Boy Bewildered

I need a drink because my head hurts and the screen I can't even see, but I won't get one because I'm woozy and swaying and about to fall off the chair and kooz...

Sometimes I want to get get get away. I wanna get some clip-pedals and cycle to John O' Groats and back. Camp by the side of the road.

But what I really want is someone to take me on the last train, for someone to wander with me around derelict tube stations and make out on the closed platform of Highbury and Islington. For them to take me to some dark tunnel where we can hide in each others' arms. I want to feel safe around dumb lary fucks who are out to ruin my life.
That is really, really what I would die for. The empty underground, scarily noiseless apart from the gigantic orgasmic phallic thrust of the tube carriage that brings news from yesterday and wear from years before that. The scribble of some clever, lovelorn teen ageless on the battered seat; home to a thousand romances and drunken split-lip kissing.


I want kids too, to be this brave and fearless person? Because I genuinely love childish play and fun and just... the need to move! The sudden, spontaneous desire to climb the beanstalk and never come down, despite what anyone asks for or says. The urge to escape in a realm inside my head, that I can never capture because of fucking... Something.

What do I wanna do in life? i have loves. I love animals. In a sort of dilettante fashion which should lead to no unscientific career. Observation of apes to find my future lost sense of joy? Perhaps that's where I will one day be.
Maybe psychology? Do I love people enough to make it clinical and therapeutic? Or am I the narcissist who wants a breakthrough?
Maybe advertising. Selling the dream of consumerism to the deluded masses. Can they find solace in their Guinness, their Nike, their Renault? Perhaps they can, but the job of the ad-man is to delude further and to never, ever leave someone satisfied.
Maybe writing? Criticising and separating the good from the bad, for ever and ever. Is this what I would want? To be a journalist? To write eternal about how much better things could be?
Or then a film-maker. Unfortunately culture has made this impossible, with the constant emphasis on the born genius. Which I painfully am not.

But the point is, that no matter what I do I want someone or more than someone to spend it with. I want a family.
And I think that one day, I might have one. If I am very, very lucky.

My dream:

It was a bright, beautiful polygonal world. Slightly fuzzy in a dreamworld haze, as per usual in this gameworld. I was playing PSO on Live. Except I was in it, as were several of my friends. We were all new to this.

And we're in a spaceship flying through the greenery, kind of a cross between classical PSO and Skies of Arcadia Dark Rift. The landscape is so utterly tranquil and full of beauty. And then we touch down, and I have some odd sort of taser thing taht I attack with. Once we've gotten rid of these enemies I remember that you can link attacks in groups of three. But I don't.

A pretty expert comes down from the heavens in a red automobile, which I hop into. And we fly to the top, and I realise that it takes dedication to get this far. That every other player has learnt the maps by heart, and every single secret. There is a sandstone gate that reoccurs in my dreams, and we drift through it to the highest level.

And that's it. My life will have to be taken up by it. Forever.

This has been the kind of day when everything and everything becomes a filmic possibility.
The bright Sun makes every discordant noise suddenly harmonious. The grass is a virulent shade of green; more noxious than obnoxious. And cycling on my hacienda-yellow bike, the pieces of the world fall into place in the tapestry of my life.
I can't believe there isn't a camera attached to the handlebars as I take in this life. Im seems utterly implausible at this moment that everything I see will be wasted. How many of these perfect moments are never witnessed by any other? How many mini-Columbi are there who set foot on a new continent only for them to forget it?

It's a shame. It's a shame that one day I will not watch out for this; I will forget my youth and fall into the life of a day-in-out man.

At least until another perfect day comes along...
Fran

I find it easier to speak about my dreams. Recently I dreamt my father had a second son (thanks footballer's wives). We passed him on a speedboat as we compared birthdays. 'HA beat you by SIX days. I'm the first son!' I shouted... Hmmm...
And then this morning I went out with Courtney Love, except she looked like the girl from 8 mile. We walked laughing as I asked her about giving her underpants to Chris O' Connell as well as Alex Zane her boyfriend...
And then we sat down and she diappeared.

I will try to keep a coherent journal of these in future. I find that if i half wake up I can get many dreams into a short space, almost all of which i will remember and even be able to influence consciously.
Fran

I'm cold and I'm scared and I'm alone and and and...
Y'know.
I don't know who's gonna read this, but I really feel it now.

After a day in London with my girl, (look i would say partner but i don't wanna sound like i'm from a western) i'm phsically and emotionally drained. She's just fucken' nasty sometimes.
I can't talk about this here, but I almost walked in front of a bus too. They laughed.

I wanna be held and cry and curl up inside a big man's arms. Because I'm cold and don't wanna be here... Actually ending... hm there's an idea I won't consider but... I don't know, I just DON'T know what to do when I feel so scared. I wish I had someone who loved me.

Someone real.

Alright then.

Today was meant to be special. I woke up, early for this hioliday, at 8:45. I wiped the sleep from the cold eyes and prepared to get up and exursify myself, to the supermarket.
On the bike I was slow. Cutting throught the traffic was chorish, and not at all the thrill of usual.
Walked in the supermarket: creme egg, mini eggs, and a canister of whipped cream.

The scene was set, so I returned and bathed nervously: I didn't want her to catch me in the bath.
So she arrrives... Hour or so late.
And she looks really, really good.

And then I see her face and she's completely shattered.

But that ain't the meat of the story.

We moved to bed in a state of undress.

But we played around a while, and then... Finally... Yeah
After seven months, I was finally getting through to her.

She was willing to do 'what I wanted'. Not that I'm some sick guy; I am, but that ain't the story.

So I looked at her eyes, from above her, and started to lower myself onto her inexpertly.

I think this story needs a different angle:

This is the story I told her to relay to anyone she might happen to tell:
___________________________________________________
SO, my hunky boyfriend (moi) was in tears. He was crying mournfuly, alone in his room. Being the active girl I am, this wasn't for me:

I walked in, casting off my garments. And dragged him up to his bed. For a moment he looked better, and then...
He couldn't. He couldn't get himself excited over me or anything. Really. He clumsily and sheepishly lowered himself off, and burst into manly tears as I massaged his back...
__________________________________________________________

Obviously this is not exactly what happened, but you get the gist.

How do I feel? Worried, inept. I mean... It's no biggie (no pun intended) to her, but... Gar. Maybe she thinks I'm gay. Maybe I am, although this is insufficient evidence to the cause. Performance anxiety, ah well. Happens to many, or so I've heard. Just what the FUCK can anyone do about it?

I'm not impotent, I know that. But unless I can fix up and look sharp, it's not good for either of our egos.

Fran

And then. Details I had missed out: I played 'fever to tell' by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. It was delicious.
At least we had fun though. We laughed a lot more than I imagined we would.

Oh fuck it. Just FUCK IT.

Why why why why why why would someone have to not call me as promised THREE times in 24 hours? WHY?
I just hate it.
I've about had it with being second best anyway. Why should I be happy? If someone tells me they will call, they should. I shouldn't be anxietised by them never returning my calls or whatever.
So today I had had it. After running through a hundred ultimata in my head, I sat down at the PC. And proceeded to clock some hardcore porn mileage on a road I had never travelled down before. Never once seen a hardcore video. Never.

I know I'm using repitition too much and I know I do not like where I am going in this relationship with porn. And my girlfriend.

I'm tired and frustrated, and I just want her to come over and to cuddle me and holdme until i'm done crying, and then we can make love to the tune of the von bondies, which will unfortunately last only half an hour before silence, and then a further five minutes before the blood-curdling chorus shoots my load for me.

I'm cold and I feel as if a fever is coming on, so I will go and get a drink and hope that maybe I can sort my girl out.