Jeremiah left on the seventh day,

Between the doors and walls that wept,

And though his father slept of late,

He all too carefully crept outside,

Nothing to hide, nothing to hide,

Nothing to see over on this side,

Over hedges, ditches, fields he had ran,

Ignoring the words his father had said,

"There'll be a place for you, as a place for all."

Over hedges, ditches, fields he then fled,

Jeremiah returned on the next seventh day,

His father wept,

He returned an angel with all the sun's rays,

If only he'd kept inside,

Nothing to hide, nothing to hide,

Nothing to see, nothing inside.

A splash of Valium.

4 o'clock in the morning

And 52 minutes

I should really stand up

But my heart's just not in it

I really should stop smoking

And drinking this late

Shut the lamp off

It's no good just to wait

Soon the sun'll be up

And I'm still alone more or less

Half a bottle of cheap scotch

Labelled 'Colorado's best'

An ashtray that's full

And a cleaned out head

No more time for feelin' things

No time for what's been said

Another shot, another thought

Blasted clean out

Can't afford to remember this

Hurts too much to recount

Sinking deeper and deeper now

Into an old armchair

Finding time to feel the little things

But no time to examine there

That space for the memories

For the long dead hurts

Sinking deeper and deeper now

Right into the dirt.

-

If you can just imagine a grizzled Southern country singer singing this then that's be great.

Better yet, imagine this man singing it.

This pot holds a lot more tea than my stomach can.

There are these really nice chords I have, I haven't begun to resent them yet and they may just turn into an actual completed piece. Let's hope so. I have no words yet, but they'll be nice. I hope. They better be.

How are you, Ollie? Oh, good, can't find my flappy hat though, shaved, got some research done, haven't eaten much today, but that's okay since I'm about to ingest an entire pot of jasmine tea. My goal for the evening is to evolve my Larvesta into one bitchin' bug/fire moth, Volcarona. There, a quick record of the day. And since this is the first time I've actually made an effort to go through the whole shaving malarkey I'm thinking about first times. No! Not that one, you filthy person! Just first events. Here we go.

First shave:

Just then, wasn't so bad. Yeah, I've never had to shave before, like the hairless Chinaman that I am.

First time I ran for my life:

Last year in the valley from some thugs. Twice. Two different groups of people attacked me unprovoked that night with malicious intent. I believe Laura Bennett's sister came to my aid on the first, on the second I just ran like hell with Sav. Frightening stuff. First person knocked my glasses clean off my face, had to go looking in the morning.

First time I left the country:

Heading to France for exchange at the end of 2009. I spent the trip with some lovely(ish) Korowa girls, seeing as I was officially going with their exchange program. When we arrived at Charles de Gaulle they headed off to a transfer for Lyon and I went and met my host family in the terminal. All flustered, I managed to say to one of the people working in the airport "Sorry, I'm completely lost" in my then awful French accent. They were lovely people though, if not a little boring.

First time I nearly failed a subject:

Neither history nor geography are strengths of mine, this we have determined.

First time I attended a Minus18 event:

At the time it wasn't really but Minus18 is now a really big part of my life, so a little critical reflection would be healthy. I didn't enjoy the event itself that much frankly, the atmosphere was amazing though, the sheer volume of people was heartening. Plus I met Bec. That was lovely.

/endobligatoryreflectiveblogpost

Stab! Let it bleed,

Grab! The flesh and feed,

Crack and egg, let it freeze,

Fumble in the dark for keys,

Let it shine for one to see,

And take something back as a toll, as a fee.

--

Jason is drunk and texting me, he was being really rather interrogative before. Aggressively so. Like he wanted me dead as soon as he got answers, let's not rule that out.

I found it refreshing. He was direct (even if he was drunk), there were no bones about it: he wanted to know stuff he didn't know and he was willing to send long texts to elicit an adequate response. In my time, I've found that people don't like to say things directly. Everyone likes to beat around the bush, to [euphemism] it up as opposed to being blunt. Maybe it was just that sharp contrast to mind-numbing banality that threw his bullet point queries into focus. Probably. It's a pretty violent transition from ghetto names discussion to Prime Minister's questions... at Guantanemo Bay. Man, I just love blunt people. No sarcasm, not at all, seriously, not even.

But seriously.

Cheers for the 'agapanthus', Rosily.

One follow. Cool. Of course it's Jason, no one else knows I have a blog. Still, not disappointed. Okay fine, Rosily. You know I have a blog, but only because you're sitting next to me. Hi, Rosily.
Hello Ollie!!!!!! wow awesome cool smart real
Rosily, meet Blogspot. Blogspot, meet Rosily. Good, now we're all acquainted, let's get on with it. I really should not be blogging in the library: "I'm going to put my thoughts on the internet, no one will read them then. Yeah!" Epiphany! Someone may actually, at some point in space and time, by chance or not, read some of this. Fuck. Will I start thinking more about what I put here? Nah, fuck that, I'm too busy to organise some kind of filtering process; places to avoid, people to not see. That element of, well, not anonymity, but writing without purpose, that was nice. Purpose is the last thing I want, I don't want to start posting essays here, purpose implies structure, purpose gives meaning. A pure aestheticism is what I'm going for, writing for the sake of writing like the horrible wanker that I am. So, no, nothing will change the content save myself. A blog can't be invaded because it's just my thoughts, which can be invaded even less so. Blogspot feels too much like home to start worrying about it.
Bye, bye.

-

Agapanthus,
Flowers, antlers!
A purity of form,
Removed from man-made norms,
And all the while weathering
The ghastly human storm,
Neat rows, chaos throws
A punch or two at the orderly show,
Dig, dig, dig!
Plant the twigs!
Let the colour flourish,
But never allow it
To escape,
Never let the order cease,
Just a wild fake.

-

Do other people know about this? Do they read it? Comments?

I was an angsty (if not eloquent) 15 year old.

Breathe, breathe, breathe...

I don't want it,
But I need it,
To feel this satisfaction,
I'm a bit sick,
Call the medic,
I can't handle this interaction,
Cagey answers,
No romancers,
I've given up to my inaction,
For another,
Day to pass,
Give me my God-damned sanction,

You don't feel this anymore,
Sinking through this second skin,

I don't want it,
But I need it,
To feel alive again,

No movement,
We've been fooled in,
How can we solve this dillemna?
If I can find it,
If we can sight it,
We'll be happy forever,
Cataclysmic,
This intrinsic,
Fluctuating demeanor,
Go on, bite it,
I can't fight it,
You couldn't do much better

Look! There I am,

On that pedestal to be,

You reach high,

Stretch your limbs,

That pedestal is all you see,

Pillar of worth,

Above an Earth,

Condemnèd by the masses,

An unearthly figure, all the bigger

High above the Earthly gases,

Better for the taunting,

Push him up, drag him down,

Give him fame and mortal wealth,

It's the pressure that will drown,

A pedestal's a useful thing,

To point, to laugh, to stare,

But that figure you condemn to a life

Of expectation and of strife?

Well, you put him there.