09/01 Direct Link
If I had three, four more years to my name, I would have joined the revolutions.

Without hesitation, I would have trudged to Libya and enrolled with the rebels. Together we would have marched on Tripoli and entered green square. We would stand outside Beni Walid, waiting for the loyalists to surrender, tired of the fighting.

I would have gone. It wouldn't have been hard. I have nothing to leave behind. No family, no sweethart, no possessions. My insensibility would carry me forward, to death or glory.

It would have improved my poetry.

I want to die. Let me die.
09/02 Direct Link
A ghost-town.

Wandering through this once fertile place, where words flourished with all the beauty of roses and sunflowers. A place of familiarity has become a barren land of dust and choking rocks.

It feels more lonely. More isolated. Like the first day of school.

I want to see a familiar face and read familiar words. I want to feel connected with someone, anyone.

This place is darker and stranger and more hostile. It is no longer a place to escape to. I leave my thoughts and feelings here unwillingly. I am afraid of what will happen to them.
09/03 Direct Link
Work harder.

You're not working hard enough.

No, you can't have a break. You can have a break when you die. Stop being facetious.

If you don't work hard, then you'll fail. It's as simple as that. You don't want to fail, do you?

What did I say about being facetious?

You're still to lazy. You're work is shoddy, boring and useless. Try again.

I'm tired too, but I'm still here. Do it again.

You're not trying your best. Try your best. Work harder. Harder.

You stilll need to work harder. What would you do without me?

Work harder. Harder.
09/04 Direct Link
Dr Faustus.

I empathise with you, I suppose. You simply wanted to be great. You wanted a worldly power that far surpassed all others. You wanted importance and adoration.

I also think that you wanted to no longer feel alone.

You had a brilliant mind, with which none other could truly compete. Your thoughts were too grand and wonderful for others to comprehend. All you wanted was a companion with who would be able to understand your mind.

I would sell my own soul for such a thing, I suppose. I almost did. The devil refused it. Just like always.
09/05 Direct Link
Watching old videos of a child that I don't remember. Blond. Very blond. Surrounded by adults.

Back when there were no inhibitions. When there was no distinguishing between people. You had no idea of your own ignorance and you were blessedly, blissfully stupid. You believed everything your parents told you. Why would they lie?

A simpler time, where you didn't worry about relationships or education or opinions. When you had no control over what you did.

He was a happier boy, who couldn't understand complex pleasures or complex disasters. How he's grown. How he will grow. How he will live.
09/06 Direct Link
'If I was a flower, I would be a rose.'

'Why? Because you prick people who try to get near you and you're a horrible cliche?'


'Because people clamp you in their teeth when they do latin dances?'


'Because, whilst you may look nice, you're essentially the cheap and easy option?'


'Because you are either yellow, red or white?'


'Because your skin, like the petals on a rose, falls of when it gets cold?'


'Because you can be used as a metaphor for pretty much anything?'


'Then why?'

'...I can't remember any more...'
09/07 Direct Link
It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be.

I thought that I would feel worse. That my insecurities would bubble to the surface once again, and I would walk home feeling depressed with an itching urge to listen to jazz.

It was over relatively quickly. I was able to survive. I did not shrivel up and die, nor did I feel sick or want to sick my head in an oven.

Who knows? One day, I might get used to the whole thing. I doubt it, but it is a possibility.

Tomorrow is another day. Obviously.
09/08 Direct Link
18. A man. Officially.

What does that even mean? A man.

I feel no different. I feel no more mature or intelligent or compassionate or responsible. I do not feel ready to take on the world, to get a mortgage or worry about household income.

I still feel small and alone and sad. I sitll worry about the future. I am still convinced that I will end up isolated. From friends, from family, from love.

I still think that it is pathetic to have these thoughts, but I still want to wallow in self pity.

I am not a man.
09/09 Direct Link
It was a very sweet thing you did. You didn't have to deliver them.

I don't know why, but it made me very sad. Very sad indeed.

I wish you had knocked.

It's been months, but the feelings are still there. Not as strong, but still there. Maybe what you did today simply reminded me of what I am missing, and will always miss.

I hope this doesn't worry you.

I really wished you had knocked.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this, and it is stylistically terrible and unimaginative. But it's the most real thing I have ever written.
09/10 Direct Link
I went into the bathroom, sat down, put my head on my knees and cried.

Just sat there crying for longer than I care to mention.

I'm still not entirely sure why.

It felt like ants were crawling and biting across my heart.

I stepped into the shower and rubbed my face with warm water in an effort to hide the redness of my eyes.

Then, I went out with friends and had a wonderful time. Playing jazz piano and listening to others playing my double bass. Pooey scrabble.

There is more to life than this feeling. There really is.
09/11 Direct Link
Then tomorrow happened.

A big gathering of family. A big family gathering. Gathering a big family.

Some were not even family, but were more like family than members of my actual family.

It was lovely to talk to some of them again. To see how they had changed, and how I had changed.

The triplets, of course, took centre stage. One of them realised that a fun game would be to let go of their balloon outside, and get cousin David to catch it so they wouldn't scream the plcae down. I managed to catch it. Their Dad did not.
09/12 Direct Link

'I don't really like leaves.'

'Why is that?'

'They make no effort.'

'What do you mean?'

'They spend all their time sitting up in the tree, doing very little, looking down on us all, and then, when a slight gust of wind comes along, they just fall down. They don't even try to hang on. They just let it happen.'

'It's a neccessary part of the life-cycle of a tree. It needs to lose the leaves to conserve engery through the winter. It's just not pratical to have leaves when there is little sunlight.'

'I still don't like them.'

09/13 Direct Link

Play the piano.

Hammer down those keys and create splendid chords.

Leave your left hand on automatic as it walks across the lower notes. Let your right hand run and jump and slide, making sure to end in a flourish.

Hit the right notes. Hit beautiful, minor and major notes that colour the mood a beautiful purple and red and orange and blue.

Play faster. Faster. Still not fast enough. Look at the smoke coming off your fingers. It shoul hurt. Your fingers should protest in an ecstacy of agony.

Play the piano for me. Play it with your soul.

09/14 Direct Link
I really wish people would come with signs.

For example, someone would have a sign saying 'I really like you.' The person they liked would have a sign with their feelings on it, such as 'I really don't you creepy, perverted man.'

Or, if someone says, 'Are you free next Saturday?' and the other person says 'No, sorry. Then that person's sign would pop up with the writing 'Actually, I hate you and couldn't stand to be with you for any prolonged period of time.'

Signs would make everything easier. You could finally know what someone really thinks and feels.
09/15 Direct Link
I would rather like to rot away. Let my mind decompose and feed the flowers. Let it do something useful and worthwhile for a change.

I don't want to think anymore. Thinking is too hard. I have to pull my thoughts along, as if they are made of concrete.

I don't want to feel anything. I want to stop swinging bewteen guilt and depression. Let my feelings float away and join the clouds.

There is nothing left for me to do. Nothing of importance. This vessel of a body is no longer needed.

I want a silent, terrible freedom.
09/16 Direct Link
Discharged. It has discharged.

My enegy has flung itself from my body, scattering in every direction like small schoolboys at play.

Blunt. It has turned blunt.

My mind is unable to think, unable to work and unwilling to try. It has given up on me, as I likewise have given up on it.

A shallow, dusty hust of a human, crawling around and imitating life in a horrific fashion.

All I need is a touch. A fleeting brush of a hand to fill me to the brim, to have my energy bursting at the seams.

There will be no touch.
09/17 Direct Link
It was a solo. The notes burst forward, climbing over each other in an attempt to tase the air.

They forced themselves onwards and upwards, flying to people's ears and jumping through the flowers and dancing up to the sky, enjoying their freedom. A freedom that was never going to be taken away. Something that they could savour.

The player, meanwhile, was still stuck on the ground. Bolted there, unable to move. He could only watch in envy as the notes ran away from him, laughed at him whilst they twirled around his head.

He was stuck. Stuck freeing notes.
09/18 Direct Link

-This is getting worse, you realise.

-I do realise.

-Your words are decaying. Rotting in front of your eyes.

-I know they are.

-It's all going wrong. Your refuge no longers contains the peace that you crave. Your words are letting you down.

-Or am I letting my words down?

-Both, I suppose. A symbiotic relationship falling apart. You will look back on these months and wonder what went wrong.

-I suppose I will.

-You should probably just give up. Stop planting words.

-That is an option, certainly.

-You should seriously consider it.

-I will.

-You should stop.

-I will.

09/19 Direct Link
The rocky shore.

I was sitting on the rocky shore, everyone around me eagerly putting their hands in the water, pulling at the rocks and clasping at what they found there.

Unassuming crabs, fish, starfish were placed in a bucket for amusement.

I was sitting, looking down into the water, seeing it slowly rise and reveling in the silence. I saw shrimp swim past in spurts, and rocks of rusty, tangy red and well-lived brown and cold-water green paint themselves under the water.

My friend splashed thought, boots ripping it all apart in a quest for a crab.
09/20 Direct Link
The woods and the river.

The leaves had tinted everything green, a warm, summer evening green.

Mud clambered onto our boots as we slided through the landscape to the river. With nets in hand, we stood against the gentle flow and kicked at the rocks, dislodging animals for us to gawp at.

We found a burrowing mayfly and put it in a pot to get a better look. All the while it banged its head against the glass, trying to burrow its way out. He failed, but kept trying. Kept on trying.

We were given a lolly pop for finding him.
09/21 Direct Link
The stars.

We were playing hide and seek in the dark. I rather like hiding, curling myself up into a ball of nothingness.

The stars were out. I couldn't stop myself from staring at them. I had never seen so many, so bright. They seemed to pierce the ground with their light.

My strongest desire was to reach out and touch them. Put them on a page or hang them on a necklace. I wanted to stretch out my arms to them, just do...something.

I was found to early and too easily. I went, and the stars remained stil.
09/22 Direct Link
The beach.

There are only so many plants you can measure before you being to feel your soul evaporating.

Plant life interests me because they are beautiful and complex. However, measuing the hight of around 50 plants does not.

This is also true of windspeed, soil pH and light intensity.

Nevertheless, we did see a spider eating a wasp. It was beautiful in its own, horrific way.

Then we sat on the beach, eating sandwiches me had made ourselves and digging a hole to Australia. I swear we nearly made it. I could hear them singing 'Waltzing Matilda'. I could.
09/23 Direct Link
The curtains and music.

I piled and folded myself onto the windowsill and closed the curtains, shutting myself off from everyone.

Sometimes, you just need a personal silence.

I put on my headphones and looked out the window. The music started to envelop me and I wore the notes like a cloak. They kept me warm and made me smile in a way that I haven't done for a while.

I was so happy, I almost cried. Wept with the joy of isolation, of no longer having to worry.

I felt refreshed when I emerged, breaking out of my cuccoon.
09/24 Direct Link
The return.

I have always loved travelling. Especially when it doesn't go to plan.

I could feel the depression seeping back in the further we went from the centre. I could taste the worries and fears and horrors on my tongue as we neared home.

Work tastes bitter and smells of sulphur. It makes me gag.

Expectations are far too sweet and difficult to keep down.

You let me listen to your music and put your head on my shoulder when you thought I was slipping back. It helped more than you can possibly imagine.

Thank you for your help.
09/25 Direct Link
I wonder if anyone noticed that I was away. I wonder if anyone cared.

Maybe someone did notice, but doesn't care.

Maybe someone does care, but didn't notice.

Why am I writing this?

Craving some form of companionship. Wanting to know for a fact that I am not really alone. Needing to know that someone notices me. Which is rather pathetic, when you get right down to it.

On another note, I forgot to shave this morning. I now have a small stuble, which is rather annoying and makes me feel more than slightly grubby. I will shave later on.
09/26 Direct Link

I saw you, for the briefest of seconds, and saw what you would look like five years from now. I saw you at university, smiling, holding you books. I witnessed your future, and it was beautiful.

The future seemed so certain. Now it is not. Your future, my future, the future of my friends, has changed from the future that I saw a year ago.

All the while, the sky has been crashing around my head, and I've been too self-absorbed to notice it.

It makes a spectacular scenery, don't you think, dear? 

I want to cry, my dear.

09/27 Direct Link
I can see the clouds burning, my love. Little cotton whisps curling like burnt paper into the air.

The sky is turning red. Irritated, infectious red, pus seeping through the air, sickly and sticky to breathe.

Is this the time and place to be alive, my love?

People are screaming, knife cut, shrill shouts. The trees have withered, given up, resorted to their base state of dirt and mud and decomposing matter.

The hills are alive with the sound of gunfire.

Interesting times, are they not, my love?

Why won't you answer me, my love? Why won't you answer me?
09/28 Direct Link
Let me fail.

Let my application fall flat. Let them hate my personal statement.

I hope the tutors laugh at me as I come in for the interview. I wish that I can answer none of the questions.

Please, let me fail. Let me burn up bright in my exams. Let every answer I put be wrong, horrifically, wonderfully wrong.

I crave a U. I want to fail.

Please, let me lose all that I have worked towards. Please.

Let me have an excuse to abandon all this and become a writer. That is what I want.

Let me fail.
09/29 Direct Link
I has been sent.

The pain is ebbing away, even more so.

I now just have to wait.

I can look at you without being stabbed in the chest with a broken glass bottle.

My entire future rests upon one electronic document. Well, one of my entire futures.

I have a theory. That the time wasw wrong. If we had been older, it would have been fine.

I'm glad it's over.

It's a nice theory, because it absolves me of all possible blame.

I'm not sure I care anymore.

Of course I'm to blame.

Sleep will drive away these thoughts.
09/30 Direct Link
I'm finished. Spent. Sucked dry.

My hair has been cut, and my strength falls with it.

My will to live has escaped, flown through the window, more free than I will ever be.

This is a final chorus. A coda. An end to this minor music.

I no longer want to live as I have lived. I want to change. This will happen. It must. For the sake of my already questionable sanity.


This means nothing. This whole month has meant nothing. I don't know why I wrote some of the things I did.

Please understand what I am saying.