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[01 Jul 2008|12:29am] |
I'm going to find out what became of Carole. I quite fancied Carole, and I think she might have liked me. Probably. She was my tutor in 2004, and she at the time loved my writing, and my hair. Said I was "individual". I still sorta want to know where she is.
Well, yanno. Why not?
Today's been another day where life lives in the soles of shoes. Never takes a shape. I haven't lived today, at all. Too many days like this. I want love, I want sex. Neither can come soon enough.
That's it for now.
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[01 Jul 2008|01:20am] |
Well, now Jackie. I think that perhaps, I should write something for you to peruse.
I haven't written about sex in such a long time.
Watch this space.
Hehehehe..
Goodnight for now, folks.
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[01 Jul 2008|10:45am] |
Another Alien dream. This one is recurring. It's always the same, and it's well brilliant. It would make a good game, in fact. The scares are delayed for extra effect. It's a bit like that bit in Super Metroid when the aliens suddenly appear.
What a game that was.
Anyway. Marine (Being me in this case) is sent to a deserted outpost to do......something or other. Funny how that's never explained, eh? Suppose it's Wayland Corporation having another joke. Dispensing one of those small flares to see, that sort of thing. It's dark out there, folks. The outpost has mechanical structures, like cranes, presumably to mine the planet or something. Yeah, I know this is boring, but it was good alright?
Inside the actual base, space is slim, and it is dark. The only light comes from the gun, and the flares, progress is slow, old computers and bits of electronic shit are everywhere. Looks like a fight happened. Bullet holes in metal walls, no trace of blood or bodies, slight goo though. What the fuck is this, man? Jesus! Shadows dangle behind hanging cables, tricks of the light..wait? What the fuck was that? Something seemed to move there, a big shadow, like a man...or is it? Too big to be a man, maybe the way the light bends.
Press on, cautiously, down the thin, winding mechanical corridors. Turning corner, back on itself, in a horseshoe, why not have an entrance straight into the goddamned control room? No incidents, but always a creeping feeling on the neck. You are alone, a wind whistles through the complex. Computer speech chatters, disguising other, more unexplainable sounds.
You can sense something there, always just two feet away, but there. Found the control room, shine light on monitors, you find something on the floor. A cb radio...walkie talkie, it's covered in some kind of shit..sticky fucking shit, like a treacly foul smelling substance. I'm adding extra detail here, this bit wasn't in the dream, but I like to flesh it out. Could make a story out of it!
Under a scanner table, a shine of the torch picks up something else. It's like a shed skin, a black and sickly thing, drop it in disgust.
That's about it. I haven't quite worked out what happens next, but it's scary. It's the scariest situation you could be in, honest. Wooooargh!
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[01 Jul 2008|11:09am] |
There's a dove that intermittently sits on the wire outside my window with a small piece of twig in it's mouth. It's doing this every so often. I think it's making a nest somewhere close!
I shall keep an eye on it. And then SMASH THE EGGS! SMASH THEM!
No, i'm joking, i'm joking. I think it's lovely.
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[01 Jul 2008|01:39pm] |
What the fuck is this nun shit on then? There's a film on called Where angels go, trouble follows, some sixties film where a bunch of nuns go on a trip of sorts. It's bollocks. I can't believe i'm watching this. At least if they were pornographic nuns I could finger myself.
This is fucking bullshit.
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[01 Jul 2008|07:32pm] |
It's the month of July, and that means that we're in the anniversary month. Yes, on the twelth the diary will be five. My bastard literary offspring. Influential in the course of my life, yet paradoxically created by my life.
Today won't go down as a highlight in it's history. I'm afraid I have had nothing to talk about all day, and at one point, I had nothing at all in my head. And it didn't feel good, let me tell you. Life is just........
Well, that. Just a dotted line.
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[01 Jul 2008|10:45pm] |
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Humidity is intrepid, unstoppable, vice like. All air is filled with it, and it does nothing to quell my dulled heart. There is an ache for an ache, an ache that longs for something to simply feel, rather than the bottomless pit that remains there. All possible emotion, is void. I feel utterly nothing, my frame is in coma, my limbs move and my heart does it's best to scream but I merely remain in an impotent silence.
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[01 Jul 2008|11:45pm] |
Like a time before when my heart felt as dead as driftwood and as useless as carrion, I watch Twin Peaks to heal my heart. My heart is not broken like that time though, far from it. I've got nothing to feel sad about, and yet I do. Don't worry, it is not comparable to those dire straits, of which I pulled myself out of, it's merely a sort of helplessness I feel at my current situation, of knowing that the only way I truly feel validated is to feed on the highs that drunken dreams give me. And when i'm sober, I feel like I barely even exist, and that every moment of that existence is done so with futility. I lie here hot and horny with no relief. But my dick is only one frustration of many, it is merely the most potent.
The rest is worse.
Still, to distract myself i've taken refuge in Lynch's wonderful world of strange small town seediness. There is one problem. I've been able to find all the episodes apart from 17-20. The viewing sequence will be ruined!
Well, fuck man!
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[01 Jul 2008|11:56pm] |
Here, I wrote something. It's a bit naughty and about nobody I know, but I wanted to write about how I currently feel, and I feel horny. So there. I wrote it and then I poeticised it.
Sometimes at night
when I lay down
I dream
of your hands upon me,
loose at first
like lightly touching
butterfly wings,
and then pressing
firmly into my chest,
waking me up,
smiling through tumbles
of hair and skin
grazing my own,
every pulse
of your body
is mine
and there inside,
every short breath
I emit is yours,
I whisper
that I love you,
but the words
are removed
by the heat between,
a collosal wave
breaks in sweat
across you and I
as I pull you onto me,
lips clash
and thunderous shots
ring out across bows,
I am cleansed
as your tongue
dances with mine,
I am baptised again,
my heart threatens
a jailbreak
under moonlit prison yards,
the heat
threatens to consume
us both,
but still we remain
like fires licking
upon camp floors
at night,
burning out
the morning dew.
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