do you believe?'

'That these feelings will go away. Sadness, depression...they don't last forever. I'm just being overly dramatic. I'm not in a living hell. I'm not even close.'

'So what's next?'
06/17 Direct Link
That's enough. 

***

James was lying down on the grass in the garden, allowing the sun to touch his body. The grass felt comfortably prickly against his back, and he would occassionally move his shoulders, as if trying to dig himself further into the earth.

He was listening to the Hugh Laurie blues album. He hadn't been convinced of it at first, but it had grown on him. He especially liked the sax player. He made the instrument sound broken.

The blues gave him comfort. He could relate to it. Not all of it, though. To start with, he was white.
06/18 Direct Link
'Hey David.'

'Hey bird. What are you up to?'

'Well, you know. Finding twigs. And seeds. I need lots of seeds.'

'Why?'

'To trade them for cigarettes.'

'Of course.'

'So, what have you been doing?'

'Not much, really.'

'What's it like, being able to not do much? Not having to constantly strive for surivial in an ever increasingly dangerous world?'

'It's fine. I'd like to do more, but I'm tired.'

'What's it like to be able to rest when you want?'

'When did you learn to talk?'

'I'm not talking.'

'Yes you are.'

'Squark!'

'You're not fooling anyone, mister.'

'Damn.'
06/19 Direct Link
The clouds looked like a giant flour bomb had gone off. She stared at them in the hope that they would form something recognisable. Stared so hard that, when she looked away, the whole world turned green.

She blinked hard and then screwed up her eyes until the visions of clouds went away. Then, she reached for her bag and took out a notebook. 

It was black, like an untold secret. The spine was failing and the pages constantly threatened to fly away and find a better place. 

She sighed and started writing. What else could she do?
06/20 Direct Link
'But I set fire to the rain, watched it pour as...'

'How does that work, exactly?'

'How does what work?'

'How can you set fire to the rain? I mean, it's rain. It's little droplets of water. You can't set fire to water. It defies reason.'

'It's just the lyrics to a song. It doesn't have to be true.'

'Sure. Next you'll be telling me that poetry doesn't have to be true, either.'

'Actually...'

'And that paintings don't have to be of real scenes.'

'Have you heard of a metaphor.'

'Isn't that a kind of goat's cheese.'

'No. Just...no.'
06/21 Direct Link
'Hey bees.'

'Hey David.'

'Can I have some of your honey?'

'Sure. Steal the produce which the proletariat masses have produced. Take the sweat from out brows. Eat our livelyhood. Perpetuate the idea that those in positions of power can take whatever they desire from the working class, that their actions have no consequence, that the world is theirs and theirs alone.'

'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.'

'You know, I think this is the best honey that I have ever tasted.'

'I hope you choke on it.'

'Pardon.'

'I hope you enjoy it.'

'I am. It really is the best I've had.'
06/22 Direct Link
'Hey, are you Elton John?'

'I'm not Elton John.'

'Yeah, you are. You are! You have the glasses and everything!'

'I'm not Elton John. I just happen to wear glasses.'

'You just don't want crowds rushing you. I understand. But you can tell me. I can keep a secret.'

'Look, I'm honestly not Elton John.'

'Sing 'candle in the wind'. I love that one. It was about Marylin Monroe wasn't it?'

'I can't sing it, because I'm not Elton John.'

'I love the music you wrote for 'The Lion King.'

'I'm a woman.'

'Oh...So...not Elton John?'

'No.'

'Oh.'
06/23 Direct Link
Two smiling in the street.

I met a lovely homeless person
And he had the nicest smile that I had ever seen.

A most wonderful smile.
In fact, he was the only one on the whole of the street
Who was smiling.

He offered me his smile and
I took it, gladly, whilst buying his
Magazine and talked a little.

He told me of his plans to
Finish selling this batc, then buy another
And I wished him luck.

He told me to have a good weekend,
And I returned the pleasantary.

Then I went, and saw
That his smile was still there
Ans mine has grown.
06/24 Direct Link
I had been expecting it.

Expecting it for a while.

And then it came.

Not in the way that I had imagined it.
 
If I'm perfectly honest, it was rather sweet.

The things you said.

I had been waiting for it.

It does make sense, when I think about it.

This does not mean that everything has to end.

I have to remind myself that I am only seventeen.

I had been anticipating it.

It does not hurt as much as I thought it would.

Probably because I had been waiting for it.

From the very start.

Just waiting.
06/25 Direct Link
I go around paint colours on things.

Not many people realise that the world is actually all black and white. A few friends and I go around the world, painting things to make them more interesting.

It's ironic when we say people are colour blind. They're not. They can just see through the paint.

I love doing flowers. I could spend and eternity just painting one. I think my pieces turn out quite nice. If you want any changes, just let me know.

Blue's my favourite colour. That's the one I chose to paint the sky with.

I like blue.
06/26 Direct Link
'Hey cat.'

'And why would I want to demean myself by talking to you?'

'I was just trying to have a nice...'

'And yet you are still talking to me. You. Trying to talk. To me.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'I'm a cat. That therefore means that I am second only to God.'

'I see.'

'Even that's a close run thing.'

'Right.'

'I think we should go back to the times of the Egyptians. Back, then, cats got some real respect. Not just a toy ball and a sparkly collar.'

'Is that what you really want?'

'Get me a fish, underling.'
06/27 Direct Link
First day of work experience.

It was rather intense, after having three weeks where my brain simply marinaded in it's juices, to suddenly be thrust back into an educational environment.

Nevertheless, I think I understood a good proportion of what they were saying. I think.

Extracting DNA, and then replicating it. I don't think I was ever told what the purpose of this was for. They had the greatest pipettes.

The people there were very kind. One even made me an information sheet. 

It was rather hot. I was looking for an excuse to go to the cool room.
06/28 Direct Link
I've just realised that I've been wearing very thick glasses for a very long time.

So thick that I was practically blind. It seems that all the things I thought I saw were simply figments of my imagination. I'd been making up the world rather than seeinig what was truly there.

I took them off this morning. The pain was horrible. My eyes are still stinging now. Everthing is still slightly blurry.

Nevertheless, it's getting better. I'm starting to see things for what they actually are, rather than what I want them to be.

I'm finally starting to see again.
06/29 Direct Link
'Hello David.'

'Hey! You're David Troupes! I love you're work. Buttercup Festival is fantastic!'

'I know. I just wanted to say, stop.'

'Stop what?'

'Stop trying to be me. Stop trying to emulate me. Stop trying to come up with ideas and drawings that are exactly like mine. It's pathetic.'

'I'm sorry. It's just, I really want to...'

'I'm going to stop you right there. There is no point you talking any more. Please, leave me and my work alone.'

'Yes Mr Troupes.'

'Now if you excuse me, I'm going to the forest to climb a tree. Don't follow me.'
06/30 Direct Link

I read poetry by Ted Hughes and listened to Blues music.

I felt more like myself. By that, I mean that I felt alone, pathetic and destined to spend the rest of my life without anyone beside me.

I think that reading and music act as an anesthetic. They help to numb my fears and anxieties, for a short while. They stop my mind from idly scarring my thoughts, for a short while.

The worst thing is that I have become a horrible cliche. A depressed teenage boy. I have succumed to the steryotype.

I can't change.

I can't.