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Sunday, October 02, 2005

Daphney I'm still with, but I know I won't be forever. She's taking more from me than I can take from her. Her friends are out of bounds, when she knows all of mine and spends time around us. When she's closer to half of them than I am, and I have to watch as she sits on the couch with them, showing me unwittingly what things I'm missing. Then she tells me she has no friends, and my heart hits my ribs as I try and rationalise why it bugs me so much. I think... Those feelings should be mine: I lived for so long with no one beside me, with meaningful relationships reduced to constituent feelings. Each person a compartment for some aspect of me. She unified all that, and I poured myself into us. Maybe I should've held more back: she's exhausted me. There's nothing for me to show her or tell her. And she's still locked up, closed to me.

I don't know. I haven't been stunningly happy in a while. Everything I build with her seems to fade now. What do I have new to give her?

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

I'm never amicable when tired, and I get scared. Everything takes on super-significance. Does she hate me now? Why are her feet so metronomic? Why is everything so loud? What are people thinking? What does it matter if the world runs on money? What's the point of debates? What's the point of this day? Why am I still here?

It's like my brain is shivering, coming up with these absurdities to keep itself warm...

Monday, September 19, 2005

Analytical and explorative is the mood on this day on my timetable. 4 Lessons of pure, pure maths (at least today, when we're not doing silly numerical methods). And then 3 of stealthy German literature.

Mmm... I love sitting, pressing the headphones as close as possible to my skull. Drowns out morons as I attack the next problem, smiling, smiling as I've got them right or next to right, or even far from right, but fixable.

I haven't written anything in ages. Thanks for those who still check round. I don't know how long it'll take me to get back into writing fairly frequently. I'm going downstairs. I don't work past nine o clock. I'll write soon.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Watching the people get excited about Kaiser Chiefs in the common, room, jumping around and looking pleased with themselves. Then a ten minute music channel flip: are there even that many?

Peering through my glasses at objects, having fun with the world. Slinkys look magical as ripples, sines, are shot along them. I got up a standing wave for a few minutes, but the beauty in the metal distracts me and I lose the rhythm.

My teacher looks at me like I'm crazy. He doesn't have a physics degree, and he doesn't see anything beautiful in anything. Speaking of wondrousness, maths has finally become imaginary, and it's even better than I could've hoped for. And my work habits have improved, as well. Oh, the teacher's a hardcore christian maniac.

Otherwise, I want to go to university sooner than I can. If I were just born on time, I'd be gone...

Friday, September 09, 2005

My summer's been great, but arriving back my mother and I fractured our relationship. I'm not grateful enough; she has a different persona for each different guest. Which leads to me ignoring her: if she's not going to play at being a mother, I won't bother with being a son.

I don't like how she sees America: a bastion of friendliness. Homely. She still thinks England is how it was back in the 70s, when she arrived. Grey, dismal.

To me London is everything. I don't care for pretty buildings, or for order and cleanliness. I like the ramshackle, organic feeling. To navigate the spindly streets is enjoyable. Crossing when it feels good, taking back alleyways with friends in close tow. Surrounded by history that makes everything seem... Washed out?

These aren't only English things, just like her virtues aren't solely American. I thought I was past teenage stage, and could relax at home, but obviously not. What she thinks is being generous is just reasonable to me.

Hm. Maybe it's because she went back to work, and when she's home she expects everything to be the same. Even though I've come home to a horribly empty, large house, spectres hanging in the rooms, unobserved. Until I check every room I can't even tell who's home.

But yeah, there's a feeling building. I'm burned out at the end of every day, which makes Fridays doubly dead. I don't think she's realising how hard I'm working. Maybe because she works just as hard, if not harder. I can't wait to be in university. She knows it, and it hurts her. Within three years she'll have no kids at home. 20 years of parenting, and we're gone.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Abandoned at the end of school, all my real friends gone away with no glances up as I walked away yesterday. All in this case means two, but I love them and they mean enormous things to me. Another friend I had plans to do nothing with, to absorb the odd, swirling calm at the end of things. She cancelled.

Today was the real last day, and I played football in the complete vacuum of activity. Yesterday I meditated on the field, seeing a boat that was too small for me and a guide who had nothing to say.

End of school is nothing in some ways. No parties, or none that I want to find out about. No goodbyes. Just a jumbled fade to nothing. Next year there's a new staff.

I feel funny. My life is vested in Daphney, all of it supported on her back. When she's not here, there's people to ring up who turn down my invitations, and never offer any back. It's probably better to only have a few close friends, but when they're not around, I go back to old things.

Playing football on the field, spending empty minutes on an empty day, making empty jokes.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

The shag carpet looks like mincemeat to her. She softly laughs, holding her tears in check. Talking on the phone and watching TV, she neglects the conversation. Murmuring disagreement instead of pity, she realises that that particular friend is over.
She doesn't really care tonight.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

The absence of any weight acting on my pressured brain has created one, right through my heart, drawing on every breath. I have five more exams, but they're not for over a week so they may as well not exist.
Limbo's funny.

Reading John Updike, my own thoughts feel more full and rounded. Every subconsciously phrased, personal message seems to me beautiful and worthy of paper, but I don't have any and so they drift away. Cinders.

Rabbit Run was so complete and dense. Some of it was horrific, but mostly it just seems true. I know he's a man, but when he writes about women it strikes me as true.

Lots of things seem true to me though... As far as I can tell, women, men... Not like I'm in any real position to judge. But I feed her love and it grows and grows and grows. Her voice reaches out from inside her chest and tells me secrets; secrets that she passes off as nothing.
For a while, men were just bastards and women a million times subtle, and superior. Now no one knows where they're going.

I don't even know now. Like Rabbit Run. All I know is what I feel. Like the Unbearable Lightness of Being. I never get to repeat my actions, so I'll never know what was best.

People just try their hardest. I don't know. I felt like writing, to see if beautiful words spilt out. They didn't, really.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Damn, man. Tired and lonely isn't where I wanted to be. It feels nice to make the clack of the keys though, and watch the words appear, disjointed as ever.

Billy Corgan's blog is amazing.

Sometimes it seems like no matter how happy I get, there's always something lurking. Secretive Daphney and I feel inadequate, out of the loop. Promises look hollow and vague.
Waking up with her is the nicest. Legs looping into each other. Languid, lazy, naked.
The worst part is uncertainty. I don't know where we'll be even tomorrow, sometimes. Things that bug me stay with me. I'm not low maintenance, and insecurity is going to live in me. I'm just looking for someone to tell me how much I mean.

Oh I don't know. I've loved one person, ever. I know shit about the world, I guess. Just a vaguely pretentious, needy, deluded and judgemental kid.

I miss Leticia. I miss lots of people.


Saturday, May 07, 2005

Why is the sky so beautiful?

The sky has majesty, but it's open to anyone. Just look up! The black clouds are chasing the ones tinted orange by the delicious sun. That cloud looks like a scribble in my work. I wonder what it's hiding. The skinny ones behind it wisp about, static on the conveyor belt that brings me cloud upon cloud for pleasure and interpretation and love. It brings the same chilling, warm feeling as 'I love you', and 'Fran, you're beautiful'.

People say that German is ugly and brutal, but they probably know two words (one of them being heil). Sometimes it has the right lilt.

Super Mario continues to enthrall, as does science. In my mind he jumps, combining elements in crazy ways. The sound effects permeate my chemistry brain.

In maths it's beautiful too. Numbers, letters, patterns and thoughts combine in each question. I scribble over two pages to get the answer I know is right before I even check. They all shoot past me as I vanquish them, to a soundtrack of bad rock music as my bones start to thrill.

The clouds have changed. They look like an army now, trailing left to right. One's a slug, a few are airships. (Marcia, you were awesome by the way).

I'm the only person in my neighborhood who's looking at the clouds in this way. I know, because they voted Tory. Still, life's so alive.

I'm going now, to enjoy being. I enjoyed writing this. I'm grinning: love you all!

Saturday, April 23, 2005

I've been online way too long, and I'm going to write.

The world still makes no sense at this time of night, which is reassuring. Continuity is important, right? Yesterday a cokehead threatened to smash my head in, for looking at his imaginary girlfriend.

I've changed... I can't revel in being the best at anything, because I've worked for it, same as everyone else. It used to be constant triumph, and it felt great. But graft has taken the shine right off of it.
I don't know. I like achieving still, and winning. But I know it's not a fair playing field. Competing with me for some people is like racing a horse. I'm not that amazing, but it comes easy to me sometimes.

I don't like the feeling any more though. I push myself now. My limits aren't 'one more than he got', but something fun. I want to fight my way into a position where exams flee my knowledge and I know I've got 96+% the moment I walk out.

The most satisfying taskmaster is myself. (not making sense, so bye!!!)

p.s. hugs and kisses for everybody.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I'm finiskity, all of a sudden. Yesterday I worried my hair wasn't red anymore. In my dreams a precocious girl of nine told me I wasn't good enough to coach her. I asked Daphney if we're drifting away...

My head's off kilter. Things go... Writing's been lost to thinking. Panicuniversitypanic, as I try to think what happens when Cambridge reject me. (It's not that I love the place, it's just the course thumps my heart...)

University I'm going to be a loner anyway. At least there I can do it in style. (And my accommodation won't depend on having friends). Actually, the whole experience I'm anticipating as work, work, work and avoid the public school boys. All I want in life is work and love and kids. (Yes, it is probably too much to ask).

Fuck it, I am a loner (even though hugs and smiles mean the world). My one best friend in the world (who is a hug herself) probably won't be around then anyway. I love her.

(I love her so much I can feel my throat move when I think about her, and a missed weekend is like an asthma attack).

I just feel out of key at the moment...

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

It's half past tired, which is into the realm of graveyard. It's been holiday so long that school's a vague memory, just like whatever I've ever learnt. Can't do the tests, I pout as I try and force myself to work. Target upon target I've set myself until they list themselves in bold on my desk.

Laying in bed trying to coax a tear out of hiding, I'm thinking. The thoughts are leaving dirty, video-game tracks in my head. Turn round, they've vanished.
Struggling through another set of school questions, and Bob's not helping.

Today, everything seems to fit. Things I read piece together. Everything is sharing, or the world's run out of memory and keeps using the same concepts and ideas and words...

Thursday, March 31, 2005

Thoughts rush through my spacey head, walking through aisles at bargain jumbly stores. I have a five pound, wonderful blue duffel coat.

I had something to tell as well, but I've failed in remembering. I've had a lovely few weeks, and now I'm on holiday with chocolate from easter. I'm going to do awesome amounts of work, and memorise my demonic German 100%.

I'm going to learn to love my underpowered calculator that doesn't do fancy tricks, because it'll take me through maths like a recalcitrant tour attendant.

Daphney and I say we're in love, and we probably are. What's it like for me?
The most beautiful suspension of disbelief,
the less I believe that it will stop
the further I fall in.
I'm in love, I guess we're in love.

It's nice. We call each other honey and that suits me too.

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