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09/01 Direct Link
He was sitting out the front of a Parisian cafe. There was a small band opposite. Drums, violins, accordian and vocals.

The music was gentle and infused with a dance. A hop on that beat, a twirl there and...yes, a skip and clap when the voilin did that sharp trill. The vocals were in French. He couldn't understand a word, but it seemed happy. Like the song one would play when two very shy people finaly got married. They would dance to this music quietly, glancing nervously at each other.

He sipped his green tea and contined to listen.
09/02 Direct Link
Wild young hippy, born in Mississippi
Flowers in his hair, taking drugs, getting trippy.
But he's
Too late to rebel against the state
The 70's are over, it wasn't in his fate to
March with a sign, now everything is fine
All he can do now is walk in line.

So life didn't turn out how you wanted it to be.
You're not toppling governments, you're love's no longer free.
It's been several years since you last hugged a tree, so yes,
life didn't turn out how you wanted it to be.

***

One day I'll just fly away and live in a cloud. I will.
09/03 Direct Link

'It's less than a month until I move.'

'How are you feeling about it?'

'I'm not sure. I mean, yes, I'm excited. Yes, I will have a wonderful time. It's just...I've never been good with new people.'

'It can be tricky.'

'Yes, it can. I find it difficult to know what to say. But I'm sure I will find people to talk to.'

'I'm sure you will.'

'And if I don't, I'll always have you.'

'Yeah...you will.'

'What?'

'Well, I've just been thinking that you should start to rely less on me. Rely on real people instead.

09/04 Direct Link
There was a sweet smell in the air. A hint of lemon and cut grass.

He held her hand as they wandered through the wildflowers, carefully avoiding the pinks, whites and purples that slept through the sticky heat of the morning. He was so engrossed in trying to avoid damaging the flowers that he barely noticed that her hand had slipped from his. That she has slowed down to a stop.

He turned around and saw her, frowning gently. It started to rain, the hot, heavy rain of summer. It refreshed her face, giving her a previously unnoticed beauty.
09/05 Direct Link
'Do you love me?'

That was painful. He did love her, and he thought that he showed it with every action. For her to question it made it seem as if he was failing.

Rain dripping off his hands, he walked over to her and pulled her close. She smelt of the summer, of the fresh rain, of some wonderful memory, only half discovered.

'You are such stuff as dreams are made of.'
 
He pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. She smiled without any enthusiasm and walked ahead of him, letting the rain cool her thoughts.
09/06 Direct Link

I got myself a bubble today.

A nice big bubble, all thick and glossy with little rainbows running across the surface.

It's rather stable. I once tried to burst it with a few pins and nails and even got my friend to hit it with a plank of wood. It didn't burst, so I think it should be able to survive most thinks.

It means I'll be able to keep clean and won't have to talk to many people, which can only be a good thing.

I'll be very happy within my bubble. It'll protect me from the whole world.

09/07 Direct Link
In some instances, there are no words. They're just not subtle enough.

Words like pain don't really describe pain. It fails to capture the sinking, pricking feelings and heaviness. The slow purple colours that slump across your eyes. The four letters fail.

Love. Words cannot describe that feeling. How it flows and churns, how colours flash and burn and all those sleepless nights. The word doesn't live up to the reality. It can't.

Words are too slow and ridged and unimaginative.

There are no words to describe you. They all fail, like they always do. Words fail me. Words fail.
09/08 Direct Link
Those petals felt like cloth, newly washed. Smooth and warm and so gentle that it made you want to fall alsleep.

The leaves were harder, more real, more focused. Thin plates of metal jutting outwards.

Stems heavy green, so green that they were almost black, with thin slivers of yellow dripping down. Offset by the lighter, more airy petals of cream, looking as if they would float away given the chance.

The smell was subtle. Gentle. A whisper in your ear, a light touch on your shoulder. It spoke of warmer days, of rain and the dank headiness of soil.
09/09 Direct Link
19. It's a rather boring age. Nothing really special happens. I'm happy to delve into general apathy about this birthday.

I enjoyed walking with you. And yes, I am writing about it instead of being creative. Because I would like to remember that afternoon.

It really was a beautiful day. Pleasantly warm and bright, highlighting the colours without blinding them. The ducks were laughing and flowers were dancing and it was ever so peaceful you almost thought that you had died.

It was a lovely way to spend a birthday. It made me very happy. Thank you for doing that.
09/10 Direct Link
Harry was worried. There was something wrong with the trees.

The leaves were turning the wrong colour. Where they had once been green like large grasshoppers perching on the branches, they were now dull yellow and brown.

No longer did they stand tall, soldiers on guard. Instead they were wilting and crumbling, falling away to the ground, giving up their grasp on life.

Harry was certain there was a conspiracy going on. Someone wanted those leaves to die. He wasn't sure who and he wasn't sure why. But someone wanted them gone. And he would find them. 
09/11 Direct Link
Yesterday I was transformed into an ant. I didn't mind being an ant, really.

I don't know why. Maybe I had mispleased God. Maybe I was part of a government scientific experiment. Who knows?

It was, as you would imagine, rather strange. I didn't really see colours. Instead, I felt them with my antennae.

Red felt like warm sand trapped between your toes. Green like the first bite into and apple filled with mint and cinnamon. Purple like a dull thumping headache. Blue like a breeze during the start of winter.

After a while, I turned back into me.
09/12 Direct Link
My breath quickened. My heart echoed.

Every vile thing I had ever done, every foul thought and stinking, rotting actions all started to manifest themselves. A darkness crept across my mind and restricted my field of vision.

It took all my mental strength to keep myself away, to not fall into the void. To not let every little thing that I hated about myself become real and eat away at my body. I screamed inside and fought back, pushed away the horror, at my sordid underbelly and once again became me. The gentle me, that doesn't want to slip away.
09/13 Direct Link
To was too early in the morning to call the time late. Someone was making noise in the communal kitchen. Assuming a theif wouldn't stop to make tea, she wandered over to see what was happening.

There he was. Making some tea.

'What are you doing up?'

He turned to her, not in the least surprised at seeing her.

'I just had one of those moments where I was suddenly aware of all the evil potential that resides within my body, which eventually gave way to a realisation of my morality and my inability to escape it, not matter what.'
09/14 Direct Link
She gave him a blank look. He returned it with a small, worried smile.

'It happens sometimes. So when it does, instead of fixating upon it and getting dangerously depressed, I make tea.'

She ran a hand through her hair and gave him a sad look.

'Would you like some?'

'No...no. I'm fine. Thank you, though.'

'That's ok.'

He continued making the tea whilst she stood in the doorway, wondering whether she should say anything.

'You don't have to say anything. You can just go back to bed if you like. Honestly. I'll be fine.'

Nodding, she went back.
09/15 Direct Link

There was a time when, once
My head would turn to you.
My mind would unfold, unpetal, de-robe
And soke in all that you had to say.
Drink in you voice, digest and transform it
Into a reason to live, just for today, just for that voice.

I would devour your smell.
You smelt like a soft memory of childhood,
Of a creeping happiness, rose and sugar.

Time became jealous. It took you away from me,
Hid you from my adoring eyes. Time wanted you
All to itself. It wanted you to sing and dance
For it's pleasure only.

You went.

09/16 Direct Link
Are they beautiful?

I've never considered them to be. They just...are. There. Put down in a moment of haste and regret. Products of a disease that I lost control of a long time ago.

I often wish that they were beautiful. Beautiful enough to paint pictures in the mind, evoke emotions and whisper truths that would make people smile and sing. 

I fail, and I know I fail. But I can cope with that. I keep working.

But if someone thinks that they are beautiful, then all I can say is, thank you, and thank you again. 

09/17 Direct Link
All that are left are old battles, old pathways that have been trodden many times before.

These fingers have flittered over those keys, those notes. Worn down the plastic until smooth and dull. Worn down the same solos until dulled and dusty. Until they crumble into emptyness.

Originality has dried up. Evaporated. The ruts have been too well-dug to allow further movement, further creativity.

All I can do is play that lick again, move those fingers that fast again. Use that major seventh, that flattened third, just like you always do. Play it, just like you always do. Play.
09/18 Direct Link
It's turning cold.

The sun is still languishing in the air. The sky is still as blue as a think sheet of pale ice.

But instead of this being warming, comforting, all enveloping, it's cold. The wind prickles and stabs and laughs. It turns your face drunken red and dabs your eyes with dew.

Now is the time to detest the morning. To cocoon yourself in wool and knitted-wear.

It means I'm going to become a worse pianist. The cold will stiffen my fingers, make them unable to flow and flitter like butterflies or drunken snakes.

The cold comes.
09/19 Direct Link
I was so tired. So tired. Of feeling so sad and horrible. Of you running through my mind with a knife, slashing and hacking away, giggling all the while. Of my tortuous memories plucking my muscles and keeping me awake at night.

So I dissected them out. I anethatised the areas that I wanted to remove and, with a still hand, cut them out. Took away the parts of me that I hated and that hated me.

After I had finished, I placed those parts in a jar and dissolved them in an excess of acid, making a solution.
09/20 Direct Link
He would ride the trains whenever he could. He didn't need to go anywhere. Instead, he would ride them in order to stare at the pretty girls who would get on.

There was one right now. Dark hair contrasting with pleasantly pale skin. He couldn't get a glimpse of her eyes as they were constantly cast down, reading a book. He imagined them to be dark and foggy, like soot.

She never once glanced at him, even when she moved to get off the train. It didn't matter to him. Another girl would sit down, and the journy would continue.
09/21 Direct Link
The flowers have died. It didn't take them long.

Sighing, the bowed their heads, unwilling to look once more at the sunlight that filtered through the windows, becoming grubby and oily. The warmth of the day faded like paint. Like an old man's eye-sight. Coldness crept in and fingered those leaves, rusting them away to mulch. It touched the petals, breathed on them, turning silk to rot.

There was nothing to be done. They had to go. No metaphors of mortality in my bedroom. No place for corruption of beauty. So the flowers went. What else could I do?
09/22 Direct Link

'What would you say if I told you I loved you?'

'Well...I suppose I would ask, how do you know?'

'How do I know?'

'How do you know that you love me? I mean, it's a big thing to say. Love is a...really important thing. Wars have been fought because of it. People have killed others and themselves for it. It's not something that should just be thrown around because of an awkward silence, or to try and get out of trouble, or used in a casual way. It's important to mean it. Really mean it.'

'I see.'

09/23 Direct Link
One day, I will tell you about the time that I lifted you so high that you were able to kiss the ceiling.

One day, I will tell you about the time that you tried to post a toy car down my double bass, when you gave me pictures to take to uninversity, when you jumped on the bed, when you took my hand as I helped you down the stairs, when you shouted 'baa' at the top of your voice, when you all sat on my piano stool and slapped at the keys.

One day, I'll tell you.
09/24 Direct Link
I lost my heart the other day. I don't know where it went. 

Deciding to take it for a walk, I wrapped my heart in a thick cloth to protect it from the cold and immersed myself in the months glory. We walked through the park, empty of human life. Tired from carrying it so far, I gently placed it on a bench and chose to wander in the wind by myself. When I returned, it had gone.

Why would someone take my heart? It's not worth anything to anyone but me. I hope I'll find it again soon.
09/25 Direct Link
He moulted, all the time. 

A scratch of the head, and long hairs would curl around his fingers to be brushed on to the floor. Rubbing his nose, small flakes of skin would shed. Teasing at his jeans, wispy threads would fall away, leaving a trail of blue fluff.

He was afraid that, one day, he would just fade away. Every little part of him would just melt off, skin dripping, bones crumbling, mind slipping, just slipping away.

This was why he wrapped himself in cling-film. To make sure he kept all of his parts together. 
09/26 Direct Link
Yesterday was my last day playing with the local band before I head off.

I was allowed to pick some of the music we played. They even gave me a present; a saxophone stand. They said they had seen my saxophone languishing on a chair far too often.

It was a very sweet thing to do, and I was very touched. I'll miss them and the songs that they play.

I'll only be away for eight weeks. I'm sure I'll be playing with them again. They often need someone to fill in.

Goodbye my little band. It was fun playing.
09/27 Direct Link
It was the strangest thing. I saw a heart left, uncared for, on a park bench.

Why would someone leave their heart alone? It makes no sense.

The poor thing looked so cold, so weak and gentle. I took it in my hands and held it close to me, warming it against me. Slowly, it started to beat faster, beat stronger, turn a more vivid colour of red.

I decided to take it home with me. I would look after it, unlike its old owner.

Walking home, I clutched it to  my chest, its beats matching my own heart.
09/28 Direct Link
I've just got my timetable through for university. The workloads looks a bit...intimidating.

To be fair, that's probably due to the fact that I have spent several weeks not doing anything.

It's quite exciting, looking at all the lectures and experiments I'm going to be doing. It makes me feel all grown-up.

Soon I will be wearing suits all the time and speak in a monotone and grow a beard and have a permenantly glazed look in my eyes. Just like real grown-ups.

I hope I'll still have the time to continue doing this. I hope.
09/29 Direct Link

'Do you believe in an afterlife?'

'I do.'

'Why?'

'Well...I don't really know. It's certainly not through choice. I don't like the idea of eternity. Freaks me out.'

'How come?'

'I just hate the idea of being concious forever. I mean, no matter how wonderful an afterlife it is, eventually it's going to get boring. And I don't like being bored.'

'So what would you prefer instead?'

'Something like the Buddhists. Were after you die, you keep coming back to earth in various forms. This place is such a lovely place. Why would you ever want to leave it?'

09/30 Direct Link
September fell, along with the leaves.

It breathed its final sigh, a cold, sharp sound that slapped through the walls that I had used to cocoon my poor body.

The light days that filled me up with bubbles and energy have given way to a dank, covering darkness. A gentle darkness that sleeps and groans softly and whispers that a chill is coming, full of little frost-sprites that nip at your nose and tease their teeth into your fingers.

Soon it will be a time to wear hats and gloves and scarfs and have nice warm toast with butter.