This is apparently me in twenty years :P

'Language is my Mother, my Father, my husband, my brother, my sister, my whore, my mistress, my check-out girl!

Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square or a handy freshen-up wipette, um, language is the breath of God; language is the dew on a fresh apple; it's the soft rain of dust that falls onto a shaft of morning light as you pluck, from an old bookshelf, a half-forgotten book of erotic memoires; um...language is the creak on a stair; it's a spluttering match held to a frosted pane; it's a half-remembered childhood birthday party; it's the warm, wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy; the hulk of a charred panzer; the underside of a granit boulder; the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl; uh, it's cobwebs long since overrun by an old wellington boot.'

Thank you to Fry and Laurie for this delicious delight of understated utterrances.
Thank you to Chelle for the assumed affection by which she brought this pelthora of perfectly pronounced performances to my attention.

'Time to drag your tongue across the sugarcube and hope you get a taste.'

Faith has returned. A little bruised and shattered, but it's there.

I'm applying to colleges in Wolverhampton and hoping to move up there this Summer.

'Remember:
you’re a wreck, an accident; forget the freak, you’re just nature.
Keep the gun oiled and the temple clean; shit, snort and blaspheme;
Let the heads cool and the engine run.
Because in then end everything we do
Is just everything we've done.'

Your dark heart proves itself once more

Okay my faith in people has actually gone. That's right folks, faith has left the building! But in an ironic and amusing way. Plus, I've realised there really are some people that aren't worthy of my faith in the first place.

I love you, life :)

No poets

I don't really know what to write. Instead of happy, sad, happy, sad it's full, empty, full, empty these days.

I had a good weekend. Ash came to stay. Lots of fun and frollicks and whatnot. Canterbury, Rochester, Chelley-time, walks through nature.

I am finding it increasingly hard to keep a grip and hold on any sort of faith in people. My hands are greased and torn from old labours on the subject, my eyes closed in defeat. There may be no hope for me in this department. Is it me that's empty? Or everybody else?

When everything is sorted in my head, you'll be first to hear about it, Mr. Blogface! That's not true but it sounds nice, doesn't it?

'And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.'

The words of Bukowski

As I near 70
I get letters, cards, little gifts
from strange people.
congratulations, they tell
me,
congratulations

I know what they mean:
the way I have lived
I should have been dead in half
that time

I have piled myself with a mass of
grand abuse, been
careless toward myself
almost to the point of
madness,
I am still here
leaning toward this machine
in this smoke-filled room,
this large blue trashcan to my
left
full of empty
containers

the doctors have no answers
and the gods are
silent

congratulations, death,
on your patience.
I have helped you all that
I can

now one more poem
and a walk out on the balcony,
such a fine night there

I am dressed in shorts and stockings,
gently scratch my old
belly,
look out there
look off there
where dark meets dark

it's been one hell of a crazy
ballgame

from "Third Lung Review" - 1992

Kingdom of Loss - Pain of Salvation

Someone sells us Toys™ in a cheap cartoon
Someone sells us Cars™ in the latest Bond™ that's coming soon
Someone sells us Trends™ through a sitcom star
Someone sells Herself in a docu-soap that goes too far

Life™ on sale!

"Could someone please just tell me what happened?
I mean, first we pay for fast-food that will make us all fat and tired.
So then we pay for elevators, so we won't have to climb the three stairs up to our apartments.
Then we buy freaking stairmaster™ machines
So we can burn away while watching someone make real food on TV.
Now, if that doesn't make us winners I don't know what will.
I bet we would hang ourselves if the world would just cut the slack.
And now you think maybe you should see a shrink,
Help you feel alive again - yeah, that's a plan!
Just tell us who to pay.

Someone sells us Man™ in a White House™ speech
Then women tightly pressed between two bouncing breasts, on a Baywatch™ beach
Someone sells us Us™ everywhere I turn
Then introducing them to earn stock-points on our concern

All for sale,
all for sale,
it's all for sale

Welcome down to planet Earth™
Please don't ask us what it's worth
You will notice that the world you've found
Is slightly tattered and worn down

Someone sold us every stain
Now if you wish to complain
There's an open spot at 6 PM
It's when Caucasia is listening

If you're tearing down my world
Please just try to do it gently
If you're tearing down my world
Please just try to do it gently.
There is love inside
For a dream that has to die

"See, it's really all about time and choice.
The fast food saves us enough time to squeeze lunch in exactly when we want it.
The elevators save us just a little more, the StairMaster™ lets us choose exactly when to walk the stairs.
Time is so important these days, it's becoming a fucking disease, and I guess in a way it is since it's bound to kill us all in the end.
Now with all the time and money we stash away on others' expense,
I can only assume that the tickets to hell are really expensive:
For some reason, it's important to be first in line."

Someone sells us God™ in 2-for-1 with Shame™
Someone sells us War™ and the marketing looks just the same.
Someone sells us Fear™ on TV each day
a shape for every taste; if the flavour's right, we gladly pay

All on sale,
all on sale,
We're all on sale.

Welcome to the only Earth™
Please enjoy your only birth
You will learn to take more than you give
Buying scars you must live with.
Someone sold us every scar
They somehow made us what we are
We all want that spot at 6 PM
But no one is really listening.

No - not anymore
We're all too busy buying Sex™, buying War™
Buying Self-confidence™, Security™, Insurance Plans™
Just buying More & More

As you're tearing down our world
Please just try to do it gently

There's still love inside
For the dream that has to die

As you're tearing down our world
please just try to do it gently

'Here comes a storm in the form of a girl'

Joanna is slightly tipsy. I feel...full. Not bodily. Emotionally. There is one thing missing but I don't mind too much at the moment.

I just feel...I just feel full. 'Now my heart is full' comes to mind. Good old Morrissey.

'This one's for the freaks...'

...For you're so beautiful:
For all the devotion
Written in your soul.'

I'm listening to the Manics' new album. Back on form, boys!

Love, love, love for the Fry, Fry, Fry

'He was always doing that these days. Everything he saw became a symbol of his own existence, from a rabbit caught in headlights to raindrops racing down a window-pane. Perhaps it was a sign that he was going to become a poet or a philosopher: the kind of person who, when stood on the sea-shore, didn't see waves breaking on the beach, but saw the surge of human will or the rhythms of copulation, who didn't hear the sound of the tide but heard the eroding roar of time and the last moaning sigh of humanity fizzing into nothingness. But perhaps it was a sign, he also thought, that he was turning into a pretentious wanker.'

My mum likes Rhapsody

I knew I got my awesomeness from somewhere.



In this song they cover/work in part of Dvorak's 9th Symphony (one of my favourite pieces of Classical music). Thank you Rhapsody. Just...thank you.

CONGRATULATIONS!...

...Dad! You win the award for being the most insecure person I've ever met! What an honour.

"I know more than you'll ever know." - lol

'Light breaks where no sun shines'

Sounds like I'm campaigning for money in that last post. Terribly worded and all that but it had to come out some how.

Shelly's doing my hair today so I don't have long.

Northampton was relaxing, 'twas good to get away. All we did was drink really, and laugh. Jo's family are all cockney-laahhhndoners so I was never anything but entertained!

Oh, and one more thing - Oscar Wilde <3

'I bless the rains down in Africa'

Right this second there's somebody sitting, thinking just as I am, without a roof over their head, without warmth, without food. Without a computer infront of them. Without opportunities and without hope.

Do they deserve their situation any more than we deserve our comforts and privaleges?

How can we justify doing nothing? Human fucking beings are suffering and all we can talk about is alcohol and entertainment.

I feel selfish. We should all feel selfish for not making other people worse off than ourselves the main priority. I worry about exams, I worry and my weight, I worry about whether I'll achieve my goals and the path along the way. In a way it's not selfish to want to follow your own goals and make the most of all the luck you have been born at random into but in another way I hate myself for not devoting my entire life to helping others. What is the right answer?

I'm a vegetarian, some people don't have the choice. Some people don't have anything to eat at all and right this second there are people starving to death. Can you imagine what that feels like? Can you even begin to fucking imagine?

Fuck consumerism, fuck the 2012 games and fuck our politicians. The state of humanity and its shallow desires is disgusting. We should all be ashamed of ourselves.

A Calmer Panorama Drama Llama Farmer - <3 Mum

Today sees:
Exam
Rochester
then JOANNA-time! Well-deserved an' all if you ask me!

I cannot stop listening to 'Africa' by Toto, plus it took me about two days to get 'God Only Knows' by the Beach Boys out of my head last week. This should not be happening at twenty-two.

I love London: pigeons, coffee from cardboard cups, the poor, the rich, buses, black cabs, bustle, the Underground, music, deadly polution. There's something fantastically darkandlight about our Capital and I'm fucking proud to be a part of it when I'm there.

Stop rambling please, it's time to have a shower.

Oh, so it is!

"You are not the usual biscuit, are you?"

'A slave begins by demanding justice and ends by wanting to wear a crown'

Carrie, Pete and the boys have been visiting this week. many laughs had with ze kiddlies.

I am now slightly more educated in the subject of art thanks to Peter Doig and the Camden Town Group...and Shelly Clarkerson! A good day out was just what I need and just what I got today. We even talked about vultures - I remembered! Vultures! 'Me and my vultures!'. Knew I'd get there in the end....OOOHH IN-JOKE!

Hmm, perhaps there's not much point in adding in-jokes to online journals but this is my journal and if you don't like it you can just.....well, ignore it. Don't leave. I'm a needy person. Don't leave.

I have nothing thoughtful to add: perhaps tomorrow when I'm more awake.

Goodnight cruel, strange and beautiful world.

Blinded no more

Well, today has been awful for several reason but mainly because I was told that Christopher has died. For those of you who don't know who he was, I looked after him in the care home. That might sound like nothing but sometimes I was the only person who worked there that he remembered. He was a charming Irishman, eloquent, witty and interesting. he spoke lots of languages and was always full of tales from the war, always full of tales of Ireland, always full of tales. He was generous and spiritual, always ready with a quote from the bible, his faith ran deep. He always said I had an 'Irish forehead'. I used to call him 'me little leprechaun' and he started calling me his 'little passionflower'. Ridiculous, I know but I felt we were actually friends and understood each other on some level, especially as he was relatively 'with it' when he first came to the home. I shaln't display too much information about him as we are on a public site here but Christopher loved his family and his home Country so much, that was evident in how he spoke of both.

I knew he'd die in the next few years. People don't go to old folks' homes expecting to live for another twenty or so years - especially the one I worked in. He seemed such a positive man, always smiling unless his depression kicked in, at which time he'd just ask to be left alone. Of course I don't know everything about his life, only what his family have told me and what he has told me himself but he was a good man. He was a good man so why did he have to suffer such torment at the end? Where is the fucking justice? He didn't deserve it.

Christopher felt like a friend, not just a resident. I'd look forward to going in to work and seeing him because we could make each other laugh and he'd try teaching me bits of the Irish language.

This is all just babble to everyone else I'm sure, but it has to come out as all I'm doing is sitting here sobbing.

Christopher, thank you for making me smile and being unique. Thank you for helping to make my working life a happier one. Thank you for being kind and for having lovely children who were always so charming to be around. I suppose I never really knew you that well but I still wish you were my grandad! I hope you have found a peace and I hope you can finally now be at rest. Goodbye.