yesterday was last year.

i have made six resolutions, and only heather knows all of them. she doesn't have to remember, though. this year i want to listen to good records and immerse myself in books, swathed in warmth and cups of coffee. this will be a quiet life with space for imagining. maybe my wandering days are over; maybe not.

mind if i scrawl some neon green graffiti?

so this is 2003.

interesting, very interesting.

one hour to go.

by the way, i hate clonaid. i used to think cloning was cool, but it is in fact disruption of life. i also used to think genetic mutation was cool, but it is like creating orcs. end of story.

i have decided on an alternate plan to use in case i am too poor to go to London. i will stay here, join a theatre company, and become a scriptwriter.

i had a great time with cynthia today. it's always nice to be with someone you love without any trace of weird reticence and obsession. i saw a total of six schoolmates, all in different parts of town. there were also three girls i'd never seen before. they yelled my name and waved while we were seated in the cinema. i am getting a little bit afraid.

on a different note, my state of illness (and hypochondria) is over. the air is punctuated by the occasional howl. in the past i'd join in; but wolf, i know you are gone.

my senses are still acute, i can here the door open in the deep of night. a crack, a flaw in a tunnel.

i would like to hear leaves fall.

you know the world is made for men
you know the world is made for men
you know the world is made for men
not us

this lyric is stuck in my mind. i am getting more ill by the day, perhaps my immune system has gone into hiding. i still wouldn't mind doing anything quixotic, though.

it's kinda dark outside now, a nuclear shade of brown. end report.

school is starting in less than a week, and skipping it would be detrimental to my health. i am in 3 Diligence and i'll have to take exams for a few things i'd rather not study, like Social Studies. everyone i trust will be in a different classroom. needless to say, i am doomed.

i wish i had no agenda and a bit more money to buy a book by Jean Cocteau. why can't i take my jacket and a train ticket and make a dash for it?

in the meantime, i have hours to sleep.

everyone should listen to Jonathan David by Belle & Sebastian. am reminded terribly of Dance On My Grave. i want to make a film out of it.

sometimes when i'm lying awake or idle in a bus, off to another destination, thoughts gather in my head. maybe like an oyster and its half-grown pearls. i want to write them into a book but they have no beginning and no end, just matter. i'm afraid someone will kill me before they become of some use.

i still have one candy cane in the refrigerator but someone's stolen my red wine. bloody hell!

ladies and gentlemen, i am back to entertain you. Shanghai was stretched between the steel lines of Blast and Eergh. it seems to have torn a little at the sides. i visited a lot of gardens, dreamt about old apartments, and have thrice as much nicotine in my lungs as i did a week ago.

a lot of architecture there is beautiful. when i get the photographs i think i will post one here. lots of things are extremely cheap and i have ancient monochrome advertisements of ladies in cheongsams. the weather is lovely for a bit but then it seeps into your skin, the tips of your fingers, till you want to fall on your knees for it to go away. it responds by making your nose drip. sadly, the most memorable parts of Shanghai are the bad ones. there is no traffic, just cars zooming around from all directions like you see in those StarWars movies. i have realized why people there do not say 'excuse me' and are mostly intent on shoving you into the nearest corner. there is no Chinese word for 'excuse me'. because of this flaw in the language i was nearly scalped by a large pink umbrella.

i would say the most interesting places in Shanghai are its back alleys. i could live there. there is plenty of room for illegal goods in those wee shophouses and the guy who was leading me around greatly resembled Spud from Trainspotting. they all looked like characters from Trainspotting, actually, dressed in tattered denim jackets and chain smoking. one boy was the prettiest of the lot, short and slim and giving random winks. did i mention the boys of Shanghai? they are gorgeous and always engulfed by taller boyfriends. i saw quite a fair bit of threesomes, too. the girls were a bit disappointing.

i have remembered Christmas presents for all of you. they are all useless but very good to look at, like Mr Wilde's opinion on women. lastly, random conversation between me and security person -

me: my bag'll explode if i have to open and close it again.
security person: sorry, this is for security purposes.
me: can't you not check mine?
security person: no.
me (opening bag): i'd like to show you my six bombs. would you like some heroin?

i am absolutely stunned by the sheer brilliance of Lord of the Rings. absolutely stunned. even though i'm a more fervent Harry Potter fan, The Two Towers would definitely win a faceoff.

i have been rained on a lot recently. yesterday my science exercise book appeared to have dematerialised, but today it was found in an ancient plastic bag. i will be leaving in less than twenty-four hours. fortunately, i'll be able to blog as usual, so we'll see how it goes. i have to go pack now.

i had an eventful day. i nearly got killed by a large truck and had a dead good time with jasmine. i wanted to buy a shirt which read 'atomic boy' but had no more money because i'd given a fiver to charity and one to an old lady selling tissue paper. things like that break my heart. am feeling more like myself now.

i might ressurect Dylan the Expressionist artist. in stories and all that.

couldn't get to sleep last night. i experienced varying states of consciousness. at some point i heard trumpet music blaring, but that was impossible - and i thought the tv was on, but that was impossible, too. then i started to dream. there were creatures with artificial intelligence on the run, rampaging and attacking everything human and i know who shielded me. there were people scarcely a day from dying, with sticks in their backbone so they'd stand up straight and faces painted so white there were no noses, or mouths, or whatever is comfortingly ugly. they stared.

the old lady with me grabbed my hand. she was frightened because she was afraid of death, and who else personified death but them? we went around corners but we saw them, the undead, on the escalator and long skirts brushing the ground. eyes empty. finally the old lady screamed and hurtled herself out of a window. i saw her go down and i heard her cries of fear, cries of agony as the air steadily crushed her lungs. dead because of death. i couldn't feel anymore, i went down the stairs, and i still saw them. staring.

one of the keys to a happy life is friendship. i and heather went against authority, blasted loud music, and scrawled 'We Are Queer (& gay)' on misty windows. cool, eh? i'm glad i talked to her today. nina also gave me a surprise by calling. what lovely people.

i have decided the worst feeling in the world is when someone you have loved for a long time suddenly stops loving you. you know something has changed, but you can never bring it back again. at night you can think of nothing but the deliriously happy times that you've lost; and sometimes you think in circles, to hopefully find out what went wrong but it all boils down to you. in this case, the SPCA might easily be the saddest place around.

thanks to my father i have read Queer. after that, i read Maurice to find out when it was set. i take back my words - it was written in 1913 and not any later. now i shall attempt a brief comparison.

one thing Queer and Maurice have in common are their homosexual protagonists (Lee and Maurice respectively). they both have characters the protagonists fall in love with - Allerton and Clive. frankly, they also have equally weak endings i couldn't make much sense of.

however, throughout Queer, Lee and Allerton never become a couple - Lee succeeds once in seducing Allerton, only for his affections to be spurned again and again later on; while Maurice's feelings for Clive are reciprocated (Clive actually makes the first move) until Clive leaves him and marries a girl called Anne. Allerton seems curiously asexual, while Clive is at first accepting of the fact he loves Maurice. Also, Queer seems to centre on Lee's infatuation with Allerton, whereas Maurice is based on the confusion Maurice suffers after his relationship with Clive has ended.

the last key difference is that Lee seems completely at ease with his sexuality, probably because he lives in a place where it runs rampant; while Maurice is shocked by his own actions, especially when he finds himself in lust with Dickie.

i wouldn't mind going more in-depth, but i have to rush.

i should live by myself in a small hotel with a fountain.

got out of bed earlier than i have in a long time, for more reasons than one. thought i saw a bloodstain on the left pillow, but it was only a shadow.

i have seriously no means of transport to get to the bookstore. i need to purchase Queer by William S. Burroughs. Radiohead's You Never Wash Up After Yourself is making me feel dusty and like i need to hold out a sign which proclaims, 'i am unclean!' so i'd better go take a bath now. sheryl flew in yesterday and we watched football for a bit. she found it necessary to punctuate the air with her rabid yells of delight. wonder when heather's getting back?

now that the painful saga is over, there is math to do.

today my glasses cracked as i came out of the shower. being des i stubbornly wore them out. this is a conversation i had at approximately 5:39.

me: i've got something to tell you.
me: i was in love with you for the past two years.

she: and you aren't now?
me: i try not to be.
she: that's good.

a long silence ensues.

me (taking off random book from shelf): this is familiar, isn't it?
she: her books are everywhere.

she ruffles my hair. another long silence ensues. then,

she: i've also got a confession to make.
she: i was in love with you for a few months. then i stopped.

it's five-forty and i have to go. she dials for her mum to pick her up. we walk out in silence because she is on the phone. i say, Merry Christmas. she pulls me into a short hug and kisses my cheek. Have a good time in Shanghai, she says.

on my way home i keep thinking about how long a few months actually are, and why she stopped, why she stopped, why she stopped. i need a haircut and by the time i get home there are no tears left to cry. for the first time i don't look like a cross-dresser, and the umbrella my mum brought out looks like an oddly reassuring giant carrot.

i like waking up on my own, waking up to rumpled bedsheets and tiptoeing to the balcony. it's so cold. i have started writing out thoughts i spent an hour on last night. maybe i'll even build a website. bloody hell.

i eat ambiguity from my own flesh.

i have been waiting for you to call all day. i heard you ringing my phone in the morning but i was sleeping. i didn't hear you ringing my phone in the afternoon while i was eating. i miss you and i hope you are disco red-hot-chili-pepper dancing away from here. oh yeah, and i wrote a poem for you, but it isn't about why i want you when you aren't around.

with these addresses in mind, i am going to bed. i think i'll briefly touch on what i did today. spent lots of quid on t. s. eliot and cyril wong. watched a familiar stranger from a taxi. have so much agenda tomorrow i'll need to wear my courage in my jaw, like a golden brace.

i now have two clocks. one is blue and the other is orange, but they are both small and round and have little sticky feet. i have named the former Neil and the latter Andy and they can drive you mad with their sheer cuteness.

happiness is having enough time to pore over books on philosophy, enough money to play guitar, and all my five senses intact - so i can eat twiggies and listen to belle and sebastian at the same time.

today French lessons commenced. cool. because i can't read my handwriting / my magnets are no longer attractive:

sunday - trin
tuesday - heather
wednesday - jasmine
thursday - candice and ky

notice how the list descends. lastly,

30th - cynthia

i have lots of girlfriends.

would you give me a book for Christmas? how odd to have a capital letter in the middle of nowhere, like an abandoned skyscraper. i'd like to read letters to felice by franz kafka.

i need to live, or go, or travel somewhere else. i'm not sure where, but somewhere else. anywhere but here when winter ends.

i finally have some agenda besides getting high. after my unhealthy lunch i will sit down and attempt to write, a feat i have not accomplished since at least a month ago.

edit: it worked. i'm still a pretty bad poet, but i live.

i think it is time for an update. i've been watching the street spirit (fade out) video on repeat, watching people fall in monochrome and musing over cynthia's voice. if you've ever felt so full of beauty you wanted to burst to see if you became a poem of golden confetti, you can email me or something.

two responses: insomnia may sound romantic, but it is not. Fran is not edible, but i want to eat him up.

i want to take a train and rest my head on the window and get my palms sweaty on the torn leather seats and inhale too much cigarette smoke. that would be funny.

i'm wondering why my blog posts are getting shorter and shorter and why my head is aching, full of nitrogen, my head. my head. why i enjoy additional mathematics and that picture of nicky wire and richey edwards, roses in a hospital.

hell yeah.


Which homosexual Victorian character are you?


maurice wasn't victorian, though. the book was set in the 1930-50s, if i'm not wrong.

somewhere, there is a deserted beach.

i haven't died after all, yo. heather has left for a week so this is just to say we are harry and ron forever, in a non-slashy way of course; and soon to try our hand at songwriting. the stars are flying out of alignment for me and contorting themselves into horrifying and wonderful shapes, like beauties on a catherine wheel. freeze-frame.

when my fingers start peeling i know i've achieved something. have also purchased new scores i close my eyes to. the chance to learn two instruments is a chance rarely given to clueless people like me. to end this post nice and cheerfully, i've just been bitten six times by an aedes mosquito.

yesterday i saw a guy wearing a shirt which stated, FUCK ALL BOYBANDS. how about FUCK ALL BAD MUSIC? when it comes to rock i don't see the point of being so angry all the time, it's not just about the manufactured. otherwise, nothing new, except that i've been reading the writings of oscar wilde and eating gobstoppers.

i'm sure i've said this at some point of time, but i don't think i could live without love. i mean,

i want to go to a foreign place where i can wander. the familiarity is warm, yet stifling.

there are more ways of being in love than one, but they all dissolve into a light weight at the back of your mind; like a christmas present waiting to be opened. i think i like this kind best. i think you're lovely. been thinking about you, actually. feel like i'm a half-full bottle of champagne.

i am off to shoot stick figures. non-question: when am i starting on history notes.

you're every thought, you're everything
you're every song I ever sing
summer, winter, autumn and spring!

i think the best music came from the fifties, people cared much more about melodies and style then. i miss leaning over the pianos in yamaha. the week is almost over and i have three weeks of hedonism left. notable things that have happened: i've almost perfected guitar chords, discovered a philosophical theory, fallen out and in love.

as my veins ooze saturated fat, they spin sugar. i had a nightmare last night in which i was betrayed as i am over and over again. they turned into books, and i only recall ineffectively shouting 'get the fuck out of my house!'. turns out i was whining away in my sleep. tomorrow is testing and on thursday i'll be finishing math homework.

give me a film to watch and a sherberty melting drink.

christmas is going to be like flaming lips because i have devised a way to illegally procure alcohol.

it's been raining and everything is bright-eyed with beauty. sometimes i feel a deep happiness that expands and mock-forces me to buy baseball caps and give the finger to rude people in elevators. i am high beyond coffee. first aid was morbidly interesting - you should see the amputation illustrations and i get a weird satisfaction from giving CPR to dummies, although the facial guard scares me in a radiohead sort of way. it's deep kissing plastic.

today's people of note: genna and nina, who are so cool they laugh. not only because dumps are passé.