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08/01 Direct Link

My passions for you are as radioactive decay.

As time drums onwards, so it decreases.  The once suple energy diminshes, worn away like rust-bitten steel to become a slave to the whims of the wind.

Nevertheless, even when the stars have closed their eyelids, to sleep and to dream, when the last of life has flickered into dense ash, when all the bodies that understood beauty and honour and emotions not governed by universal rules, it will still be there. A small remnant will remain, pulsating as long as there is a universe to observe it.

08/02 Direct Link
It was the strangest thing. I had gone to bed, as usual. I had dreamt of fires and devils and, for some reason, chickens. And then, when I woke up, I had gone.

Gone from my bed, from my room, from my house. From everywhere that I knew. I was gone.

I don't really know what to do, now. I seem unable to move, and all I can see it a thumping blackness.

Hopefully, someone will come to find me. I'm sure they will. I will be missed, won't I? Of course they will. Someone will fine me, I'm sure.
08/03 Direct Link
'Hey, have you seen him around lately?'

'Actually, I haven't. Not for a while.'

'Where do you think he could have got to?'

'No idea. I mean, he just comes and goes sometimes.'

'Yeah, but he always tells someone where he's going. He likes people to know that he's away. It makes him feel special.'

'Well, all I know is, he's gone.'

'I think I might go looking for him.'

'Do you really want to do that?'

'Well, I have nothing better to do right now. I'll go fine him.'

'Fine him?'

'Sorry, find him. Why did I say fine?'
08/04 Direct Link
I recently aquired the letter my Grandad recieved when he obtained his medal for fighting in Eastern Asia during World War II.

It seems that the medals weren't just handed out. You had to claim for them. I think Nan made him do it. I just can't imagine him asking for a medal. It would be too self-agrandising.

The language of the letter is interesting. Very formal, very stuffy and very polite. Reading it made me feel like someone was force-feeding me a pillow.

The paper is all brown and yellow and musty. Old, worn and delicate.
08/05 Direct Link
'You know the moon.'

'Yeah, I know the moon.'

'Well, we kind of have this thing going on.'

'What kind of thing?'

'You know. Just a thing.'

'A thing.'

'A thing. We go for sunlit walks sometimes.'

'How does that work?'

'It doesn't, really.'

'Oh.'

'I painted her a picture, once. Used my nice inks and everything. Gave it to her when we were having a picnic at night, watching the stars come out.'

'That's nice.'

'Yeah it was. But hey, don't tell anyone about us, ok?'

'Sure. If you don't want me to.'

'Yeah. She's kind of shy.'

'Oh.'
08/06 Direct Link
You know, it's rather nice here, in the dark.

It seems to have a personality of it's own. From now on, I shall call the dark Glen. Glen seems to fit it.

I don't know how long Glen and I have been stuck here. The landscape never changes. There's no wind or warmth or coldness or anything much at all. Just me and Glen.

I do apologise. Glen and I. Just because I'm trapped somewhere unknown is no excuse to allow my grammar to slip.

I'll start trying to talk to Glen. See if he knows anything about this situation.
08/07 Direct Link
After nearly a year, I have finally managed to get around to playing my double bass properly, instead of just doing the bass line to 'summer loving' for 10 minutes.

My fingers hurt.

It is such a lovely instrument. It makes a wonderful mellow sound. Like Morgan Freeman's voice in note form.

I can feel it humming under my hands, shivering as I try and make it grove, make it play the way it wants to be played. I'm afraid that I'm still a long way from that.

I'll get there.
 
I want to be able to groove with it.
08/08 Direct Link
'Hey Glen. I've been thinking about stuff. I mean, there's not much more to do here. And I've been thinking about my life so far. It's not been to bad, to be honest. Things have happened, and I wish they hadn't. Some things have happened and have been pleasant surprises. And if I analyse it, the bad and good stuff seem to balance out. Which suggests that it's all just random. That there is no great, overarching, Heavenly plan for me. There's just life. Just life.'

'...'

'Come on Glen, you could at least offer some sort of opinion, couldn't you?'
08/09 Direct Link

I'm sure that you have heard of the poem 'Ozymandias'.

That one line. 'Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'

I despair whenever I look at you. You are perfect. So very, very perfect. As if you had all the impurities, the grim and dirt, distilled out of you when you were born.

I despair because I love you. Love perfection. A perfection out of reach, slipping through my fingers like the wind, dripping off my skin like water.

All I can do is sit here, alone, worshiping your visage. All I can do is sit here and despair.

08/10 Direct Link
The panic, the sheer, horrific panic has settled into my stomach.

There is nothing I can do. I know that. I know that this irrational. But then, much of what I do is irrational, in some way.

It just feels like something is hammering away at my sides, using knives to slash at my throat, pins to prick at my skin.

Four little letters. Like little keys. Different sets unlocking various futures.

I feel sick. So sick. So sick that I don't want to wake up in the mornings. Just live in a perpetual sleep for all eternity.
08/11 Direct Link
'You know love?'

'I'm aware of it.'

'It's pretty complicated, isn't it?'

'As far as I'm aware.'

'It's like...strings.'

'Strings?'

'Strings. You meet someone, that's a string. Between you and them. The more you meet, the greater the emotional connection, the more strings there are. As feelings grow, they get stronger. And when you break up, well, those strings snap. But there are still some left, some still connecting you to the other person. They're still there, even if you don't want them.'

'What's brought this up?'

'The moon and I have hit a rough patch...'

'I'm really sorry.'
08/12 Direct Link
'Glen. Can I tell you something?'

'...'

'I'm in love with this girl. Well, I say I'm in love with her. I think about her all the time. She makes me happy. I've even tried to write poetry about her. The thing is, I just...I don't know. Can't tell her. Do you know what I'm saying?'

'...'

'I dream about her. Every time I think about her, my chest seems as if it's on fire. You ever heard 'make you feel my love'? Bob Dylan. He knows what he's talking about.'

'...'

'I can play the piano part to that, you know.'
08/13 Direct Link
-So who are all these poems for?

-What poems?

-All the poems on here?

-They're not for anyone, really.

-Not for anyone, really?'

-Well, most of them aren't written with anyone in mind. But they're for someone in the future. Someone I haven't met yet. And when I do meet them, they will be about them. That's how it works.

-Don't you think that's kind of creepy?

-Oh. I thought it was sweet. You know, romantic and nice and stuff.

-What's romantic about writing a poem which is so lacking in heart that it can be applied to any woman?
08/14 Direct Link
I was feeling sad, for no good reason, so I sat down at my piano and started to play.

I thrashed out chords, as loud as I could, hammering at the keys. I poured all of my emotions into the notes, every dischord and augmentation and minor note, filling them with the bile in my chest.

Steam rose from the keys, the body shook and the stool rocked back and forth, the music caught fire and the plastic dripped, melted into the carpet.

By the time I had finished there were no white keys left. They had all turned black.
08/15 Direct Link

If I am only to love once,
Just once. Just one person
To allow into my heart, to allow
Into my brain and finger through
My memories, trace those pictures
And add new files. To feel my soul
Wrap around them, cover them in a
Shiny film filled with ideas on morality
And the nature of God. To give myself
To someone, completely, so that I am
no longer aware of myself, my mind, my
Consciousness.

Then I would pick you, with more care than
I would pick a rose.  Even if you were to discard me
After a while, it would be worth it.

08/16 Direct Link
I got into Oxford. After all those hours of work, all those 100 words complaining about the hours of work, I managed to obtain the grades needed to enter.

Who would have thought it?

Sometimes, I wonder whether it will be worth it. I'm sure, in the dark hours of the morning, when I've had 2 hours sleep and an essay due in, I'll wonder whether it was worth it.

It will be. No matter what happens, it will be.

So now I'll have to keep the deal I made with God. I will. A deal it a deal.  
08/17 Direct Link
'Do you ever worry about yourself? I mean, that you're not very emotional. That because you tend not to feel emotional about the other things that people feel emotional about, that...well...I don't know...you're just not right?'

'...'

'Whatever right means...'

'...'

'Do you think it's bad that I've never cried over relationships, people dying, achieving anything wonderful...but I have cried over music and a gentle touch and small things. Things that mean nothing, really.'

'...'

'Whatever nothing is...'

'...'

'Come on Glen, give me something to work with. Anything at all.'

'...'

'Do you feel anything at all? At all?'


 
08/18 Direct Link
When people think about nettles,
all they remember is the time when they were young.
When those nettles, offensively green
grabbed and clawed at the skin,
left those offensive red bumps
that could never be cured by a dockleaf,
no matter what people said.

People ignore the flowers.
Those tissue paper flowers.
White and gentle with a whisper of petals.
Like an unheard cry, a tear in the night.

You could make a crowm of them,
each iris a jewel.
You could wear it and dance.
Dance in those fields that gave birth to the nettle,
the flowers.

Dance, nettle girl.
08/19 Direct Link
'You know love?'

'I suppose so.'

'I don't. Love is crazy. You finally think you've got it all figured out, and then something comes along to change your whole persepctive. At first, I was enamoured by love, captivated by it's promises. Then I hated love, for failing me and hurting me. Now...I don't know. I like it again. But in a different way. I can't explain it properly.'

'Are you talkinig about the moon again?'

'Yeah.'

'Back on speaking terms?'

'Yeah. Back together. Seeing each other again. But it's different from the first time, you know?'

'Not really.'

'Oh.'
08/20 Direct Link
Maths and books and all those equations that I thought I had finally left behind have come spilling back into my life without any thought as to how they could affect me I mean it's just not right why do I have to teach myself these things that I already know when the sun is shining and there is grass that needs to be felt underfoot and clouds that need to bo observed just to make sure they are there this does not fit in with all of that it just fails to do so so please just go away.
08/21 Direct Link
I went to visit my collage, today.

It's small, but very pretty. Caught up in the town, it has a lovely quadrangle full of old buildings and beautiful plants. The old chuch has been converted into the library and you can go and sit in the graveyard. A wonderfully morbid activity.

It really does seem to be a nice place.

I also had to buy by official gown and motorboard and white bowtie, to be worn on special occassions. Glancing at the calander, there seem to be lots of special occassions.

Only a few weeks until I go. Scary stuff.
08/22 Direct Link
'Hey Glen.'

'Good morning.'

'Hey! When did you start talking?'

'I've always talked. Don't you remember the conversations we had?'

'I swear you never said anything in them!'

'I'm afraid you must be mistaken.'

'Well, if you say so. Hey, how do you know that it's morning?'

'I don't, but it's a useful generic greeting.'

'That's fair enough.'

'So what would you like to talk about?'

'Sorry?'

'You did say hello to me. I assume you have a topic in mind?'

'Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I do. I was just wondering how long I had been in here.'

'I've no idea.'
08/23 Direct Link
Today, I bought myself a new soul mate.

Her name is Felicity. She has a gleaming white body and a wonderfully long neck. She's my new tenor saxophone.  As soon as I picked her up, I started smiling. She was special. I don't know why, but she was.

Such a wonderful sound. Mellow and low, like the hum of a bee. Or, it can be loud and brash, like a punch in the face.

It was a wonderful morning. Spending an hour in a small room playing saxophone after saxophone. If only I could spend all my time doing that. 
08/24 Direct Link
'There's so much paperwork!'

'Paperwork is important. What would we be without paperwork?'

'Happier.'

'Animals. Just animals. Without paperwork, how would we know how to contact you? How could we look after you? How could we ensure that you haven't just fallen through a hole into the middle of the earth?'

'But do I really need to tell you where I live seven times? Write out my full name twelve times? Give you streams of digits that are meaningless to everyone apart form the large beurocratic machine?'

'Yes, you do. Otherwise we wouldn't be able to follow your every move.'
08/25 Direct Link
'You know love?'

'I'm pretty sure this is the third time you've asked me that.'

'So you must be getting pretty familiar with it, then?'

'I suppose I must be.'

'Love. It has to be a two way thing. I mean, I would do anything for the moon, as long as she never asked me to do something that I couldn't do. If the moon did, well...I would know that she didn't love me. Does that make sense?'

'Yeah, I think I know what you mean.'

'So you do know love!'

'You and the moon have shown me it.'
08/26 Direct Link
'Do you think there's a higher purpose, Glen?'

'To life?'

'Yeah.'

'Well...let's assume there is a God and he has a plan for all of us. If that's true, does that mean He planned for people to die young, die alone, die in pain? That doesn't fit in with the idea of an all-loving God. And if there is no God, no higher being, then there can be no higher purpose.'

'What about a God who has a plan for you, but is dependant on your actions?'

'Doesn't that defeat the point of a plan?'

'Could do...'
08/27 Direct Link

Yes...now, it's time for you to listen.

No...just listen. I don't really get emotional. Not in public. Not with people around. But I just...

Yes there is a point. Just listen to me...

For once, I thought I would be emotional. Not just the laughing robot, but honestly emotional. Showing what I really felt, in the open, for the first time.

Yes it's true. And that's my point. You just...laughed. You just laughed...

I tried to change, to be emotional. And you didn't even care.

I mean, did you even notice?

My emotions live here now. Protected.

08/28 Direct Link
I do not like arguing. Or listening to people argue.

I'm sure not many people like it, but I think I have a certain hightened sense of fear when it happens.

I don't like seeing people angry, or sad. Making sarcastic comments. The quite tones are the worst. The gentle, slow explaining of feelings. It's like someone's pushing hot knives under your fingernails.

I think I'm too naive. Too desperate to believe in a world where nothing bad ever happens and everyone is nice to each other all the time. I don't like realising that that world does not exist.
08/29 Direct Link
I'd finally found him. After all that time searching.

It wasn't easy. There was still no indication as to whether he had simply left, or whether more sinister devices had been at work.

But that didn't matter now. All that mattered was that he was behind this door. This simple, pale door, flecking paint like a skin disease. A turn of the knob, and then the darkness behind the door would melt away, like the wicked witch.

There would be light. Sunshine, golden and streaming, pushing out the shadows until not even a drop of dark remained.

Just a turn...
08/30 Direct Link
'Ahh! What the hell have you done?'

'What? What do you mean? I found you! Didn't you want that?'

'What the hell have you done to Glen? Where's Glen? Where is he?'

'Glen? Who's Glen? There's nobody else here!'

'Glen! Glen! Glen, where are you? Come back Glen! I still need to talk things through with you!'

'Who's Glen! There's no-one else here but you and me!'

'Well not any more! You killed Glen!'

'There is no Glen!'

'Shows how much you know! Glen understood me!'

'Please, who's Glen?'

'...Glen...God. Glen...'

'Please?'

'I'll miss you, Glen.'

'Glen?'

'Glen.'
08/31 Direct Link
It was a quiet journey home. Tension like the car was full of electrical wire, each person trying to avoid getting burned.

They dropped him back at his house. He said a goodbye, short and stiff and formal. They returned it with a sigh and drove away.

He walked into his house and went about a normal routine. The rest of the day passed and soon, with the sun blinking, it was time for bed.

He locked himself in, turned off the lights, undressed and went to bed. Closed his eyes and saw the darkness.

'Glen?'

'I'm here.'

'I'm glad.'