Conception.

I was of forced conception. Two children: one too ill and one of malicious and selfish intent. My beloved parents. Or so I thought as a four year old. I thought everything was perfect. I was perfect. I had the perfect life and nothing would ever change that. And things got violent.

To be told of my conception as a child greatly broke something deep down. Sometimes I'd forget about why I'm here and just be here. But no one can escape their past, who they really are inside.

And it burns inside. It feels like rats are crawling and turning in my stomach, every inch of skin crawls. My muscles are repulsed, crafted around bones and trapped by skin that's so dirty and nasty.

It really is the true definition of self-loathing. I just want to be sick.

Was I really meant to be here at all?

I'm just so tired and heavy and miserable.

I just hate who I am.

hello september,

this summer has been so strange.

i lost a friend.
she'd been sick for a long time.
sometimes it still doesn't feel like she's gone.
but i hadn't seen her in a long time.
i feel bad for not being there.
i'm so sorry.

i hope you're okay now.




lead me to temptation
and shove me in the hole in the ground.
and soundless, i will lie.
with hope.
but with no love.

for there was never such a thing as love.

and suddenly, she screams.

O Death.

No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold.

Nothing satisfies me but your soul...

I dreamt that I once found myself. It was just a lie. And slowly, the past crept up behind me. When it catches up, it will drag me, kicking and screaming, to a dark place I once forgot.

Hello, hello. I am Cheryl. I don't have a life anymore because I work two jobs and I'm too tired to do anything else anymore. Goodbye internet life, you were so beautiful. I have also noticed that my temper is very short and I know it's very nasty so it's best that I don't lose it. My new job is fine, but hot. Very hot. And right now my wrist is all red and sore and hurty because my Reading 09 wristband has caused some sort of horribleness on my skin but I don't want to take it off.

I'm also planning on getting my tattoo this summer, if I can decide on where it's going to be. I'm not sure if I should have it on my wrist or not. Hmm. I need to decide soon.

I am tired again. Sleep is needed.

Goodnight life-I-do-not-have.

au revoir.

She packed her bags and said goodbye to the grey room. There's been so many memories this year. Embarrassment, fun and even the darker days.

The nights she sat and cried until she had no more tears left. The evenings she spent with friends, drinking and laughing and feeling so glad to be alive. The afternoons spent bored, hunched over sketch pads and keyboards. The mornings spent huddled under the sheets, forgetting who and where she was.

The lonely times where she couldn't remember what time it was.

She's packed her bags and is ready to go. Ready to leave this place for another and start again for a new year. This room was her everything, her life, her home.

And there'll soon be no trace of her ever being here, except the wine stains on the carpet.

5.55am

What do you think about when there's too many things locked up inside your head?

I think about sad things.

Because sometimes, the sad things are what I only seem to remember.

taste

When do you start feeling old? I feel young, childish and stupid. I'm out. And in a drunken haze I scour the floor - try to feel confident, quite the big man. And I sit and stare and as the seconds tick by, the painful loneliness begins to claw its way in. Odd one out again, perfect. Everyone else is in pairs and here I sit feeling quite along, cradling my drink as if it's the only friend I have in the world. I sit and search, someone to connect with - someone to feel, to sink my nails into. Someone who might care. And the vodka doesn't seem to do the desired effect, it doesn't make me edgy or straight - it blurs me and I slump and wonder what the fuck I'm even doing here. And I'm pulled along, outside where the air is clouded and cold and it feels amazing. I light up and sigh, trying to get my head on straight. Think, just think. Just...

And then I see her, smaller than me - lip piercing shining and I just stare. The vodka abandons me and I look at my friends, pleading for help. I can't do this. I'm too drunk and too shy and I can't do anything right. I stare at her again, she has dark hair. It's hidden by a hat. She's cute. I like her. I look to my friends again and they help me out. She seems cautious. I shake my head, trying to convince her. There's no catches, please please - just one taste. No catch at all. I'm just shy and hoping for a fix - a simple thing. How do you taste?

And she tastes... delicious.

Amanda, you tasted delicious.

freezing you to the bone.

My brain is full of too many things. If I could grab a tap and lodge it into my skull and turn it on - so many things would all come pouring out. Dirty little secrets I've kept for so long, moments I long to forget; so many pretty pretty words.

But so many other things would all come tumbling out. I'd lose so many things. My talents and dreams and all would come spilling out of my brain tap and spash down my nose, down my clothes and drip drip drip onto the floor. Lost forever.

Perhaps I'd be better off just keeping my brain too full. At least no one may accuse me of being empty-headed.

Lady Gaga Does Not Cure My Insomnia.

Hello there random pill,
How did you slip out?
I took you and your brothers in my purse
Out on the drink
With achy aches and pains
Burbling away in my stomach.

I guess the packet was kinda shit.
I did get you on the cheap
From a magical place called Superdrug
For Reading Festival, last year.

And now you hold mantle
On my gloriously dirty keyboard
Beside F6.
Oh, what a lovely place to be!

It’s 8am and sleep was abandoned long ago.
Because it’s not working.
And now I sit with the curtains open
And in my dressing gown, glare at the sky.
This is fucking shit, pill.

Cough cough.
Did I catch the lurgy off that girl I snogged?
Maybe. Well – I hope not.
Cos that would be pretty gay.

Lady Gaga won’t help me out.
What a whore, right?
Perhaps I should try some more wine.
No, no wait - that won’t help me.
Because I was drunk and now I’m sober.
Oh well, I guess there’ll be no hangover in the afternoon.

So, little pill - what should I do?
Stalk to corridor in tights?
Knaw my arm off?
Lick my elbow?
Fuck this, I’m bored.
Good morning, little pill!

ashes to ashes.

When the world's a darker place
Faced with unspeakable danger
And with no means of escape.
The heart grows weak
And the soul soon fades away.

When you lie and dream
Of a space so far away
There will be no evensong for you.
This is place is so strange
And you can't find your way home.

When you feel like you're losing fight
The road is long and far
And your hope is nearly gone.
Find strength in those you find
And they will guide you on.

When you know the end is near
As the lights begin to dim
And the machines begin to fail.
Be vigilant, lost traveller
For the truth with all be revealed.

I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me..

You know that I'll be, your pa-pa-paparazzi.

You go, Putin. You beast.

My head is a big, scary place. It scares me sometimes. Not only is it full of words that would only make me sound like a pompous twat, but there's things in there I'm not proud of. There's so many dark things, so many words that terrify me. Nasty, ugly thoughts. But what do I do? How do you run from yourself? I really don't know.

What am I even doing anymore? Drink, drunk, fall over, collapse. And repeat.

I need to sort my life out. Get a boyfriend, get a reality check and get a fucking smile on my face. For god's sake, I need to cheer up.

Hmmm, I like it when my nail polish is all chipped and half-bitten off. It's beautifully ugly.

Oh god. Ashes to Ashes. ASHES TO FUCKING ASHES.

Sam. Oh my god. Sam.
Sam Tyler.
Sam bloody Tyler.
It's SAM.
THAT'S SAM TYLER RIGHT THERE OH MY GOD.
He's right there, knocking on the window of Gene's office, oh god - I can't take much more of this. One more week and we find out everything. Jesus Christ.

I miss you, Sam.

naaaaaaaaar.

i whiteyed in Krash
oh shite.
but now i am home
i am pleasant
got the music going
and i am content

today has been a rollercoaster
and i am still drunk
and dizzy
let's fuck and screw
and have ourselves
a real good time.

damn.
i wish i had offered myself
on a cold white plate.

tell me of your politik.

It was the election yesterday. I voted Liberal Democrats knowing full well that if Conservatives got in, we'd all be well and truly fucked. Why? Because it is a cold, hard fact that David Cameron doesn't care about us. I watched until 4am to see how the parties would do and shrunk back in horror at the Exit Poll. I sat and watched as Tories gained more and more seats.

I went to be hoping this was all a bad dream. But that's when the true nightmare started.

I dreamt I was at school, I was dressed in yellow. There was a big party - we were celebrating. I was sure we had won something - or maybe we hadn't, I wasn't sure. We were just celebrating - everyone was happy. It was good. And then a girl in red comes along and is worried. She tells me something and walks away - I'm confused. Later, a girl in blue comes along and tells me she doesn't want to be friends - she hates me. She tells me I shouldn't be here, I don't deserve to be here. She tells me I'm not allowed to vote - I don't deserve to, I don't have the right to.

I get upset. I lash out, push her and punch her and do everything I can to hurt her. I hate her, she's not my friend. I just want to hurt her so much. And then I step back, shocked at what I've done. She's lying amongst upturned desks and chairs - the old-school ones you'd get in the sixties or something. The ones you open up, yeah? She doesn't say anything, but stares up at me.

And I step back, from out of a class room and I'm suddenly on grass, the room's falling away to the outside, to endless fields or green and yellow. I look at I see David Cameron standing and staring at me - shocked. I cry and run away into the fields - they're long and hard to move through. I move slowly, as if running through water.

And I run away, and no one comes to find me. But I'm hoping, just wishing that someone does.

Could I dream of a future of repression of the Tory rule? Or could I merely dream my fears of one in childish ways?

let's not fight, i'm tired - can't we just sleep tonight?

I feel ignored, pissed off, cranky and lonely. Why do I have the feeling that no one wants to actually talk to me anymore? No one replies to my texts when I text them, no one messages me back when I message them.

I feel utterly useless - it's like any friend I've made in the last eight months has completely forgotten about me and I can't do anything to change that. I'm trying so hard to make an effort, get people to come and hang out, go for a drink - do what friends do. But no one bothers with me?

I've never felt more isolated in all my life, I just don't know what to do anymore.

starry eyed.

Handle bars, and then I let go, let go for anyone.
Take me in, and throw out my heart and get a new one.

Amelia Pond stands at the doors of the TARDIS, she grips the door-frame – she can’t help but feel a little nauseous staring into the flash of colours before her. She gazes into the oblivion, wondering how long it goes on for – it seems bottomless, never ending. There’s so many colours, she can’t even describe them – pinks, violets, coral, periwinkle, all sorts of pastel hues. They swirl together in a beautiful vortex, churning the colours together to make new ones – colours Amy’s never seen before. Colours she couldn’t even think of in her wildest of dreams. She watches, her dark, twinkling eyes transfixed on small orbs of light twirling round and round in the mix. They glitter and glimmer at her and it fills Amy with nothing but happiness and wonder. She starts to lean forward into the vortex, grinning wildly at this beautiful and unexplainable thing – and it’s all thanks to The Doctor. She moves her head forward and laughs, there’s a sudden rush of wind and it sends her hair flying in all directions – wild, fiery curls soaring about her head like a halo.

“Having fun, Pond?” The Doctor appears at her side, grinning madly.

“This is brilliant!” she replies, breathless.

The Doctor feels a surge of smugness as he beams back at her; he knew, he just knew Amy would like this one. He is rather brilliant, you know. He places his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth from the heels to the balls of his feet as he watches his companion gaze into the vortex in awe. It’s a rather mundane thing to him, but he knows how much Amy would find it interesting – she’s only human, after all. Oh, Amy – you haven’t seen it all yet. All of time and space, all the tiniest of wonders in all the universes – and they’ve only just begun. Gazing down into the vortex, he smiles and explains to her what it is:

“It’s called a Gaim Cerelia Vortex. Completely harmless, often used by thrill-seekers and adrenaline junkies alike to free fall in. You just sort of keep falling on and on and on in it,”

“Does it actually end?” Amy asked, looking across at him.

“Fancy finding out?” The Doctor raised his eyebrows, an amused look on his face.

“What, seriously?”

Amy looks across at him, frowning slightly – but there’s a little glint in her eyes that tells The Doctor that she’s eager to find out. That’s what he loves about her – whatever human feeling of fear or uncertainty she feels is suddenly pushed back with an overwhelming sense of curiosity and wonder. He knows that she’s absolutely loving it – she wants to dive right in there and find out just how long this thing goes on for. Because that’s Amy Pond. Brilliant, utterly fantastic Amy Pond.

Next thing we're touching,
You look at me it's like you hit me with lightning...

“Do you trust me?” he asks her.

He gently takes her hand, smiling at her softly. Amy looks back at him, those beautiful, dark eyes of her full of excitement – they seem to shine like stars. She sees that look and she’s speechless for a moment – those, blue, blue eyes calling out to her ‘Trust me Amelia Pond, I’m the Doctor..’. Her Raggedy Doctor who appeared one night. The Raggedy Doctor she waited fourteen years for to come and take her away from her life – she never gave up on him coming to get her. She always, always knew he’d come back. She looks into those blue, blue eyes and it feels like she’s been hit by lightning, a surge of power – of wild, wild power that warms her bones. It’s beautiful. A small smile appears at her lips and he knows, he totally knows. She grips his hand with hers and straightens up, one eyebrow quirked at him in typical Amy Pond cheekiness.

“’Course I do,”

Oh, everybody's starry-eyed
And everybody goes
Oh, everybody's starry-eyed
And my body goes
Whoa oh oh ah ah

The Doctor grins at her and with a yell of “Geronimo!” suddenly leaps forward into oblivion, Amy soaring in after him with a delightful scream. The pair of them tumble into the howling swirl of the vortex and madly spin about for a few moments at an almost frightening speed. Amy squeals with pure joy, she can barely see – her eyes are full of lights and beautiful colours and it feels wonderful. They’re all flashing right before her, consuming her – making her feel weightless and dizzy. She’s never felt anything like it. It’s amazing. The pair of them seem to finally slow down, they feeling like they’re floating rather than falling. Amy looks across at the Doctor and grins.

“Doctor, this is amazing!” she yells over the noise and lights and colours.

So we burst into colours, colours and carousels.
Fall head first like paper planes in playground games...

And with a grin – he lets go of her, pushing arm and letting her spin gracefully round and round. Amy – a little shocked a first of the sudden spinning - soon stretches out her arms, closing her eyes for a moment. She’s enjoying the light-headed feeling as she twists and turns her way around the vortex. Amy grins, everything seems to slow down even more and it just seems perfect. Her hair falls about her face wildly and all she can do is laugh. The Doctor watches her with a grin on his face; he can’t help but think of how beautiful she looks – falling with such grace and carelessness: cradled in twinkling lights, caressed by colours. He just freely floats about, watching and smiling at her. He doesn’t want this to ever end; this is too perfect to be stopped.

With a kick of his legs, she falls over to her – she’s still turning and twisting about, grinning madly. He reaches out and grabs her hand and feels his hearts skip a beat when she opens up those dark, starry eyes and looks up at him. The vortex seems to hush, nothing but the scattered shrills of twinkling lights sounding as they bounce off their bodies and float past their ears. Amy’s still smiling, panting heavily – the sound of her breathing seems to echo about the vortex. Amy can hear her heart beating and as she looks at him, it quickens.

Next thing we're touching,
You look at me it's like you hit me with lightning.

“I feel amazing. I don’t want this to end,” she tells him.

“It’s just the beginning – we’ve got whole universes to see yet,” he grins back at her, taking her other hand and pulling her toward him. “Anything you want, Amelia Pond – I’ll make it happen,”

He reaches and places a hand to her face, “You know why?”

Amy smiles a small, knowing smile – pulling him closer to him. “Why’s that, then?”

“Because I’m the Doctor, and I know that you trust me..”

Oh, everybody's starry-eyed
And everybody goes
Oh, everybody's starry-eyed
And my body goes
Whoa oh oh ah ah

And she looks at him, her dark eyes full of fire and wonder – the stars burning more fiercely than ever before. She can’t help herself. As soon as she’s close enough, she presses her lips against his; they’re soft, gentle and for a moment – they’re both frozen. He kisses her back, his fingertips brushing along her jaw; there’s something rather heartfelt and tender about the kiss, he can’t quite put his finger on it. But he knows - he has absolute certainty – that it’s wonderful. And they pull away and look back at one another and Amy Pond sees. She sees that there are stars in his eyes, burning bright and warm.

the lonely scottish girl and her raggedy doctor.

it's a shame you don't know what you're running from.

would your bones have to break and your lights turn off?
would it take the end of time to hear your heart's false start?

wipe the mud stains from your face,
stop the engine, stop pretending,
that you're still breathing.

you know this is your biggest mistake.

Hello, it's me again. How do you do? I feel a little funny - I stayed up until 7am because I wasn't tired and kinda felt like doing it so I fed my inner Doctor Who fangirl and wrote and drew until I couldn't think anymore. It was lovely. I love Eleven and Amy. They're adorable. And I think I write them well together.

"Doctor?" she asks quietly.

"What?" he's a little annoyed for being cut off. He doesn't like it when people don't let him finish what he's trying to say.

"Do you give in?"

He looks at silently, there's a sort of sad look in his eyes – there's still part of him that doesn't want to do this. He knows it's wrong, but there's something telling him that it's alright. He should. Just comfort her. Amy smiles up at him, her dark eyes still twinkling.

"Yes," he says finally.

I'm pathetic, really. Such a soppy, silly girl. I'm waiting on Uni work to be marked so I can get it back again. I'm dying to find out how well or bad I've done. I want to know about my ELL124 - Creative Writing more than anything. I went mental with that one, I enjoyed writing it so much and showing everyone how much of a sick fuck I can be. It's not my fault. I just have a preferred taste for all things... fucking horrible in life.

I got talking to a girl in one of my classes and we walked home together since she lives in Clanny and I at Precinct which is on the way up to there. We talked about random stuff. Flatmates, plans for next year, plans for the weekend. Stuff like that. She called me weird. I thanked her, beaming. That was the most lovely compliment someone has ever given me. Cheered up my day, probably.

I don't know what else to write today. Ararararararara lalalala do be do do do do!

i saw the world.

On the first night of many, I saw the world.
I looked around the air
and heard nothing but emptiness and screaming.
I looked through the trees
and saw nothing but the blood of men.
I looked in the rivers
and heard nothing but the shrill of bombs and disaster.
I looked into the earth
and saw nothing but the bile and bones of children.
I looked into the mountains
and heard nothing but betrayal.
I looked in the ocean
and saw nothing but sadness.
I saw the world and felt troubled.

Misandry.

Oh, Amanda. You are so cool. I wish I could be you. Because you can voice how you feel so much better than I can. And I'm struggling to scream.

"Misandry (pronounced /mɪˈsændri/) is hatred (or contempt) of men or boys. Misandry comes from Greek misos (μῖσος, "hatred") and anēr, andros (ἀνήρ, gen. ἀνδρός; "man"). It is parallel to misogyny—the hatred of women or girls. Misandry is also comparable with (but not the same as) misanthropy which is the hatred of humanity in general."

It all started with Amanda Palmer. She's the one who's become the trigger, the 'casus belli' within me. Thoughts and feelings can only bubble under the surface for so long. And it takes the most simplest of articles to send one girl raging over the edge. And I'm angry, so fucking angry.

All my life, I have been constantly let down by men. I have constantly been abandoned by them. The man who should have been my father walked out without a goodbye and shut me out of his life completely when I was only five years old. Too young to understand what he was thinking, but old enough to know I was not wanted. And since then, I have not had a father figure in my life. Grandfathers have been the closest thing I could have. But I wanted a father.

I was a Daddy's Girl as a child. And like any daughter, I wanted a father to be the one to chase all my fears away and be my hero. But my name is Cheryl Anne Dixon - carrier of the name of a man who abandoned his two young children - I am not allowed a hero.

Although too young to understand the true concept of hate as a naive and insecure child - I began to feel it toward my male classmates. They teased me. They pushed me over and stamped on any part their feet could reach. They pushed me into rose bushes and chased me home. I was used by them. I just didn't understand. I understand now and I block it out, unsure about what happened. I was too young, but I could feel a rage within me. And it grew. I became such an angry person. Underneath the clothes, the childish obsessions and strange ideas - there has been nothing but rage.

And because of this, my teenage years have suffered. Because of men, I am scared of being in a relationship. I fear intimacy. I'm scared of letting myself be happy because I know that one day, they'll leave me too - just like my father did. And so I shut myself off. And when I tried to force myself, I ended up doing more damage and end up curling up into myself - dying a little more inside because I know I can't do it and never will.

I get older and find out what men are truely like. What I excused to be the selfish and silly ideas of teenage schoolboys became something much more dark and horrible. And it scares me. Men use us as playthings - they want nothing much than to fuck us and leave us. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. They play with our hearts and heads and we're nothing but pawns - we are here to be their pawns. We're put on pedestals to be adored and worshiped - to be perfect and clean and everything they want us to be. It disgusts me.

And this is where Palmer comes into play. Go fucking Amanda Palmer. I love you.

It really comes into the image of women that men seem to want and it makes me fucking sick because it's fake and it's not what a real woman is. Apparently, we must be perfect. We must be flawless. And if we don't shave every inch of ourselves, we are unclean. The general idea from men over this pisses me off. It's like the ordinary girl has to look like the sluts in all the porn you watch. Get a fucking life and a real fucking woman. Like Amanda. She is a real woman. She had ups and downs, she was unsure - I guess. But to me, she is real.

And it is because of this belief I'm destroying myself just to be so fucking perfect for you. I don't know why I've ever bothered. I've probably felt so low and desperate that in order to belong - I have to conform. I feel uncomforable with myself, like this skin isn't mine - it doesn't feel right. And who's fault is this?

Yes. Yours. Fuck you.

Thank you for destroying me. I hope you're fucking happy.

I am not your plaything. I am not perfect. I am far from it and will never be perfect. I am a girl. A one who's been fucked up thanks to you. I will always be a girl, an angry one. I hate men, for what you've all done.

Because I know what you are inside. I know every inch of you, every inch of your being. I know what you are. You are the blood and the bones of your mothers, rejected. You are the violence. You are the screaming void. You are abandonment, the perverted, the bastard. You are the betrayer of my sex.

And I hate you.

I don't know how long I'll feel like this for, probably for the rest of my days - maybe until I can come to terms with myself and find the right person to accpet me for the self-loathing fuck up that I am.

But I'm tired, so fucking tired.

UH-merica.

I can't say I have much motivation right now. I don't even have any to eat. I'd rather sit and listen to my stomach make strange noises and make faces every time I feel a sharp stab of hunger pangs. It's like I can't be bothered to feed myself these days. I've got plenty of pasta to cook and mix with sauce, but I just don't care or don't have the energy. Sometimes it's like I don't want to bother feeding myself. I don't care. I just don't care anymore. Who wants to spend more than fives minutes in that kitchen anyway? Dirty dishes piled high, food left lying around, it's disgusting. I'm not cleaning it. It's not my mess, why should I pick up after everyone else. Cooking requires time and time is not what I want to spend in that kitchen. I need to go shopping. For food which is quick and easy to make and stops my stomach making strange noises. Tomorrow, I promise.

I woke up at 6am this morning, drank some orange juice and wrote a post for a site I'm role playing on. I drank some more orange juice and went back to bed. I heard a dog howl, fell asleep and then woke up another hour later. What a life I lead. Thrilling stuff.

I've been up for a shower, that's pretty much it. I'm still sat in my towel, I should really put some clothes on, for God's sake. Is there any need?

I need to hoover my floor. It's looking dire. I also need to write a story and a poem about how awesome Vickie is all because she guessed what the weather would be like and I didn't have five pound to make a proper bet. So I bet her some writing talents. I wish she were wrong. I want five pound right now. What else do I need to do? Oh yes, probably some washing and wash my dishes. Errgh.

WHY DOES EVERYONE AND THING WAS SOMETHING FROM ME. LEAVE ME ALONE DAMN YOU. ARGH.

BUMPER CARS WITH HOUSE. GO GO GO.

cracked.

My tooth cracked earlier today, but I didn't notice it at first. I just felt a line, a crack. I had a closer insepction and noticed it was loose. Oh shit. I've since then spent mose of today poking and prodding at it just to try and force it out. There's been a lot of pain, then none at all. A lot of the time there's been blood. Not nice at all.

It took a while, but I managed to yank it loose enough to pull it out. By this time the blood's dribbling down my chin and my head's dizzy from the pain. I was advised to go to the dentist's. But I don't trust them. They don't help me at all, any way. Why bother with a stupid, dirty tooth? I can deal with it myself.

There was a lot more blood, just a sudden rush and my whole mouth's full of it. I'm morbidly fascinated and horrified at the same time. But that's how I roll, yo. A whole half a tooth gone. It's currently lying on my desk in a bloodied mess. I'll deal with it later. It feels weird having it out. There's just a bigger hole in my jaw now. Lovely.

Umbrella Academy, aahhhhh!

a weeping world.

Sometimes, the wiser ones say
That it is better not to live,
For life is full of miserable things.
The call of war, the betrayal of friends,
The beauty of nature, all brought to an end.
They advise, on occasion,
That it is better not to love,
For love is hurtful and violent.
The unrequited feeling, the falsehood of dreams,
The elated sense is not all as it seems.
Sometimes, they preach to me,
That it is better not to have faith,
For faith is pointless and empty.
The hope of redemption, the community of lies,
Their pitiful acts all seen through God’s eyes.
It is often better,
Not to live, nor love, nor believe,
Because being is suffering and bland.
And the old man confides to me:
“For the world's more full of weeping, than you can understand.”

hellohellohello.

I have started a new blog. Observe it's shinyness and all round new car smell. Clean and pristine, although not for long. Give me some time and I'll just deface it with whiny, self-abusing words and make you not want to read what I have to say anymore. I love it. Ahahahah.

I am hungover and my insides are churning round and round like a washing machine. My feet hurt too. And I smashed my last wine glass and cut my left hand. It's not pleasant. But that doesn't matter, I suppose - 'tis only a flesh wound!

Because I know that last night was absolutely amazing. I drunk lots and lots and got cheesy chips and burnt my throat on the way home. It was fun. I love being drunk. I remember falling down the stairs at Independent. Well, Alex reminded me. I just remember this aching back of mine. Oosh.

I'm tired again. And I need some decent food, to go shopping and I need to wash my dishes. What a life.