[34]

Numb eyes. Numb everything. Out of sight, out of mind.

This post is titled...

...Fuck off world.

Dear world. Please leave me alone.

You fill my head with so much stress. So much angst. So little focused thought. It's clouding every ounce of my judgement and ever facet of my being.

I thought I knew. But now I know I knew what was wrong. Now I am surrounded by noise that is of no relation to me. Noise with no association, no emotional attachment, it just buzzes. Instead of wanting to save it in a jar, I want to flatten it. I feel as though i'm the one in the jar with sound echoing and reverberating around the glass interior. I am so angry. I am so angry in my head and it's seeping out of my corners. It's become visible and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

This is pathetically self indulgent.

Your sincerely,
P.G.M.Answers (Please give me answers)

[33]

Do I know how to be happy?

[32]

I have no answers for you.

[30]

[To love is powerful. Opens up possibilities. Closes doubts. Questions answers. Answers questions.]

You know. You know those two sides. The dark seperated from the light. The oil sitting above the weighted level. One happy visible in actions, movements, expressions, presence, the other is the sadness lying in a mixture of words marked for all to see. I poured myself in to that sadness. Watched dreams die in longing. Can you read those sad stories in my eyes? Will you hold us and feel the presence of scars? Do you understand that a part of me will always be lost in that silent sadness?

Understand and this is real.

My heart is full of you and only you.

[29]

Walk past me, tell me to smile. I'll look up at you and think 'yes you're right' and beam.

Where was I?
Soaring in and out of reality, watching the clouds form, part and break, delving back [and forwards] into longings.

'I know she is coming
I know she will look
And that is the longing
And this is the book.'

[28]

Figured it out. Or more guided in to reality.

Life revolves around key moments. These determine us. Mold us. Shape us in to the beings we are today. I believe that many stories are written in our lifetimes, and as life progresses each story layers, picks up speed carrying the story before it. They evolve in to masses. Heavy force fields. Miniature suns. Our life choices become planets. Orbiting. Paths dictated by the strength of sun.

Personal example:
Book 1: Childhood,
Sun: Divorce
(Fear. Abandonment. Loss. Jealousy. Shy. Reliant imagination)

Book 2: Teenager
Sun: Family fear. Body discomfort.
(Crying. Shouting. Mirrors. Dialing tone in hand. Swimming costume. Shame. Don't touch her)

Book 3: Youth
Sun: Love found & lost
(Entwined lives. Happy. Joy. Roundhay Park hill. Suffocating. Dependent. Families)


So absorbed in this last story, a bid to understand it involved tracing each line back to the first chapter, the initial paragraph - the very scene it opened on. Until I lived in it. Literally in it. And yet blissfully unaware until today; triggered by one full orbit.

Chapter 1: She stepped off a train in Kings Cross. Drink. Blue skies. Brown corduroy. Grass. Orange youth hostel walls. Apple. Smiles. Black rabbits. Regents Park. Coach station. Hold. Home.

Did I think that by living near Kings Cross, by working in Kings Cross that I could somehow erase it...build new memories to papier mache over it smothering it in to distant recollection? Or was the attempt to re-live it. Re-live it over and over again. Punishing myself. Do I blame myself? Is it some sick means to remind myself of love lost, errors made, regret untrue?

Last Chapter: She stepped off a train in Kings Cross. Office. Blueberries. Old flames. Camden. Home. New flames. Friends. Explore. Regents Park. Dog. Him. Birthday book:'The Time Traveller's Wife'. Realisation. Home.

New book.
Chapter 1: