Your real friends will always love you, and honestly we do, and that is honestly far far more the advice I wish I listened to than it is the trite suggestions I provide out of charity for the benefit of others.

I need to write.

I need to write.

I need to write. But I'm cut down like a sliver of bamboo by my own lack of self-confidence. Constant case of unfair comparisons I guess, I've read too many spectacular successes to want to be a mediocre failure.

I need to start writing every day again, even if it's trash.

Chilling out on a stairwell

Steam tunnelz

more hospital infiltration...

(photos by rob)

A little further into the hospital

Had a really good chat to Emma, she gave me a lot to think about.

Thank you Emma, for being awesome.

It's kind funny how it's always far easier to see the solution to other people's problems than it is to see the solutions to your own. Don't misunderstand me, I don't mean this in the “mind-your-own-business” sense, I'm pretty free with the old unsolicited opinions myself, but instead that I wish I could reflect the same kinda clarity (overly-confident snap judgements) that exists for me with other people back onto my own life, or that someone I trust would just tell it to me straight— and also that I'd have the raw emotional capacity to follow their advice.

Who is gonna come along and sort out my shit for me? Unfortunately it's looking like there's only one grim option available, the unpalatable alternative of actually doing it for myself.

“Enough to kill a lesser man”; I sincerely hope that's what they write on my death certificate

Between half a bottle of bourbon and my own natural tendency towards histrionics I managed to work myself into quite a state last night. I hate re-reading this stuff, just sitting there and thinking: oh, weak, yet more soapy tears before bedtime, sweet jesus dude harden the fuck up. I'm not sure why I should over-react so much, when I get in a black mood I start twisting things around to the worst angle possible, got a splinter of the snow queen's troll-mirror caught in my eye I guess.

I think I really managed to totally fuck my shoulder at the drinking contest on Friday. Trash talked myself into the upper reaches of the stratosphere and then went ahead and lost.

GIRLS ARE GHEY, and any guy who likes girls is obviously pussy-whipped and also, quite probably ,a simpering effeminate queen. You can't argue with statistics. You can't win a debate against the kind of turgid throbbing facts that science can provide. Ninety seven percent of queers have at least talked to a woman on one or more occasions, now I don't know about you but I'm drawing the only obvious conclusion, and, quite frankly, the evidence available looks pretty goddamn convincing:

it rubs the lotion on it's skin

or else it gets the hose again

I dun really know. It's not you, it's me. You need your space, and I'd quite like to fall in love. Incompatible objectives. I'm an idiot, a real class act—so just leave me to die by natural causes, or their nearest causal medical equivalents, A friend of mine tells me that people like to egg-me-on when I'm drinking, like most races people would much rather see a car crash than any run-of-the-mill first place photo op.

I feel like saying; that I'm sick of failing and I want to quit the race entirely and if you want a car crash just keep on watchin cos I truly to aim to please and provide the goods requested.

Leave me the fuck alone, I just wanna calcify like some old stalegmite drippin on a skeleton in the temple of solomon,some peace and motherfucking quiet.

My bed, I find that sleeping with a chair is almost as good as having a girlfriend

Where the magic happens

Haven't been writing much, working on a new minor project though.