'how small we are to make so much
of all that goes unnoticed by anyone but us'

i hope nobody else finds this page; there is a great deal open to misinterpretation. i haven't been neglecting poetry. that's an obvious thing to say, because, when i don't write, i carry it with me nonetheless - but what i mean to say is that i have been writing, just not posting. as always.

life right now is complex and hapless. i need nobody to tell me what i should be doing - i have a degree of clarity and focus with regard to this - it's the moments of stasis which are frightening to me, pausing at the impasse.

that's enough. i really just wanted to share that quote with everyone.

So, yesterday, after work, before doing the sensible thing, and consuming something solid, I headed down to the pub for fun times with my workmate. Festivities commenced at around four thirty, and lasted a good eight hours, and, bearing in mind I had eating nothing but a bread roll all day, I can't be held accountable for anything I may have done, whoever I may have kissed, hugged, freestyled or shared a cigarette with.

Yes; it was one of those nights. A good time, I can safely say, was had by most.

That is, until I got home and the weight of my actions hit me, slightly. I was certainly sober enough to contemplate the general frivolity with which I approach life; the general recklessness; and whilst it is a double entendre - I repeat - I can't say no to anything. And this, you understand, is inconsistent with my general tendency to over-think and analyse my actions, as I'm doing now - and here lies my affliction. But perhaps, secretly, I'm most comfortable with all things temporary, since we're taught to think of this period in our lives as a preparation period; not real life. Not real life.

I had the worst, aching need to see him, to sit on his bed and cry, or crawl soundlessly under the covers, and it's probably that I want to be known by somebody on that fallible, open level; the almost-tragic.

I have been out three days in a row. Yesterday, I prepared very well for the alone-time. I spent the day reading and then went for a walk in the evening. I veered towards his house subconsciously but decided, quite sensibly, to stay away. I spent half an hour or so writing in a park, and then went home to find a missed call from him.

The rest is all stuffed onto the corners of the collage of all these bittersweet experiences I've been having. It's raining and I'm glad. My throat feels like roadkill.

On a more relevant topic; I have been writing, but not posting, and this is probably a good thing.

My heart is so loud today.

Yesterday I dreamed several things, but mainly that I had gone insane. I saw somebody who wasn't there, I knew they weren't there and I also knew that I was seeing them and that I couldn't stop myself from shouting to them. I hoped nobody would see me and know that I had gone insane. I forget what stimulated the onset of my mental deterioration.

It was possibly because I was talking yesterday about somebody who I thought I'd never see again. "Do you want to?" this person asked. "Yes... but not in the hope of uh... of starting anything.. more... well, just to talk" I said. This was possibly only half true. How is it possible for him to think about me calmly - without crying or writing letters? He doesn't know, that is why.

Dear God why am I not over this.

Whether you believe dreams are neurons firing, or whether you believe they are mismatched concepts from the previous day, or whether you believe they are pregnant with meaning, you can't deny that, generally, dreams are insightful.

Yesterday I had what seemed like a very long dream. A festival was involved. I left the festival and everybody there to travel alone into London and to call him. I thought that he would be around, but he said that he was in Lincolnshire, and he was saying, "But, we could still -- we should still --" and I was unable to speak.

I don't feel happy today but I can't talk to anyone and I have things to do.