11/01 Direct Link
The chemistry lesson was moving along slowly, so I took some safety goggles and a piece of paper. I attached both to the wall, and drew a smile on the paper.

'His name is Malcom.' I announced to the class in general.

'He will answer and questions that you have, both scientific and emotional. He has a degree in philosophy and sniffs glue on the weekend.'

Most people ignored me, as they so often do. I decided to talk to Malcom about this.

'People ignore me, Malcom.'

'You should leave them alone and stop trying to impose yourself on them.'
11/02 Direct Link
'David, sit down an stop talking to yourself.'

I sat down and stopped talking to myself. Whilst doing my work, I would glance up at Malcom and give him a wave, just to make sure he didn't think that I had forgotten him.

Malcom stayed on the wall with his smile hovering over us.

'Could someone take that down? It's...slightly creepy.' One of my classmates asked.

'I'm not sure Malcom would like that.' I said in reply.

'He may just seem to be a piece of paper and safety goggles, but he is much, much more, aren't you?'

11/03 Direct Link
It feels like I have finally woken up.

I'm not really sure what happened. There was a peroid of strangeness. Of horrible inactivity.

It was very rusty and bellowed out choking smog that scratched at the eyes and pierced the throat. Where the whole world was dripped in oil, sticky and slippery and dark. The sort of dark that, the more you try to wash off you, the more it seeps into you.

I feel like I can fly again.

I feel like me. I haven't felt like me for a long time. It's a nice feeling. I am me.
11/04 Direct Link
'You see,' Malcom continued, 'I have been given the gift of speech and an understanding of self awareness. I have hopes, dreams, loves and expectations. Whilst a smile is drawn on my face, I still comprehend all forms of emotion. All it means is that I can't always give a suitable response.'

The teacher sighed.

'If you care about it...'


'If you care about Malcom enough to make that speech, then you can keep him on the wall.'

'Thank you. Malcom is thankful.'

The lesson ended. We shuffled out, glad that we had a moment of rest from learning.
11/05 Direct Link

It took a while for people to warm to Malcom.

Soon, though, everyone was talking to him. More and more characters started to appear on the walls, each with their own unique personalities.

There was Billybob, a man with scissors for eyes and a pasta moustache. He played the banjo and was prone to voilent outbursts.

Hail-Maria, a stern Nun with a broken test tube for a nose, who disapproved of everything.

Then there was everyone's favourite, Phillipious. He had a Greek accent and said those thoughts that normal people would not say out loud in polite company.

11/06 Direct Link
I don't even know why I did it. You asked me to do it.

(You didn't really ask me to do it, not seriously)

(I don't think)

(I don't know) 

I'm not sure if you will even remember the conversation. You may think that I am strange (That doesn't often happen, ha, ha).

Now I'm just sitting here with ink stained hands and a scratching feeling that I've done something wrong. Maybe I have.
(Maybe I haven't)

It reminded me how much I used to enjoy art. I really do enjoy drifting ink onto a virgin white page.
11/07 Direct Link
Drizzle is rather refreshing, but it's not what I enjoy walking in.

Give me globs of raindrops that grundge down from the sky and hurl themselves at the pavement. I want the rain to strike my face as if it held a personal grudge.

It should worm its way through my clothes and onto my skin, chilling my body, making me cold enough for a coffin.

The rain should scream at as comes down, in agony, fear or exultation.

When I see it stream pass the streetlight, it should look like comets falling from the sky, tails ablaze and glorious.
11/08 Direct Link
I saw my face in the mirror today. I very often see my face when I look in the mirror.

It was there. It had eyes and ears and a mouth and a nose. Everything was in place. It was, to all intents and purposes, a normal face.

I recognised it. Every contour, speck and tittle. It was a face that had left for a while.

It's back. It's smiling a smile that a Canadian street entertainer in Edinburgh once called 'beautiful'.

This is the face I want to keep, from now on. It's a face I can talk to.
11/09 Direct Link
'Hello David.'

'Hello face.'

'So. Why didn't you like me?'

'I'm not entirely sure. I think that I thought that if I mocked you and hated you, then everything would be better.'

My face made a face.

'What kind of twisted, half-baked logic is that?'

'I never said that what I did was rational.'

'It was idiotic.'

'It was.'

My face gave me  sardonic smile.

'Did it work?'

'Mocking you so nice things would happen? No. No, it didn't.'

'So stop it.'

'I will. I have. I like you much more now.'

'Good. I like you more too.'
11/10 Direct Link
Yeah, play that thing, play it so fast that the notes start to feel sick and throw up.

Faster and faster, with that, yeah...that beat. In the left hand. Simple, like a hook.

The guitar, oh man yeah, the guitar. Chords chords chords and, like, a solo, a finger melting solo with twangs and slides. Infectious like a virus. That's right, yeah, a virus.

When should they stop? They shouldn't stop. Yeah. Keep on going, until everything catches fire. I want the music to burn. Yeah.

Those are good fingers. Some really good fingers, you know?

Yeah. You know.
11/11 Direct Link
I would love you forever, if only you would let me.

I don't think you will ever fully realise how you look to me. Ink on a page, a fixed form that seems to be constantly shifting and flowing. Like a couplet in a sonnet.

I would idolise you, if you would permit me.

I would create monuments and temples and sacrifice doves to your name. I would write and re-write holy scriptures.

There is a passion in this small frame and boney smile. A passion that fingers through my hair and brushes my eyes. A passion that waits.
11/12 Direct Link
'It's just one of those things, isn't it? Everything seems to be going well, life is wonderful and you are surrounded by people who care, but you still feel sad. You know it's wrong to do so, but you still have lead in your chest.'

'I don't think there is anything wrong with being sad. What's wrong is when you start looking for sadness.'

'That's true. At least I know that this isn't a feeling I want anymore.'

'You want to go kick a duck?'

'Why would I want to do that?'

'I don't know. It always cheers me up.'
11/13 Direct Link
A certain kiss.

The kiss lingered, like perfume. It took its time, unhurried. Hands melted onto cheeks and explored their way through hair.

It was a kiss that had nothing to prove. It was not looking to be an inspiration for a painting. It did not want to be written down as a meoldy. The kiss simply wanted to be an expression of love. The binding between two people who had surrendered themselves so fully that they were comfortable to give up their sense of self and become one entity.

It was interrupted by a teenager shouting 'Get a room!'
11/14 Direct Link

There was a blowsy November song, the trees whistling a high B as we
walked over the patheticness of dead leaves.
The scarf was snaked-wrapped round your neck and the wind
froze an ice glittering smile on your face.
It froze everything, from my fingers to this memory.
You skipped to me, grabbed my hand as we passed
drizzling grey buildings.
I could feel the cold climbing through my body and all I wanted to do was
press you ever closer and feel your breath against my cheek while
the trees kept on whilstling a high B for the November song.

11/15 Direct Link
Bombarded with letters. Constantly being followed by impersonal men in grey suits who hold a measuring stick against our body and brain.

They are obsessed with our growth. They want to see how far we can possibly reach and climb and strive without yielding.

I don't think that they realise that they are pouring salt on our roots, lacing the earth with poison. Killing us to measure us. They cannot leave us alone. Everything must be documented. Everything must be projected and extrapolated.

Even if we die in the process. Even if we fall to the ground and rot forever.
11/16 Direct Link
Every time I hear the buzzing of my phone, the tingling sensation against my leg, I pick it up hoping that it's you.

I try to stop myself. I honestly do. Still...every time I want to see your name and your words on the screen.

I would like to take a walk with you and see how we would talk. Whether we would laugh.

There is no time. There is never any time.

Every time my phone goes off, I look in hope. Most of the time, it's my phone company telling me they have updated my text allowance.
11/17 Direct Link
Some memories:

The first time I held you. You were so small, and I was terrified you would fall away.

Being ill, lying on the sofa, listening to Robin Hood on tape as my mum did the ironing. She brought me my lunch on a tray.

You said is so quietly that I hardly thought you had said it at all. It was a nice thing to say, even if it may not have been true.

Laughing at a burger.

Getting two letters from authors who very kindly gave me advice.

Getting ever so slightly high on ether fumes.
11/18 Direct Link
'You can step out in front of a car any time. You could even do it right now. Why don't you? It's very simple. Just walk into the road. That's all you have to do. It could be any car, any colour, any size. Look. There's an ambulance. Step out in front of that. Go down in a blaze of irony.'

Irony is killing my soul.

I don't like the thoughts I have when I'm alone. The thoughts seem so strange that I don't think I am thinking them. I don't even know who me is, anymore.

Who am I?
11/19 Direct Link
'Screw this meaningless existence! I'm going travelling!'

I went travelling.

'W.H Davis!'


'I want to be a super-tramp, just like you!.'

'I wouldn't suggest that.'

'Why not?'

'I lost my leg jumping off a train.'

'Ok. I'll stay away from trains. But surely your life must be so much more fulfilled now that you have rejected the material world. Now that you...'

'Actually, I sold out.'

'And escaped from capitalist...wait. You sold out?'

'Yup. I've created a Davis brand. There are Davis dolls and mugs and t-shirts saying 'I have time to stand and stare!'.'
11/20 Direct Link
I left W.H Davis to sell his dolls and mugs and t-shirts. I went to see Garibaldi. Garibaldi would understand me.

'You understand me, don't you Garibaldi?'

'Of course I do!'

'Thank goodness. I was beginning to think...'

'You want to overthrow your autocratic rulers and self-determine the rule of your country.'

'That's not really what I...'

'A bloody revolution is what you need. We will take back this country for the people. Che will help, won't you Che?'

'Of course.'

'Hey! Where did you come from?'

'I was helping to build an extention for Garibaldi's house.'
11/21 Direct Link
I'm reading 'Something happened' by Joseph Heller. I have never related to a book more.

'I get depressed and I don't know why; I mourn for something and don't know what; (legless) I walk around with jitters, headaches, and sadness ballooning and squiggling around inside me that seems to belong to somebody else.'

It seems like some of the words on the page have been pillaged from my brain. Like someone has finally understood what I have been talking about, what I am always talking about. The person who wrote this knows me.

I am alive and I am dead.
11/22 Direct Link
Things seem to be coming to a natural end. Splintering like sheets of ice. Like the final cadence of a song.

It feels right. The chord feels complete, like a full stop. Sometimes I wish the song could be repeated; even the dischordant parts bring some form of comfort. However, I would soon sicken of it, and consequently die.

I look forward to the beginning of the new piece. A new rhythm, with new melodic ideas and interpretations. I want to escape from the old song and sink into an unknown harmony.

Wash me in music. Music, cleanse my soul.
11/23 Direct Link

An autopsy.

Let's start with the chest.
Snicker through the skin with the scalpel,
peel back the dulled coat and show
the bones and blood. The real stuff.

Not in perfect condition, but 
who is?
Slight chips in the ribs and chest.
Been hit too many times, one imagines.

Away with those too, saw at the arches 
lets get to the crpyt beneath, hurry up, no need 
to care, he can't complain any longer. 
Not this goner.

Ah. There it is. 
The still, quiet heart. 

Rather worn. 

Used once.

No longer. 

11/24 Direct Link
'I had to go to the bank today.'


'Because I am a year older, they can now pay me less interest on my savings. I had to give them my signature to allow them to do so.'

'So you went to the bank to give them permission to screw you over?'

'Pretty much. The scary thing is that I'm now fully responsible for what I do with my money. I can go overdrawn. I can have a credit rating. I don't want this to happen.'

'You could always run away.'

'That's a good suggestion. I might just do it.'
11/25 Direct Link
I ran away to Indonesia. I asked someone to come with me, but they had other arrangements.

I hitch-hicked my way there, making money as a story-teller. My streaming words would draw crowds. They would laugh and applaude and cry and gasp and give me money before they realised I was essentially an entertaining begger.

I would draw landscapes as I travelled. I tried to capture the motion of man, wanting my drawings to walk off the page. I never quite managed it.

When I got the Indonesia there were elephants. I was very glad there were elephants.
11/26 Direct Link
I think I would like to fall in love.

It would be nice, meeting up with someone you care about, talking and walking, trying to make them laugh and enjoying their smile.

The sky outside is beautiful, and it would be nice to be able to take a picture of it and send it to them, saying 'Isn't the sky beautiful?' and have them reply that this is indeed the case.

Folding into them, heads locking on shoulders, fingers zipping together, hair twisting. Love.

I don't think I'll find it at the moment. But one day, sometime in the future.
11/27 Direct Link

'Are you ok?'

'Yeah. I just fell in something. What is it?'

'Oh, you just fell in love.'

'I fell in love?'

'Yup. That's ruined your clothes. You'll never be able to get rid of it.'

'That's horrible.' *sniff* 'Wow! Love stinks! That's a...that's a horrible smell.'

'Come on. Get up and I'll take you home. You can put on some clean clothes and have a shower.'

'Someone should really clean that up instead of allowing innocent, unassuming people to fall in it.'

'Complain to the council.'

'I will. They shouldn't leave love just lying about. It's awful.'
11/28 Direct Link
His stubble was a forest of dulled greasy pins. He would rub his hand across it often, whenever he had to think.

He was thinking right now. Eventually, he came to a conclusion.

Everyone was mad. Apart from him, because he wasn't everyone.
Everyone was stark-raving mad. Insane. Unable to hold a rational thought in their head. Everyone slobbered and dripped with insanity, screaming insanity, dreaming insanity.

They slept in it and washed in it and worked in it and talked in it.

He was the only non-crazy person left in the entire world. How crazy is that?
11/29 Direct Link
'I remember that I was on a bus in Belgium. I was looking out the window at flats. They were in one solid clump, so that they looked like wallpaper. Then I saw a girl leaning out of a window, blowing bubbles. I fell in love with her right that very second.'

'What did she look like?'

'I'm not sure. But she was blowing bubbles.'

'You said.'

'Brown, I think. Brown hair and brown eyes and a brown top.'

'What did you do?'

'I waved at her.'

'What happened?'

'She waved back. Then the bus pulled away. I loved her.'
11/30 Direct Link
'Hey Malcom. Can you name me a radical cation?'

'A radical cat? How about Chairman Meow?'

'Oh Malcom, you're the best.'

It was the final day of term. The chemsitry lesson had started off well, but had soon decended into chaos and people singing 'Fairytale of New York.'

People had put paper crowns on the heads of the characters that adorned the classroom and gave them all some mulled wine. Malcom had become slightly tipsy and had made a pass at Hail-Maria. It was not well recieved.

The lesson ended. We waved goodbye.

It had to end. Some time.