Boy Bewildered

Too much chocolate and ice cream and maple syrup and pastries... I've got that emptiness I only ever feel after eating too much. My eyes down to my knees complain, but I've listened enough for today.

Daphney came over, we walked the dog. According to this I shouldn't be having sex until I'm 18. How curious...

Oh yeah, I probably haven't mentioned it, but I'm dual citizenship. England and America.

This Tuesday I'll feel sick.
School tomorrow, but the vote'll creep up on me and catch me then.

Yeah, I hope Kerry wins. But what I hope for more is an ending to the election. If it carries on... Well how could we have any trust in that? I want to believe in a basically non-corrupt government, but it's hard.

I'm going to bed. Night.

So, what I had already thought would be the worst day of my life turned into another day, as per usual.

Marigold decided to prank me, telling me on the phone she had run off with her boyfriend's uncle. I told her to calm down. I told them to stop having a laugh. Then I believed them, in full panic mode.
My life was a badly-scripted soap.

Huddling up to myself I played Vice City, numb. Numbing myself further through menial, virtual tasks. Driving a taxi, an ice-cream van. Avoiding anything like the BMW I was told she was hiding in.

Still worrying about Daph.

Then the phone went, my leg dead. Felt like I was running on sponge. Grabbed the phone, fell straight over.

'Haha had you tricked.'
________________________________________________________

It's funny now. I'm going to ram some guilt down her throat though. That's shit I didn't need with my girlfriend in hospital...

Oh Daph's fine though. I guess... She won't say much. I mean, her kidneys aren't working. Or something.

But she came round and gazed at me, played around and looked lovingly.
She'll be ok.

I've decided to name my girlfriend Daphney.

Daphney's gone to hospital, for more checks... Can't be anything serious. I guess she hasn't been 'on' for like 5 months or so, and they don't know what it is. I can hear something in her voice -- worry, but she pretends it's nothing.

But I'm still sitting here, thinking when I can call her and biting my lip and tensing and untensing.

I phoned her, and she's still waiting to be seen. So I'm going to sit here, my shoulders numb and my feet cold, and hope my dog comes to comfort me.

I've been looking back, over my first few months of blogging. And more. I didn't write much, and a lot is just pompous and practice. There are typos too... But y'know.

I'm glad I kept it up. There's a lot of anger and stuff I'd forgotten about. And I've come along I guess.

I'm really glad some people (few, but some) read it now. I'm glad it's a secret from everyone in my life.

It feels good to write. I need it now I don't do English.

Thanks everyone, for reading and supporting. It's meant a lot recently.

And his heart rips in front of our eager eyes, the girls around me telling me 'he doesn't mean it' as he says what my heart would say.

She's breaking it up 'the nice way', everyone assures me. She asks what to say to get him to dump her. So he's in control.

And as she lies and laughs it's like a short story designed to confuse. He says 'it was the best thing that ever happened to me' and my stomach tears itself a knot.

Messenger is so cold, so calm, so easy to manipulate. But his words look real, and I believe him.

Then she logs off, walks round to his house. She's going to fuck him and discard him. Heartbreaker.
It's horrible.

My best friend

Let's call her... Marigold.

So, Marigold has a boyfriend who she slept with straight away. This boyfriend 'only had eyes for her' since day one, despite having two other girlfriends in the time.

Marigold slept with him, and agreed to have a long-term relationship.

He's so possessive. He gets jealous when he has a dream about her with another guy. He hangs up when he's pissed. She spends £120 ($220.73) a month calling him.

He started crying once, because she forgot to phone him. He's too scared of her parents to phone her.

So he's possessive, just to reiterate.

She's waited 52 days (she counted it down) to see him again. And they have a list of locations to fuck, where she'll fake orgasm after orgasm and get beaten black and blue by the battering ram of his cock.

For protection she's bought 3 condoms and 2 morning after pills. She has it worked out so that she'll take one after three days, one after the next three. How stupid? Very, but oh well.

Sure, it's his responsibility too. And he probably doesn't know how she'll fuck up her body for his pleasure. But she can't treat him like this. Like she's his doll and he doesn't have to worry about anything but himself.

But back to the story. She's there now, pretending to be someone she isn't. Someone who doesn't drink, smoke, and certainly doesn't have a drug-dealing brother.

She enjoys this pretence, I think. But how can someone get so into a character who they don't want to be? How can the Marigold I love, love being someone else so much?

She's Marigold to me still, and I hope she lets some of her Marigold seep through with her boyfriend.

Lots happened this weekend. I'm off the rest of the week. Hopefully I'll tell you about some of it. Until then, good night :)

Noam Chomsky I hear you cry? Ah ha!
I read 'Media Control' the other day. It was enlightening. I don't know if it's good, but I love to be fed opinions. It feels like I'm in a classroom with a teacher whom I respect utmostly.
And at least Chomsky deserves respect. His writing is lucid, succint, and as a consequence horrifying. It makes it shameful to live where I do. It makes me want to run into a commune, or fall on my knees and apologise to the world.

But collective responsibilty doesn't exist. I'm not to blame for the past. So I guess I'll just have to be as good as I can.
Moral? Eat more Fairtrade, think of others, protest...

I also helped out at a primary school, being a lunch-time assistant. Oooh! It makes me want a menagerie of kids! I played snap for a good few minutes, the kid telling me I was 'a funny guy', as I defeated him comprehensively at rock paper scissors.

Next week I think I'll play 'make the best aeroplane by holding your arms out to the side' and 'fastest to roll to the end of the hall wins!'
Oh, but next week's a holiday... Oh well.
More chance for more games to think of!

*hug* ^_^

Being tired, as I've said before, is not my happiness. It isn't the type of pleasant, cosy, mellow tiredness. It's like 'ohshitIjustfellasleepguardingthehousewiththedooropen' tired. A cold, panicky, upset and pathetic tired where everything is measured in halves.
And also, when my writing turns turd.

But hey, if I keep going it'll be ok?

So yesterday, on the phone. I stopped talking, not breathing, the air pushing down about an inch under my adam's apple.
What if I amount to nothing? Actually, what'll I do when I amount to nothing? Marry some dead-end girl, for kids? Too cowardly.
See the thing is, I want to matter. And potential counts for absolutely fuck-all, anywhere. The only thing potential gets you is a chance.
Constantly being told of your ability is only a recipe for failure. Just like the word 'genius' is there to comfort people who had ability or promise and lost it, on the train or something. Journeying from cul-de-sac to dead-end.
So yeah, I think maybe I'll have to grow up and realise, y'know, that the world doesn't gift me like I'm used to. And that no matter how important I think I am, all that matters really is external impressions...

And then I'll come downstairs, feel better after food. My dog just came and lay underneath my feet. ^_^

Bran flakes stick to my teeth as I try and read to myself the plan. And what is the plan? Damn.

I'm reading Mars, another manga. But I don't love it (yet). The lead character's far far too straight.
'Problem? haha, I'll use violence!'
Admittedly he is beautiful, but so is everyone in these books. He's basically a closet nice-guy.

The only character I really like is Masao, a sociopathic and deranged pretty boy. He knows what he wants, and he'll get it. Plus he's hammed up so much, it's pretty unintentionally funny.

Hm... I'm finding it hard to get to a computer, and I have to go... Oh well.

According to her, I'm always happy. And now I won't see her for a week as she disappears into her routine.
Today I've wasted so far. Achievements include eating too much, being on the computer too much, and talking on the phone.
And a bath. Hot like ice on the skin.

When I come, it's like... My camera pans, but the scene's all at the same time, because it's just a bigger shot taken once as a still. So nothing is really moving except the camera across a canvas. And I'll stare and stare, but no time will pass, and anything that changes is just my internal camera-angle.
Even though the picture's the same, the sound isn't. I lay there with my heart beating its rhythm and my cock stepping out of line like a marcher with a broken ankle. If I focus on the sound, I can travel. The beat of the heart overpowers the other: a sad story of consistency's slow dominance.
My mouth is by now parched open, eyes far away, somewhere five minutes ago. I slowly stop breathing so hard, then look where the world has got to while I've been away. It hasn't changed at all...
How boring.

Tonight.

Strip cloth. Darkness wraps her in layers lovelier. Then I'm wrapped in her arms.

Look up to set the album going again, trying to picture a perfect orgasm to help me. She bites me and holds me, and for once I'm the one who wants space. Amelie springs to mind, where the woman lets out an 'oh' facing the sky. And in 'Being John Malkovich' when Lottie gets dropped onto the side of the New Jersey Turnpike after sex.

But one for men? I'm meant to be able to do it anyway. Films don't tell me how. Books don't tell me to relax, picture something. I tried to let my feeling build, but... Y'know.

She was wild next to me, like something under her skin unleashed.
I pause, my hair into my eyes.

'You're pretty in the half-light' she says.
Huh?
'You're pretty'

My... Thank you. Thank you because you told me before I wasn't. And thank you because you love me now.

But mainly, I can sleep easy. I'm pretty. *sigh*

This year, it's hard. I'm in sixth form. I take Maths, Further Maths, German, Physics and Chemistry. I miss English, French, and sometimes philosophy.
What's with the exam system?

To sum up, for those who don't live here: once you're 16 going on 17, you're meant to drop down to 4 subjects (normally...). Then the next year you're expected to drop one more.
Fuck it. People deserve to be educated in more than one thing. The system discriminates against people who don't know where they're going, or want to go. It fights the people who have skill to succeed in everything. It says: don't be greedy. You can't be good at more than one thing.

I learn a lot, sure, but the pressure? It builds on me, until it feels like 2am is the normal time for homework, and that my eyes are meant to be 2/3rds closed the whole day.

I want to get out.

Otherwise, I'm good. I read Marmalade boy (8 volumes of manga comics). I finished the last two in a fug of tears, my chest heaving like it had remembered how. I couldn't cry for years. I let that one go two summers ago.
My friend was talking to me, about another friend who had some problems learning and wasn't where he deserved to be. (He's wowow bright). I said something, something about it being terrible if he really did have his friends who were smarter than he and thought down at him. My friend looked at me, with a look of disbelief starker than a Bill Brandt photo. A look that needed examination. 'Fran. I think you're on a different level to all of us anyway', he said.

I didn't cry at the time. I cried when I realised what the look really meant. It meant I was alone. It meant he looked at me, and didn't accept. Couldn't accept me as equal to him, because it would make him a failure.

And... I don't want to make people feel that way.

Oh, what do I wanna do in life? I want to help people, make people happy, change something significant? I don't think I'm that optimistic.

I mean. Teacher? I'd love to be a cool teacher, in good shape, who cared about their subject so much. I'd love to be a teacher, the one with the secret life as a writer/artist. Or just who blatantly was comfortable with choosing a profession that was less than what they could have done.

Not worth less though.

Or, just something! I'm sick of being ambition-less. I want somewhere to go. I want people to respect me for what I do, not my potential.

On a different note, my mum's baking a cake, because she doesn't feel like she's been a real mother lately. It makes me want to cry, that she can think like that.

On the other hand, I love cake.

Hm. I know that my structure's gone, but hey. Today my best friend told me I was like 'so relaxed', and that I was always 'at home with things''. So thanks!

It makes a huge difference to hear something nice.

Mm...
I spent the weekend with fun. Yesterday my mum bought me a basketball! I love her, and she's so effortlessly sweet. I wish I could show my appreciation better... I feel she doesn't know how much I respect her, which is a ton.

But yeah. E came over yesterday, we went to see a gig. Razorlight. Except from them magnanimously offering a half-hour countdown until their appearance (PISS-TAKE), they were good.

And home, we went to bed. In pitch black we fumbled, clothes coming off in a slow dance. I could smell her must, seeping through, driving me crazy. Oh well, fuck parents. In her night I entered her, slowly.
'It's good. Can you even feel anything?'
Pff, no, course I can't. But I can feel that I want you to be happy, and I can hear your cute short whimpering breaths, and I can hear that you want it harder. And when it's easy for me, it's like a workout. And when you're clammy and grippy and I feel cut off, I'll keep going.
And it's really amazing that you like it.
Even though my cock's wrapped in rubber that acts as shrinking tube; like fucking kryptonite to me.
And even though at best I can't feel it and at worst it's like I'm seasick, I'll keep going.

In the morning, I woke up to her, let her sleep. Came back as she held my stuffed toy, did some maths by her bed. Then more sex. I came outside the condom, outside of her. Water-pistolled... Surprising.

Rubber is like... The opposite of an aphrodisiac. I hate it. It sticks to me and strangles me and reduces everything. Fuck.

Fuck every girly magazine that tells people that boys are just lying about reduced sensation. Well, I'm sorry, but no one wants to impregnate their teenage girlfriend, k? It's true. Try eating an ice-cream after melting candle wax onto your tongue... You'll see.

Mmm, the alchemical properties of people.

Today was such a boring day. I managed to do all the wrong questions in physics, as well as getting a third late for the year (meaning a detention...). Chemistry was just long, as was German.

But I got home and saw that Etoile had linked me, and then I phoned my girl and chatted whimsically for an hour or so. That's really the central focus of our relationship: the phone. We can talk about anything, as long as it has almost no relevance to the world outside our coccoon.
So yeah, now I'm super-happy ^_^.

But apart from that, I think I'll talk about myself! (Isn't it so wonderfully narcissistic to have a blog?). It's one of my flaws that memories are so important. Losing one would be catastrophic, and missed opportunities haunt me.
This Summer, I was at the beach with my cousins. As we drove out of the carpark, an image floated across to me. She was so perfect it seems blurred with time, like it was too much to take in in the seconds we had. I grinned at her; she smiled back, and then we were gone.
What if she was amazing to me? If I had had the courage to stop the car, like in a movie or bad song. What would've happened?

Everyday I walk by hundreds or thousands of people. What chance do I ever have of finding someone who's 'right'?

Well, Etoile asked me about my last post, so I'll try and write an answer. (Oh, her blog's accessible right on the sidebar, so check it out. It's brilliant.)

But yeah. She asked whether I'm happier after feeling that I've changed.
And?

I don't know. I'm not as sweet. Nowhere near. I'm not as idealistic. I mean... I guess I was really naive. Not that I've changed that much. But it's definitely compromised.

Her behaviour is so... 21st century? It's so hard to see inside her, and when I do... It's delicious. She's been through a lot, and yet...

I like who I am now, better than I liked who I was. Being a loser in terms of dating sucked. And I guess I was wrong about a lot: how to act, how to think.

But I miss it. I miss thinking she was such a sweet girl, and moving into my unknown with her. I don't want everything back, but... I believed in love, and now I'm scared of it. I thought that if I loved her, and when she acted like she did, it meant she loved me too. And she didn't.

I didn't know too much about men before going out with her. She's taught me far more anout my own sex than hers. Her reactions tell me what others have done, how little they meant their words. I'm sick of men, sick of abuse of women. Sickened because it's expected.

I feel more experienced. I'm happy where I am, and when I'm with her, so yeah. I must be happy that I've changed. I'm more aware, more conscious.

Joy governs my life more than pain now. And that has to be worth something.

Oh, comments seems to be broken, at least for me... Oh well. And google's down, so I can't check my normal mail either... *huff*

Oh well.
Don't you hate it when you're all worked up, over nothing? My internal dialogue keeps making me ask stupid questions... Especially to my girlfriend. I know she's happy. I can see it.

The other day I was round hers, watching film. She was scrumptious: posing for me like a rag-doll, looking like a manga character with her legs beneath her skirt. She kept looking, smiling, kissing... The look said I love you: I was scared.
Not that I'm a commitment-phobe. I'm not. I said I loved her before and she threw it back at me... Before we were out again.

But yeah. I was thinking back to our beginning. I was so excited. 'I met a girl who interrupts more than I do!' And I got a friend 'by accident' to chat to her, on MSN. The friend fed me the information I so desparately wanted to hear: girl did fancy me.
And so we met, in front of Smith's. Her 15 minutes late, me standing there practising looking cool. Saw a film, held hands. Walked around looking for a photo-booth. I was happier than I could've been. I was here: look. With a real, pretty, sweet girl happy on my arm. That was enough. It took me another month or two or three to kiss her... Making sure it wouldn't end us.

It could never be that again. My studied 'cool' is too sharp, my mind reprogrammed from Sweet Valley education to... What she expects.

I've changed so much for her, or because of her. I hope she knows it.

Hey. My area seems to be odd. Walking the dog, there was a statuesque man peering at his book, on top of a cage. Standing perfect, he ignored my dog, and stroked his beard.

As I walked home, I saw a girl peering out of her window. I waved. Her grin practically shone a ray of light at me. I smiled, and walked on.
It's so easy to make people happy, and it feels like Sunshine. Give someone a hug; you'll see...

Yesterday was a great day!
Well, it started well enough. Talked to Lucinda a lot. Talked to her about books, love, Leticia, ^_^. She's already important to me. She loves life enough to talk about everything she's learned. She describes everyone with the greatest affection. She loves people, and that isn't normal or seriously cool. She, in short, is a dreamy human.

And then, I left school. Cycled home, caught the train into town! I was looking for the blood donation centre, and I was nervous. I absolutely LOATHE following directions... I feel lost and keep wondering whether or not to double back. But I kept on course, found it, and gave blood.
It was ok. They need better public relations.
I mean... It's a pretty shabby service. They don't really care. They're all bored. It's a disgrace actually, although I'll still go back.
The one redeeming feature was their anemia test. They put blood into a test tube, and then it forms a torus and sinks after about 14 seconds. It was like alchemy, and made me feel magical.

At Finsbury Park I saw a pretty woman hoisting her bike up the stairs. I gave her a broad smile, helped her out. Smile, smile, smile. Chance encounters like this make me feel Samaritan.

On the train platform, Scissor Sisters filled my head with strange and perfectly meaningful words. 'Like a detective without a case, I magnify what you say, and I test the implications'. I sang along to tits on the radio, letting my voice reach a note unfeasible. And noticed two washed-up women, eyeing me and giggling. In my head were scenarios. In reality, I sat there and enjoyed the impression I made on them.

I went to the Goethe Institut as well. It's a German library/resource centre. It's awesome. Arranged in the most friendly way possible, there's even a mezzanine for students. The receptionist's smile felt like an ocean wave: unexpected, refreshing. If I lived nearer, it would be a hide-away.