You know who is awesome?

Bob Dylan.

No words needed.

I had a strange dream and now I feel oddly perturbed. I'm not even sure what happened but I can still see the imagery. It's playing on my mind. I remember being tied on to something with two other people. There was an overweight girl with long blonde hair and plump red lips who was standing next to me (I think we were tied onto a slide or something similar) and there was someone else next to me but I cannot remember him at all. There was a large cage behind us with three tiny dolls stuck onto it and I know if you wanted to be untied and freed you had to pull your doll off, twist it around with your thumb and then hold it up so everyone could see. I think at first there was like sixteen of us tied onto the slide and one by one the numbers dwindled...until there was the only three of us. It was some kind of disturbing game and I'm not sure what the object of it was but it was scary. We had to hold onto something (life maybe) and I got the sense that someone was watching us but I never saw this person and I don't think he was ever in the dream but he was watching us squirm and suffer. He enjoyed our pain. I remember feeling sick as if something monstrous was happening to me. It was like I was stuck in the cage and I couldn't get out, no matter how hard I pulled, pushed and struggled. No one would let me go but yet I had the option of leaving, finding my own doll and pulling it forward...letting the invisible ropes lift off and then I could run. I could run away but for ages I didn't. I simply stood there holding all with all my might, crying to myself and asking why...why had I been stuck here. The girl next to me did not struggle. She was obviously in pain but she stood there quietly and she did not complain. Every once and a while she would reach over and touch my hand and we would look at each other. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore and I told the girl and the boy that I needed to find my doll. They didn't want me to, they almost begged me to stay but they knew it was no use...

What can I say but this picture gives me the greatest joy? Breakfast At Tiffany's is a masterpiece.

Truman Capote is genius and I am in love with him.

Capote's words read like magic. His language is so engaging, so honest and heartfelt...his descriptions so vivid, so bright, so alluring. I am swept up into the world he weaves.

The movie is quite different to the novella however they both enchant me.

Audrey Hepburn is such a delight to feast your eyes upon.
I am going to read 'In Cold Blood' after I have finished reading 'The Pickwick Papers' by Dickens. I love Dickens too. I absolutely love him. These writers are my friends, perhaps my only friends. Oh, I know that sounds bad and I do have people who care about me but when Michael - well, I can't bring myself to say it..but when that happened only a few people were there. They know who they are so there is no point in scribbling down a petty little list (and anyway, aren't I petty enough?) but when all is said and done, it hurt like hell. But what hurts the most is that these people who I considered my friends didn't even: CORRECTION, don't even realize what Michael means to me. Not even the slightest. Of course I do not expect anyone to...but these were close friends. People who could have - who SHOULD have picked up the telephone and said a few, kind words. They didn't. And now it has been six months and two days since I have heard from any of them.
Forgive me for being petty. Forgive me for being childish. I mean it's not as though I even want to hear from them anyway. Am I lying? Fooling and deluding myself to make myself feel better when I know deep down I desperately want one of them to call? That I lie awake at night scrunching my pillow up between my clenched fists and panting, awaiting such a call? That I run to my mobile each day in hope of a text message that could not say anything to make me feel better anyway? That all I think about day and night is how I want to be part of that group again? That I fill my days with false hope and make believe games? How I want to feel loved and precious and artistic again? Well not exactly...but every so often I do think about them.

Nice.

"Life is pain, life is fear, and man is unhappy. Now all is pain and fear. Now man loves life because he loves pain and fear. That's how they've made it. Life now is given in exchange for pain and fear, and that is the whole deceit. Man now is not yet the right man. There will be a new man, happy and proud. He for whom it will make no difference whether he lives or does not live, he will be the new man. He who overcomes pain and fear will himself be God. And this [current] God will not be.
But do you understand, I cry to him, do you understand that along with happiness, in the exact same way and in perfectly equal proportion, man also needs unhappiness!"

Shh!

It is Tom Waits time! Shh, close all the curtains - shut off the televisions, find me some wine and let us all be quiet! Tom Waits is sublime and I want to sit in emptiness and let my whole soul immerse itself in all his glory.

Nothing fits into anything. My thoughts are always dancing around each other awkwardly. They bump and startle one another. They don't get along and they make the oddest of faces. They tire me. Oh, so much tires me. I want to close my eyes and stay shut away from everything for at least a good while. What is the use of anything? Christmas is on Friday. Six months since...since it all happened. I am angry. But I am mostly just sad. That's laughable. Sad!? I am not sad. I am completely and utterly torn apart. My heart is in splinters! I have cried an ocean of tears every day since. So - really..honestly...what the fuck is there to say?? Let it rain flowers now...let something beautiful fall down upon this all.
Sorry if I am a trifle incoherent.

HEY! Look at me!

I'm trying to be really super cool but my head hurts due to the fact I've drunk too much wine (but it's such nice wine and besides I need to escape this all somehow, right?) I'm reading The Bostonians by Henry James (because I dig his writing style so much) at the moment. So far it's pretty good although, well...I've only read three chapters...




I have all these things to say but no one is reading my blog spot. That's because I haven't told anyone about this page in fear that they will ridicule me. I guess I have a need to be validated. I have all these thoughts that don't link up with each other but somehow they do and what I really want is someone to read them and get excited. I wish that I could be like this kid who was in my Drama class once. He was so...attention grabbing - he commanded the spotlight and it was so over the top, so in your face..he was screaming 'hey fuckers, look at me...i'm great' and in a way it was kind of pathetic but it worked! everyone looked at him, everyone wanted to look at him. and when he was sad (which was a forced sadness, you know...to make people intrigued, to showcase his "wild in-depth emotions") people may not have cared but at least they pretended to care. okay "so what?" you might be thinking...they didn't care. Well, no they didn't but what wouldn't I have given for someone to show interest in me...fake or otherwise at least they would be putting in the time. but nobody did. Hmm. I do spend a lot of time thinking about myself and who I'm not and who I could be if only I was different.

"On Wednesday, when the sky is blue,
And I have nothing else to do,
I sometimes wonder if it's true
That who is what and what is who."
- A.A Milne

I'm listening to Nat King Cole right now. He has quite a delicious voice indeed. I gave Ananda her Christmas present before. I bought her a little wooden box with silver elephants engraved on the front, a small blue cloth bag with elephants dancing and a peach scented candle. She likes elephants. I like elephants too.


How foolish everything seems!

some nice things...

michael jackson
tea
books
sleeping
Rings
pretty tops
Good hair days
old movies
Red Dwarf
my lovely guitar (it doesn't even complain when I make it sound bad!)
cupcakes
wishes that come dream
My letter from Rik Mayall
peter combe
Old pictures
pen pals in china
letters
tom waits
Writing
anne of green gables
joy
chocolate
Feeling pretty
My pillow
things that smell nice (like freshly baked bread)
top model
lists
louislouislouis
tights
Boots
imaginings
Crunching leaves under my feet
kissing
train rides
finishing work on time
Milkshakes
people who are nice and smiley (but not too smiley)

i mean to astonish you all.

-jo march

but I am not Jo March. I am not anyone. Sad and pathetic? I am waiting for someone new to come and hold me. We all want someone we don't know to make love to us. With their eyes, their hands, their words, their thoughts. We don't really mind. We just want it somehow - anyway really. But it never comes. It's as though we are stuck but we are never exactly sure what we are stuck in and what we are waiting for. Well I check facebook every four minutes or so because you never know what might happen. Someone this very second may be composing an exciting, enthralling message designed to enlighten me on my journey. You never know. And there's the thrill. The hope. For even the word hopeless has hope in it. But that is just lame. I know this kid - correction - I knew this kid and he may have been in love with me. I never could work out it. I don't know why I am thinking of him now of all times. I am not feeling nostalgic and if I am, I don't want to be.

What do I want? I want to hide and I want to cry. I want to cry and cry.

Death.

After work I decided to go to the mall. Yes I'm aware that it this is an American term and as I am not American I should not be using it but I think it sounds prettier. So. I'm at the mall and I'm wandering around listening to Leonard Cohen feeling 'the sad blues' and 'the mean reds' at the same time. I try on about a million and two dresses while the shop assistant stands outside the door and calls out annoyingly every seconds. Well I know she's just doing her job. Eventually I unlock the door and she jumps at me. "How did you go, how did you like them?, they're so pretty aren't they?, I just love them..." I stare blankly at her and I throw her the dresses, tell her they're not for me and I saunter out, feeling dejected and basically like...crap.
I then buy a regular Chai Latte and wait for the train. I consume skittles (because there is a rainbow in every bite?) and try to read my book but my mind won't quiet down. The train arrives after 15 minutes or so and suddenly I'm sitting there, looking at everyone around me. I can't help but stare. As I stare I think "You're going to die someday" and I am saddened by that thought. Morbid maybe but it is true.
They will die.
Everyone will die.

"And death is old but it's always new"

I don't follow?

My hero is Michael Jackson.
I love him with all of my heart and soul.
He is my biggest inspiration and the reason I am who I am.
Without him I wouldn't be here.
I have no words to describe the impact he has made on me and I will always love him.
Chances are if you don't respect him I probably don't respect you.
I have one tattoo.