Lines for the Lost, or Loss


To let go is the hardest thing, and yet                                                                                          The only pathway open to myself.                                                                                                  To view that which I want: A “thing” to “get”,                                                                           Will only hasten an unsaid farewell.

Had sworn this circumstance a thing now past,                                                                        But here I am again, once more drawn in.                                                                                   An enthusiasm which did not last,                                                                                              That leaves me lost, what is the reasoning?

Of course the impulse is to grab on tight,                                                                                      To stop you from slipping totally free.                                                                                       That will only further your cause for flight                                                                                 It’s true, but what else is open to me?

If you just don’t want me, yes it’ll hurt                                                                                        But, it’s not truly knowing that’s the worst.

So, I wrote that poem, and I wasn’t going to upload it here. It’s really bad I know, really fucking sappy, it was a way of exorcising a feeling I had at the time. A fear that turned out to be warranted, though I’m sure I made it worse, by doing exactly what I said I knew I shouldn’t. Guess I changed my mind, about uploading it. Don’t really care anymore, but I think it’s useful to remember moments of minor melancholia like that. Hold onto your feelings and what not.


Monday, July 20th, 2020

Ahead and up, facing cold light through trees,                                                                    Athena on a soft grassy mound touched                                                                                      My arms; and touched my sides; and touched my chest.                                                    Pallas clad in black, into thy arms I fell, leant                                                                            Into an embrace unexpected and                                                                                            Found — at long last — recognition.

I hope it’s not too hard for regular readers to figure this one out. Yes, I think it went well : )


Ode to the Old Loner I Still May Become

Resentment grotesque derives from desire,                                                                                It’s something we know, here a reminder.                                                                    Sometimes we forget, ’til we ourselves see,                                                                                  As I did today there on that park seat.                                                                                              A man walking by, clear lust in his eye                                                                                Inspir’d by woman; firm bust, heavy thighs.

Not just this poor soul, all those there going,                                                                          Could not help but stare, her smile all knowing.                                                                          In noticing this the man’s eyes did shift,                                                                                    Now clenching his fist, the bloated lips twist.                                                                            Old memories now returning to him,                                                                                        Cruel rejection of a once pursued sin.

First dormant pleasure, now a hurt grimace,                                                                        Those fence guarded grapes in that tight bodice                                                            Appeared mocking, there to taunt and to tease.                                                                              I saw in him then a murderous need,                                                                                          But alas, relax, they passed quite swiftly.                                                                                    The moment just stood out, quite distinctly.


Atlas in the Rain

Concrete, growing, decayed block of who knows                                                                        On your back, gaining weight with time; every                                                                        Day it pushes you down further, ever                                                                                  Further, into the ground beneath your feet.                                                                          Knees weak’ning, back straining, resisting the                                                                        Urge to shrug — which your body screams at you to do.

Do it, don’t do it, you will regret it                                                                                                But you will love it; you will be free, yes.                                                                                  Free of the task of lamentation, which                                                                                        You were not asked to take on, yet you did.                                                                              After all, if not you, who will weep for                                                                                        The closing days of colour on Earth.


Finsbury Park

Sat watching a field fill with pigeons                                                                                      (Seven and seven, nine, ten, eleven)                                                                                                A half heard lecture playing in the ear                                                                                  Examining that cruel doctrine of hell,                                                                                        Only to be struck by a sudden fear.

Ahead and to the trees above, mine eyes                                                                                  Were drawn, by strings invisible to me;                                                                                    Then as the topmost leaves those eyes did reach,                                                                      The aforementioned harsh epiphany                                                                                          Did — by that park fence — there reveal itself

For years in the hundreds, now forgotten,                                                                                    As many men as decades have made claim                                                                              That they alone with Him have true spoken                                                                                Yet for all talk of revelation, still                                                                                                    We stand here lost and uncertain on earth

Back to those small grey birds in the field:                                                                                    In the beauty of that sight, and the green,                                                                                      Is the reason that we even seek to know                                                                                    That power many agree to name He.                                                                                            The sight alone, and it’s like, inspire it within.

Addenda — Second Year (a failed attempt)

Bad post donut read

Another year, and I’m still here, and I want to write and I don’t. I don’t know if this thing is good for me anymore, it’s losing it’s feeling of solace, it’s feeling of a place away from every other place. For two years almost, I’ve tried to upload every week, sometimes I’ve done more and sometimes less, but I’ve stuck to it fairly well. I get consistent readers now, I don’t know how many months it’s been since I had a day without at least someone visiting, most days I get multiple unique visitors. Whatever audience I have is tiny, don’t misunderstand me, but it’s there. I used to check my stats page every day, now I check it a couple of times a week, I was getting a few comments for a while, they dried up. I don’t know, my style is changing. I like this blog, I like the ability to vent that it’s given me — for it has been truly beneficial — and the introspection it encouraged. I’ve changed a fair bit, but also very little, and yes here I am still.

I want to change what I’m doing, but I don’t. Expression of excessive emotion, I needed that for a time; examination of my thoughts and what I believed, why I believed them, etc. also necessary. Now though, the structure of a post a week grows somewhat tiresome. And, frankly, a hindrance. I started this blog, ultimately (though it grew into this unique vehicle of self expression, a rekindling of my love of writing, it returned me to poetry), because I was sad about a girl. Remember her, long time readers? I hardly do. I barely recall the sound of her voice, but I remember how sad I was to see her go. I actually re-read my first post recently, the first proper one that is, I was talking about it with someone and it inspired me to actually have a look back. It’s been a really long time since I’ve done so, maybe a year, and while I feel so different from the person who wrote it, I also hate how little I’ve changed.

I had just turned 21 then, and I’m going to be 23 in a month. I’m still in the same job, which is nice and easy and pays fairly well for what it is, but doesn’t provide much in the way of long term opportunity. I’m still forced to live with my dad, and now I’m paying for even more for him and he’s paying less, my responsibilities grow and yet my restrictions increase, it feels. The longest holiday I’ve ever had doesn’t help with the feeling, as well, I’m lost in a sort of limbo. I’m also still alone, and it’s not fun, being a virgin at 23 will be a rather humiliating burden to bear. I’ve got a date, on monday, actually, somehow. I’m still trying to figure out how I managed that. Which reminds me, the quest for a gf has taken quite a few twists and turns since last I uploaded anything on the subject. Guess that should be the first thing I respond to.

Iirc I last talked about this subject a week after finding the half russian/ half chinese autist girl from /soc/, funnily enough I wrote that after she removed me, after seemingly trying to scam me or something. Then, she added me back, and as I said I continued to talk to her. We spoke for another week, a day after adding me back she became much more like the person I’d initially gotten to know, the other guys no longer existed again. The whole situation was so insane looking back, believe it or not I ended up blocking her after another week because of it. She would cycle, between being borderline obsessive and ever present, wanting to talk all the time, for days; then she’d totally flip, and become genuinely cruel and totally dishonest, absurd lies for no reason. Lying about the most ridiculous things. Total mental illness, I felt really bad cutting contact because of it, she was unstable and I didn’t want to contribute further to that, but I had no choice. I value my lucidity, and just having that presence in my life damaged it a lot.

I was totally worn out after that, I had given up, and then.. a girl joined the discord server I’ve been spending a lot of my time in the last few months. From an invite thread someone made on /soc/ apparently. I recognised the name and profile pic (because she’d added me, for some reason I’m still not sure of, two weeks earlier, but never actually said anything) and at the time not even knowing it was a girl I just asked why they added me but never spoke. She replied to me in private, I learnt a bit about her, and she said she was actually looking for a relationship if I wanted to chat and see if we were compatible. So that’s what happened, I don’t want to go through the whole rigamaroo. It could take several paragraphs, or it could be covered in one, so here’s one.

She was pretty distant at first, I actually spoke to her very briefly on the phone one morning, less than a couple minutes, but other than that a few messages here and there that’s all. I hardly knew her, so whatever I decided to stop trying, but then after a week she became much more enthusiastic. She told me she was interested, we started talking a lot more, I showed her this blog, and she even inconvenienced herself a little just to speak to me in a voice call for a few hours the first time. Then a day or two later she grew distant again, now I was kind of invested so I asked if she’d lost interest, she said no but stayed rather distant for a few days. Then, a little later she became much more talkative again, we spoke another couple times on call, I thought things were going well, blah blah blah this is is so boring to write and read, and she stopped replying. Or at least, she seems to have.

Last message from her was, amusingly, an apology for being distant. She said she’d try to find the time to talk, but… that was two days ago now. Or three? She could truly just be very busy, I have seen her online a lot less, in fact almost not at all. I like her a lot, it’s a shame, but I’m kind of used to this sort of thing now. So, speaking of the server, people in there have been encouraging me to make a tinder account for a while now, so I did. Yesterday afternoon in fact, and I got a few matches, which was very surprising. Not loads, I’m not doing particularly well, but the weird thing is that the three matches I have gotten were all very receptive. I had a date scheduled with one of the girls after an hour of talking, I actually have two now.. and they asked me in both cases. I was trying to be kind of boring in the second conversation because I felt bad having already scheduled a date, hoping she’d stop replying, but she asked me out instead.

I started writing this post yesterday but now another day has passed, why it was just one date a few paragraphs earlier and now two. I’m a little overwhelmed by this, it’s like I’ve entered a parallel universe, part of me wants to delete the app and pretend it never happened. If I meet either of these girls my incredible awkwardness will reveal itself, it’ll be awful. I’m still trying to process the situation, because 48 hours ago I was pining after a girl who clearly just doesn’t care much about me with the usual thoughts you get in that situation of “if this doesn’t work out I’ll never find anyone else” and now things are going pretty well and I don’t even want them to I just want to be bored and hopeless because at least that’s comfortable and easy for me now. I’m used to that, it’s familiar, it’s my normal. I think I’ve written enough about this, though, I’ll just have to see what happens.

I’ll probably end up writing about it, if it goes very badly or very well at least, but that leads me to what I wanted to say with this post. I’ve written about myself enough, I’ve uploaded enough, I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to keep writing of course, here specifically, but I’ve worn myself out trying to make myself upload something every week. This is a bad post, the last I ever want to upload, and that means I’m going to end up writing a lot less. Maybe some months only once, I want to focus as well on poetry and fiction, much more. On actually getting back to reading philosophy and responding to it with my own thoughts. On writing, when I do, about my own situation in life in a way that is intelligent, and actually enjoyable to read for the writing itself as much as the subject covered. Believe it or not, this post (the first portion in particular) is — in my humble opinion — one of my most well written works despite being nothing more than sadposting ultimately. If ’tis my fate to continue to be a sadcunt, I can at least attempt to be eloquent and literary about it.

For the sake of living up to what this post was meant to be, I’ll quickly cover some of the other things I should, briefly. This year I met Lucy in the sky, her still legal sibling at least (functionally indistinct), and I wrote about it. I had another mild experience with Morning Glory seeds as well, which was interesting in it’s own right, but the LSD trip was the first time I really experienced full visual hallucinations. The problem being, those were not what I was seeking, the reason I developed an interest in trying psychedelics in the first place was because of the introspective potential so many claim they can provide. I didn’t really talk about this disappointment in my “trip report” much, but I was actually reminded of it recently, and it did bother me at the time.

It’s possible the environment played a large role, some claim the drug actually has rather differing effects depending on that, but who knows. All I know is that the mental “high” was much more of a generic one than I expected, I was lazier, things were funnier, I cared about everything a lot less, the usual. My thinking wasn’t radically changed, I didn’t make any strange connections as I was told would happen, I even had that experience (mildly) when I took 2CB before I ever had this blog. All I can do is try things differently next time, dark room, no sound, no other people around, higher dosage. And I’ve been planning to do that for a very long time, but the opportunity hasn’t presented itself, in part as with everything these days thanks to the virus we’ve all grown to know and love.

This might be my most important post on this blog, I go to that park so often now, still to this day. I visit it weekly, more than weekly, most of my more creative output over the last year has it’s genesis in walks taken there. I love it there, when it’s cold and rainy and muddy; when the sun shines bright and the place fills with life; morning or night. It’s obvious to you, or it should be, I’m in no right mental state to say anything of value or insight with any of what I’m trying tonight to write. I’m sorry this post sucks, this one specifically, being an important one, but it has to. It has to because of course it does, I’m tired and I’m in a very strange state of mind and that which I want to accomplish with my writing is changing. Has changed, it’s already happened, I’m afraid. That’s not to say what I have been doing here will entirely come to a halt, I will always need a place to vent and be a whiny faggot. I’m just, doing other stuff as well now, or the other stuff is becoming the priority and the whiny /r9k/shit is becoming secondary. Thanks for reading, catch you. . . eventually!

A Politics of Vision: Sonnets for Tomorrow

Mania on the Peaks

Standing up there, the wild wind in your hair,                                                                       With the bagpipes squealing to encourage,                                                                                  At last — again — there’s that moment so rare.                                                                        The landscape lost, a soul can here flourish.

A body stripped completely bare, and now                                                                              Free of life and living’s usual angsts,                                                                                       Again reminded of something aren’t thou?                                                                              Some here do kneel, to give the mountain thanks.

With every one of life’s pretences gone                                                                                Beauty, true beauty, is all that remains.                                                                                    How many years has it been now, how long?                                                                         Since vision was lost to the fog and rain.

You tell yourself to live according to                                                                                           This new yet old vision, but now will you?



The question, can you live according to                                                                                          A view held only by a far flung few,                                                                                    Descend into a world hostile to you,                                                                                            Truly return as a man born anew?

Yes, you had your moment of clarity                                                                                              — To others it looks like insanity,                                                                                          Blinded as they are by vulgarity —                                                                                              Now to maintain this new sincerity.

Of the purest virtue, now remind them,                                                                                    That dream which we call beauty is the stem.                                                                  Beneath the ugly stone grown lies the gem.                                                                             Take it, and fashion now a diadem.

Before, buried under life’s distractions;                                                                                   Now, taken and displayed in the open


And So He Spake: A Case for Colour

The world we see, the world we inhabit,                                                                                    Can seem at times most bleak I do admit.                                                                                       I understand why some just wish to leave,                                                                                 Why notions of a child’s sight to them just seem naïve.

It’s in the very way we think, it’s in                                                                                  Substance mathematic, our collective sin.                                                                       Romance, vision, and all that could have been                                                              Explained away, reduced now to expressions of some gene.

I ask of you one thing, think back to when                                                                                 You were children, not yet women and men,                                                                            And the world back then as it appeared.                                                                                      All was possibility then, novelty was not feared.

Ask yourself this most important question,                                                                                Did you reject it, or have it it taken, that vision?


In Search of Better Heroes

D’Annunzio was one of them, a man                                                                                          Who had the strength of age, and yet the eyes                                                                            Of youth. In all endeavours he began,                                                                                        Beauty and holism prioritised.

That there, should be the legacy followed.                                                                                  The only constitution that gave art                                                                                                It’s rightful due, a thing to be hallowed.                                                                                When the mind won’t listen, it tries the heart.

A state which deigns only to protect us,                                                                            Maintain order, provide running water,                                                                                    Will doom us all to a fate such as thus:                                                                            Machines wearing skin, aesthetic paupers.

Dismissed historically as just another                                                                                            Of the many wacky proto-fascists,                                                                                                    I think instead we should see him rather                                                                                        As (despite his claims) the last Romantic

For who beyond him furthered the pursuit                                                                                  Of our shared ascent beyond the brute?


And You Will Know When You Reach It

Thule, El Dorado, or Shangri-La —                                                                                        Names for a place we will always be lost                                                                                        Looking for, why we follow the north star,                                                                                      A search we won’t stray from at any cost.

So some of us will travel far and wide                                                                                        And others to realms easier to reach                                                                                            It’s quite impressive all the ways we’ve tried.                                                                        We’ll all meet back on some faraway beach.

The pilgrimage for a feeling will take                                                                                          You to many a place, ever forward                                                                                            Now, as you seek to soothe that constant ache.                                                                            A doomed path, a tireless explorer.

Then one day, perhaps in old age, you’ll see                                                                            Your pursuit of beauty itself worthy.


They Serve Towers — At the Ground Floor

Artwork by Pocket-egg

Clip clop down the block, the sound of shoes hitting stone, a palpable enthusiasm in the tone. A shock of heavy hair, golden blonde — not overlong but substantial, slightly tousled — crowning a face alight with a cheer not immediately distinguishable from his youth. The early noonday sun bringing out the colours of the city completely; innumerable shining windows looking down over the narrow congested street; cars bright in reds, greens and blues; smartly dressed urbanites on break, seeking something upon which to feed, in their suit jackets and pleated trousers in an out of synch parade. Movement, dynamism, speed, all beneath a completely cloudless sky. There, just ahead, the Four Towers building waits, nestled a little inward from the pavement. Excitement and trepidation all at once, this is it.

Watching from the, somewhat anachronistic in our age, heavy wooden doors: his smile and optimism appear from around the black brick wall. Now aimed right at you. Not particularly tall, not particularly short, a forest green turtleneck and light brown bottoms, boots a darker shade. From his perspective now: ahead a very narrow courtyard jaggedly paved, rectangular it stretches out on both sides until rounding the corner just before a hedge. The building, a deep grey block dotted uniformly with mirrors which reflect the afternoon back out. Halting, he cranes his neck up, following the steel rimmed windows upwards, until at the centre — slightly further than two thirds of the way up — a gap. From this angle a seeming bifurcation, but everyone in the city knows Four Towers splits into four towers, a little like an idealised castle of olde. He’s just never been this close, passed by the street before but never turned in to the courtyard itself.

A fluttering noise from behind, distinct amongst the faded din of traffic, commuters, and so on, half blocked out. Turning his head and right shoulder to look behind, the bird is clear to see. Perched atop the brick wall by the street side, on the corner right next to the entrance he just came through a moment earlier. “Oh..” a faint note of dejection can be identified, prominent in the presence of his otherwise still cheery tone. Parallel with the road, the unmistakeable stripe of blue along it’s wing on full display. It turns it’s head rightward as well, they lock eyes, an almost silent bargain being made. Understanding. More familiar flapping sounds, and then down she swoops. Down from one of the trees that line the inner wall. Down and into full view, majestic little bird. Mr Magpie already on his perch, Mrs Magpie lands a little lower along the main portion of the wall.

We’re all rewarded with the return of a full smile, he stands for a moment beaming up at his new avine friends, how it melts the heart. Such a sweet boy, only just 19 but going on 12 in many respects. First job interview, it’s something he won’t forget, he knows it. Mum’s pep talk at the door before leaving reminding him “Oh Felix, your big day at last, I’m so proud of you. All dressed up in your widdle suit” a tear appears at the outside corner of her right eye “however it goes, I’m just proud you made it this far, I want you to know that. It’s a big day, one you won’t forget”. Embrace, a mother’s love, warmth. After a while she pulls back, crying clearly now, the joy falling freely from her eyes. A few tawny stray hairs, the ones which missed being drawn into her messy ponytail, stick to her face. Both smile, the young man opens his mouth to respond with his gratitude.

And we’re back, sun on stone, Felix turns back to face forward again. The old doorway looms, only a few steps above the ground, great monastic gate to the future. A new life, if things go well, characteristically hopeful his bags back home are already packed and ready. It’s time. He reaches out as he hops up on to the last step, the great bronze ring at face height, lifting it back, hesitation buried in the eagerness. Knock, knock, he brings the ring down into the smoothed groove just behind it’s resting position. Heartbeat, already going faster than usual since late morning, begins to speed up. If you’ve ever held a mouse, in your hand, so fast. Waiting, an eternity passes in under a minute, and then… footsteps on marble. Louder now, louder still, and then a creak from the door on the right. It is pulled back inside the building. Hard to see at first, the sun reflecting from above creates the impression of some dark cave or mine entrance, it takes a few seconds.

Then, a face from behind the door, and beyond it a room at last coming into view. Hard to make out from here the dimensions exactly, it seems small given the size of the building but this is the back entrance. Not a lot of people have been here, it’s by a busy street yet something tends to keep eyes off of it. Of course every person in the city would recognise Four Tower’s grand main entrance on the opposite side, all glass and steel, escalators taking you up from street level, four revolving doors, the works. The iconic golden logo on the tip of the alcove above the glass, and then heavy stone forever upwards. Men (and some women) in suits stream in and out all day long, the building doesn’t sleep. Though it’s certainly most alert and active right now while the sun shines, the lights down in front are on all night long.

A giant in a crowd of other, mostly smaller, giants; a lot of people are unsure what function Four Towers actually serves the city. A reasonable thing to wonder. In fact over a decade prior, towards the very end of it’s construction, it even inspired a large protest movement. Big symbol of corporate power that it was growing into, no one could’ve told you why it had to go exactly, it just inspired a kind of primal angst in people. Felix has hazy memories of being brought along, sitting on someone’s shoulders looking down at the rag tag army around him with their banners and warlike chanting. He wasn’t allowed to bring his Gameboy. In time, people grew to appreciate the building, it’s unusual to meet someone who hasn’t been up to the roof levels. But yes, it’s presence was initially quite a contentious one for the locals.

Open to tourists, visitors, and of course those who actually live and/ or work in the building, the four tower roofs at the very top allow for some of the most breathtaking views of the city. Connected by rickety wood and rope bridges — don’t ask me how they got those past council safety regulations — the roof levels are now an iconic tourist attraction for visitors to the city. You can also host a party up there, though it won’t be cheap! Regardless, partying or just spending an afternoon with the family, while up there you will have the service of each tower’s “Guardian”. These young men have a whole host of responsibilities, primarily working their own tower’s small outlet (two very small coffee kiosks, a bamboo cocktail bar, and of course the gift shop/ tourist information place) but also responsible for cleaning at night and some other small requirements. It’s a live-in position, naturally, tough but not unrewarding.

The face from behind the door speaks, in a most soothing timbre, “Ah, hello there young man! You made it this far did you?”. The face rises taller and the body upon which it is set appears. Long, gaunt, head narrow at the top with sparse lank grey hairs that come down to his droopy ears, and a kindly expression; atop a skeleton in robes, a few inches past six foot. Heart still racing “H-hi, my name is Felix. Felix H-Hel”, the man hushes him not unkindly. “Yes, for the interview, I know young Master Felix. The position wasn’t an open one as you well know, and beyond that very few made it to this final stage” he smiles. “Come, come boy, inside now”, he draws him in by the arm, points him towards a small mahogany chair with a round red seat, placed facing the misted glass desk in the centre of the room. The door closes, the background sound of the high street disappears. Our new friend puts the lock back in place, and proceeds to make his way back over and behind the desk. “Let us begin”.

“I’m sure you’re already well acquainted with the specifics of the Guardian role you’ve been scouted for Master Felix, you are the type to be that’s why you were selected” a pause, he reaches under the desk and pulls up a stack of papers. Smack, down on the table right dead centre. “We know all about you Master Felix, psychological profile, education history, family history, we take this position very seriously. It’s not an easy job, you know why we’re looking for a new member of the team I presume?”. Ah, a chance to show he’s been doing his research for the job, “Yes, I heard about the uh… “accident”, it’s so sad I almost.. I almost feel bad were I to benefit from it” oh no, don’t want to jeopardise things by seeming unenthusiastic “t-though of course it’s a dream job! It’s something I think I could really be good at”. Oh no, flailing, is this going poorly?

A sigh from the old man “Yes, very sad indeed, the other boys haven’t taken it well” he stands back up, over at the corner of the desk “an intensification of type in all three cases, fascinating but.. hard to watch all the same”. “I don’t quite” very brief pause “understand what you mean Mister”. The gentleman seems alerted by this statement, the tiniest flicker of concern — you probably missed it — appears on his face, while he tries to muster a fresh smile. Teeth hidden, more a smile of the eyes than the mouth. “Not to worry Master Felix, just thinking out loud. You should know one thing, the four boys formed a rather close group, it might be difficult for all of them to accept you right away”. The implication isn’t lost on Felix, he tries to stifle a smile to no avail, all noted by the old man with a secretive satisfaction.

Returning to his seat “Now, Master Felix, apologies for failing to properly introduce myself, you must forgive me. Though perhaps you recognise me from our initial e-mail correspondence, it is I who first offered you the option of applying for the position..” his zeal taking hold Felix rudely interrupts the man “Oh, Mister Uran?! I didn’t, I had no idea, it’s great to finally meet you”. Mister Uran is not offended by Felix’s eagerness, no not at all, in fact he’s rather pleased. The interview is off to a fantastic start actually, you might be surprised to find out, and yes the interview has been in progress this whole time unbeknownst to Felix or yourself. Since he first knocked on that old door. The very way in which he did it a part of the examination taking place still. With the usual pleasantries now exchanged, the formal interview can at last take place.

“Master Felix, as explained, we do know quite a bit about you, but there are some questions. It wouldn’t be an interview without them after all.” he smiles a little at his own remark. “Oh, of course, I’m ready” the boy’s bright blue eyes widen “what do you need to know?”. “First off, I’m going to ask you why you decided to pursue the role? It’s not going to be easy work boy, I hope you’re fully aware of that” boy takes a second, not immediately sure how to respond, then “Well, to be totally truthful with you sir it’s actually the exact kind of job I’ve always dreamed of”. A short speech follows, fully fleshing out Felix’s romantic vision, he waxes poetic about a number of stylistic life influences that led him to this seat in front of this desk in this room at this moment; depictions of boarding schools in old English novels, sci-fi crews on small ships journeying through the stars, close knit groups of friends young and old.

“I’m very impressed young man”, the boy does seem prone to becoming very suddenly enthused, Mr Uran notes to himself. “Very interesting response Master Felix. Someone with your attitude is exactly what we’re looking for in our new Guardian”. Though the reasoning behind such seeking isn’t what Felix thinks, the statement is an accurate one. Frankly, the interview is a charade, the job was his the moment he made it beyond the courtyard. You’d be surprised how few make it that far, of the already small number invited, very specific people are needed. This is meant not in the sense you might think, it isn’t a particular skill or ability that is sought by those who make the big decisions round here, no something other than that. “Now if you could, make the effort to answer the next series of questions as straightforwardly as possible”. What follows is a series of questions, which Felix proceeds to answer as straightforwardly as possible.

A good half hour goes by, Felix while already in the clear has his character tested some more, the most up to date and well tested personality screening techniques are enacted upon him under the guise of various rather mundane interview questions. The more information they can get the better, this is a very important position he’s filling after all, and after what happened with the last guy.. Well, let’s just say his untimely end threw a real spanner in the works, and not just because the second café had to stay closed for over a month. A sad thing really, the way the old boy went, tossed himself off one of those swinging bridges that make the place look like a treehouse one night. Easy clean up at least, was kept hidden from the public with little trouble, but everyone was sad to see the guy go. He was the best of them, that was the point, yet he couldn’t truly live up to that. A false hope.

The testing is much more stringent this time around, no such oversights will be allowed again. A lot of work had to be thrown out after what the suicide revealed, the whole project was really at risk, that can’t be allowed to happen a second time. The Guardianship project is of course only one of many such, it is however one of the more ambitious. Failure would itself reveal many things, but recent events are really more of a setback rather than an example of total failure. The proper measures were simply not taken in the initial stages. The lesson has been learned, with the boy now things should be smooth sailing. He was quite the find, it’s a lucky thing indeed he was spotted and scooped up so soon. The other three are finished with the new psychological evaluations — performed under the smokescreen of bereavement therapy — that the higher ups demanded as well. Phase two is well and truly ready to begin, isn’t it something to see?

“Master Felix, I believe that concludes the list of questions I had for you, your concision was appreciated. I realise it took some restraint.” Mr Uran stands “You will receive a call this evening, informing you of our decision. To be true, my decision Master Felix”. The usual farewell niceties are exchanged, they share a water together by a rather ornate drinking fountain out of place in these shabby back rooms, then Felix is escorted to the door. “See you Mister!” Felix waves back from the bottom step, that boy just can’t control his sanguinity. A good thing for him in these unusual circumstances he’s been drawn into. A little out of his depth this good lad is, but he’ll be in good hands. The sun is still out, not quite sunset just beginning to dip ever so slightly. An afternoon to himself, he’d expected the interview to go on a little longer than it did, Felix is burdened with a fair few free hours now before he’s expected home.

What is there for a good boy like him to occupy his time with in the big city, you may be wondering. He’s thinking along similar lines, but there’s more. The job might mean he won’t see the ground again for a good while, many months perhaps — leave is granted of course, just not with great frequency — he could be there above the city for the rest of the year, we’re already living through the last days of summer. He glides out and onto the main street, less busy now though still far from quiet, what  to  do. As if on cue, the stomach rumblies, yes, food! There’s a burger place not far from here, up the road and round the corner. Not cheap, it is the city centre after all, but money should be about to stop being a concern. Memories of lunch with mother there one time hit him as he goes, the two of them are close, naturally. He picks up speed, wanting now to get home to her and make the most of the last evening under her roof he’ll spend for a good long while.

At a wide open crossroads now, waiting to cross, one of those places where the city opens up and reminds you of it’s breadth. Reminds you of the man hours spent in the placing of each and every stone and steel beam and the laying down of the many roads which snake out web-like across and every which way. It’s an old city, and not one you’re likely to have heard of before, one with a storied history and a bright future. Literally, shining bright, from up on one of Four Tower’s four towers you’ll see it. The way the sun catches on this new skyline is something alright, the boys up there say you never get bored of that view. People have accepted Four Towers now, yes there is an unease that some of the city’s older denizens have about it, but the thing is an accepted icon despite it’s mystery for the most part. That initial distress it inspired in the population now long diminished.

Felix at the door to the joint, it’s sort of make believe, the place is playing dress up you could say, it’s like an American diner from the 50s. Straight out of a movie set, or a small town with the population number recorded on a sign like they do over there. In he goes, the trendy haircut on the server behind the counter immediately breaking the illusion of the place. He doesn’t look too happy either, scowling towards the newly opened door with a face like a slapped arse. Felix’s energy is truly contagious however, his mumbling alone, while he scans the menu, is enough to amuse the man in the apron. Double cheeseburger, and a good shake of black pepper on the cheese, vanilla milkshake alongside. Truly now, the two begin to get along, Felix stays at the counter to eat, on one of the stalls. Felix’s aura now no longer on the move, swells again, and the man behind the counter (bored out of his mind a moment before) is drawn in totally.

The place stays quiet for a time, just the two of them chatting. “So, young man, are you studying?” “Oh, no I’ve finished with school, I was taking a year off but I found myself a job. Or at least, I think I did”. The conversation takes it’s twists and turns as tends to take place in encounters of this type, though the man behind the counter leads most of it. It’s always been this way for Felix, there’s something about him which draws you in, not so much an allure (as regards romance, he’s been rather unsuccessful thus far, not that it bothers him greatly) as a kind of pull. You just want to help the kid, he’s… good. And that’s a rare thing it often feels like, especially when you’re around him. Like bumblebees to a flower full with nectar, even the most grizzled and gnarly old gits find themselves in good spirits when in his company. It takes a special kind of resolve for someone to maintain their gloom around him for long.

At some stage a young couple enter as well, they stay at the counter a while. Felix, while being the least involved participant in the discussion, nevertheless remains the lynchpin for it. Afraid we totally lost track of the conversation itself, it went something like this: Felix’s new job, the Four Towers building and the business that has sprung up around it (such as this here restaurant), man behind counter’s own pie in the sky dreams of starting a business of his own some day, Felix’s age, counter man’s time in school, his regrets, the story of how the couple got together during their last year of school, and now their concerns about being forced apart when the summer ends and the girl leaves to study in a different town. Felix tires, the sun still shines down but the temperature has dropped, time to get on off home. He pays, drops a tip in the box, and heads out as the place begins to gradually fill up now with customers. The burger man and couple yell their goodbyes and good lucks to him as he goes.

On a bus ride through early evening now, late summer as already stated so the sun is yet to set, well on it’s way there though. That early glow before the orange haze comes to totally coat the city in it’s marmalade glaze. The buildings begin to get smaller as we go, from high above heads to a floor number you can count on just two hands. Beyond that public houses and cocktail bars, nightclubs not yet opened up, supermarkets that get cheaper and shabbier. Then we’re in narrow streets, residential middle class cafés with open glass left overnight, no concern for burglars or break ins here. Red brick, white lines between, neatly tiled roofs, cars parked in front in designated spots. Trees dot the streets, Birch trees to be specific. Through and beyond the bus ride continues on, there ahead a single standing pole and a man stood still, the bus stop. Up our new hero hops.

Alighting from the vehicle the house Felix has known his whole life, grown up in, is there to see. As it always has been, this is the same bus he took to get home from school. It’s a very familiar sight, his house from this angle; an admittedly rather run down little bungalow, to him and his mother it’s home. Or, it will have been. Not to get too down in the dumps now, grand opportunity awaits. Four Towers is a bus ride away, he just proved that, Felix reminds himself, and we see that little smile return. Unlocking the low gate, down the old path he’s walked many thousand times before, a faint ringing sound ahead. As he nears the door however, it stops. Out comes the key, gonna have to hold on to this somehow, into the hole it goes. A scream! Concern, he pulls the door open now flustered, there in the hallway hair still the same mess it was in this morning, brown and pink dress lank, his mother stands. Phone in hand, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, “It’s for you”.

In the Den of the Homeopaths for Nine Long Years: A Short Collection

The Last of the White Stone Houses

A road there stretches between two stations.                                                                              On one side fields, guarded by fences.

Opposed, a row of perfect teeth,                                                                                                 Over one hundred years ago

Fifty on, half were gone,                                                                                                            Twenty more, just a score.

Today only                                                                                                                                         The one remains,

Around                                                                                                                                                 All grey


And We’re Back

Monotony returns                                                                                                                     Faintly, unease burns                                                                                                                        As it should be                                                                                                                        Complete comfort feels false, frankly                                                                                   Dreams of trees (palms)                                                                                                        Coconuts with straws                                                                                                                           A spot of sand surrounded by true blue seas                                                                               Or that small farm, which                                                                                                    Magically maintains itself                                                                                                                 In these frequent false future memories                                                                        Shovelling shit                                                                                                                                      Is no one’s fantasy                                                                                                                            Too much like it couldn’t be                                                                                        Unfortunately                                                                                                                                  Real life is not quite right                                                                                                               Not quite wrong either                                                                                                                       It works after all                                                                                                                               Just about                                                                                                                                 Honestly                                                                                                                                             Not quite anything

Can you follow the beat of her robot heart?                                                                                 It’s rather like your own you know.                                                                                             Cold steel instead of flesh and bone,                                                                                             But still the same familiar tone.                                                                                                         If you are in touch with your own                                                                                                  (da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM),                                                                                           And on and on it goes.

Understanding, truly loving,                                                                                                         Only wants the best for you.                                                                                                        Close your eyes and lean into                                                                                                        Her embrace, her warmth, be born anew.

A life awaits, with troubles few,                                                                                                    Just make the choice just do it.                                                                                                   Away your pain and pride falls,                                                                                                   Like old skin, and crumbles.                                                                                                   Beyond all horrors now, free of                                                                                                  Your — prone to rot — reality.


For Arrietty and the Boy

Many tears shed                                                                                                                               The first of the new decade                                                                                                                A film I will forget



A pretty thing, and I believe                                                                                                              A brain beneath as well.                                                                                                                   Oh silly girl, I’ll miss you so                                                                                                          We’ll reunite in hell.

Not for a good long while I hope,                                                                                                  You especially so.                                                                                                                              After the long life you must live                                                                                               Please tell me how it goes

For my own skin, my concern slips,                                                                                                  I could die tomorrow.                                                                                                                        When I think of yours cut short, I’m                                                                                Overcome with sorrow

You strike and harm for fear of loss                                                                                            This I do understand.                                                                                                                           I haven’t the strength to bear it,                                                                                                     Such pain I can’t withstand

I wish it hadn’t gone this way,                                                                                                 Instead we’d met as friends,                                                                                                               I wish I’d found you years before                                                                                                 The world and it’s dead ends.

Daughter, sister, one day mother,                                                                                             Please do those people proud.                                                                                                        You can’t give up, it hurts too much,                                                                                              You can’t, you’re not allowed!

All I can do is trust you now                                                                                                            To be strong and pull through,                                                                                                        All I can do now is hope that                                                                                                          You find what you need to.

All now I can do is retreat                                                                                                             Into my fatalism,                                                                                                                            Once again my only comfort:                                                                                                            It was always written.


A Case for Strength

You know, a thousand wounds don’t kill a man.                                                                         No, think on it, only the last one will.                                                                                             So if your heart still beats, either you can                                                                                   Get back on your feet, or fall down the hill.                                                                             Now at the bottom of the hill you’ll find                                                                                     The very thing that inspired, prompted —                                                                               That roused within — the very will to climb.                                                                            The sole place from which escape was wanted.                                                                        But if you let yourself be brought down so,                                                                             Then to what end was all past effort made?                                                                                 So a fully severed stem can’t grow,                                                                                              Any less is but a nick from a blade                                                                                                    I understand that you may be in pain,                                                                                    Know friend, my sympathies you do not lack.                                                                             Just be aware there is nothing to gain,                                                                                       And everything to lose, if you fall back.

For the sake of progress made, I implore                                                                                   You to get back up, if you can take more.

They Serve Towers — Concept

Always following a period of stress, or at the very least increased emotional “activity”, comes a lull in my ability to write anything. A pattern I should have noticed much earlier, only apparent to me now, how silly. I’m in that now, it’s been a week since I uploaded last and I haven’t written anything. I want to, but I can’t do it. And now when these periods of writer’s block come along they worry me little, because in the last couple years I’ve hit them so many times only to inevitably stride forward and return to a healthy and productive state. For now however, though I have the idea in my mind for several potential posts, there is this force preventing me from doing what I do when I do manage to do it. Bringing them to life, making an idea real.

I realised, while wondering to myself about why I so often hit a wall like this one I face now — such reflection is what led me to the realisation I initiated this blog entry with — that the blog ironically functions as a wall itself when it is going well, and I am in my most fruitful state. See for a while now I’ve had the germ of an idea for something, a written work of some kind that would go beyond this blog. Not to say it’d necessarily exist beyond this blog, I’ve toyed with the idea of integrating the idea into the blog completely. I’d probably publish any writing towards this idea here even if I wanted the two projects to be seen as separate, though I doubt they could be truly, being the product of me there would be bleed-over. It’s a tiny platform, I have a handful of regular readers, but it’s preferable to attempting to get eyes on something from scratch all over again.

I’m not sure exactly what it would look like if I ever found the time or energy or motivation or clarity to actually start writing towards this thing, whatever it’s final form would take, it’s still a very rudimentary concept. I’ve decided today however, that despite that I’m not gonna hold on to this anymore. For lack of anything else to share or write about, and because frankly I feel like I may never do anything with what I think is at the very least an interesting idea, I’ll give a quick rundown today. So it’s out there, the potential anyway, and not completely lost with me. Not to hype things up so much, ultimately it’s a very simple idea, a short story or collection of stories — I’m undecided. I’ve said before I have a lot of ideas that pop into my head, artistic concepts, but very few stick with me like this one has. So, without further ado, They Serve Towers.

Ultimately, I see this blog as a way of understanding myself and my thoughts better, and I do that primarily through non-fictional means. I talk about my feelings, my thoughts on the world, etc. I talk about how works of fiction by others have influenced me, of course, but primarily the blog is me attempting to understand myself by presenting myself as sincerely as I can. So, some time ago I was thinking to myself if a similar kind of thing could work in fiction. Because while this blog has been very helpful for me, and will continue to be I hope, it is limited in ways. As I’ve talked about on here in fact, while like all people I am multi-faceted, I do tend to lean into some aspects of my personality more heavily than others when writing. A reader who met me might find me to be much less gloomy or prone to melancholy than they expected, which isn’t to say I’m not those things, but it’s not the person I am with most people most of the time. It’s something that’s impossible to avoid, the very nature of this blog as a thing for self reflection means it has to take on quite an introspective and somewhat sad tone.

So there was this idea, that through fiction I could more closely examine all aspects of who I think I might be. So, inspired to a degree by Pessoa and his heteronyms, I would take these personality tendencies which each have their own place in life where they express themselves more loudly over the others, and make unique characters out of them. My melancholy or angsty side which tends to hold sway in this blog; the naïve/ innocent little prince role, which I tend to lean into more when around my co-workers and other people I don’t know so well; the more angry or edgy person I might come across as if you read my posts on 4chan; and the genuinely happy and content individual who laughs at everything that my close friends seem to see me as. There could be more or less, I’ve thought about it a bit but am undecided, but the core of whatever this project could end up being are these characters which are ultimately aspects of myself made whole.

Through this framework, I think there’d be a lot of opportunity to explore how and why I make certain decisions the way I do by looking at which characters most naturally seem to take the lead in various different scenarios I could hypothetically put them in. There’s opportunity for interaction between these characters of course, and perhaps I’d find in time which of them I like or appreciate most and which I have the opposite response to, if I do. Through this I might better understand what I like and dislike about myself, if I want to be any different or if I should be more comfortable with who I am, that sort of thing. I hope as well, that others reading could gain something from such exploration, I’d be drawing on my own experience and person of course, but if it inspires others to think about themselves in a similar way that’d be nice I think.

Speaking of scenarios, I have a few in mind, I think I’d primarily draw on events which have happened to me at work. I’ve met many different kinds of people since starting my job, and had quite a few unusual interactions which could be spun into something much more interesting in a work of fiction. I would want to write fiction, and I have a bit of an imagination so naturally things would get. . . weird. Dreamlike I guess, I’m interested in magical realism as an idea, fiction which has elements which would seem magical or real to any reader that are seen as normal by the characters. The setting of a workplace similar to mine — in certain ways, though rather different in others naturally — provides a very easy means of introducing various other one off characters and asides which would be useful for exploring what I wish to explore with this potential story/ies idea.

Another reason for the shop setting, is that it shows up in my dreams a lot (not so much lately) and I would heavily draw on my dreams for this thing. One dream in particular actually, which is what took my idea from something very barebones and gave it something of a body. In this dream, which I had months ago now, I was working at a shop somewhat like mine. Except, it was on top of this skyscraper in the middle of a bustling city centre. Aesthetically, think Manhattan or the city from the videogame Mirror’s Edge. The tower I was on specifically started from one base, but split into four smaller towers or peaks about two thirds of the way up. So, there was like a narrow cross in the centre where one could potentially fall to their death. I was stationed at something a bit more like a market stall than what I work at irl, made of wooded planks, and on the other three towers were three other stalls. Hence the title, which came to me when I woke up instantly.

I don’t actually remember the specifics of the dream too well, I know I went to visit one of the other stalls and hung out with the guy there. It was actually one of co-workers, of course, when I was spending a lot of time around them they were showing up in my dreams frequently. One of the stalls was more like a bar, made of bamboo, with a huge glass bowl full of Caribbean punch. It was daylight at first, then later it got dark and me and my co-worker were sitting on the edge looking out over the city trying to hit the tower in front of us with pebbles, it was on the other side of a narrow street, as the day came to an end and the customers stopped showing up. I’m not even sure who the customers were, the were mostly just empty skins in suits, probably working in the building below us. It doesn’t matter too much, because I’d change a fair bit for the final work I think, this was just a major inspiration. The imagery of it, it was striking.

This was a short post, sorry, and it’s been longer than usual since I last uploaded. Mental block, like I said. I think I might be going back to work soon, hopefully before the end of the month, it’s been a weird period for me. I’m just losing track of reality a bit, some stuff happened as I’ve written about, and now I’m experiencing a new kind of weird. I’m having a lot less alone time, with this server that I’ve joined it’s like there’s always someone to talk to. And, I can’t help but be drawn into conversation, so starved of it as I have been for so many years. Resisting that, ignoring it and focusing on writing, it’s a new challenge. I’ve also hit a bit of a block regarding my reading progress as well, I was doing so well early during the quarantine but I’ve been stuck struggling to stay motivated with Gravity’s Rainbow for almost a month now. First world problems at least. Thanks for reading.

If It Seems Too Good to Be True

I hate to immediately ruin the impression made in my last entry that things were finally looking up for me, but I have to be honest, I’m really kind of worried right now. Last week I mentioned I’ve started talking to a girl online, and I’m still talking to her, but I can’t help but feel like I’m losing her. Or worse, as I’ll explain later. So, it turns out she has high functioning autism. So high functioning that I didn’t even notice until she told me, but since mentioning it I can pick up on it in the way she talks to me in some ways. She’s surprisingly honest about certain things, and curious about things which most people would feel are too private to talk about with someone so early. Admittedly though, I do encourage it and we’ve both shared a lot about that kind of topic, I don’t know if she’s as open with everyone else she’s spoken with. She’s always vague about that when I ask, so I’m not sure what I can trust.

Speaking of her mild autism, I wonder if the reason she doesn’t only seem not to lose all attraction when I appear needy or obsessive or inexperienced with women (as most of them would, and do), but to actually sometimes find me more attractive because of it, is related to this. She’s kind of tomboy-ish, in some respects, but at the same time quite feminine and motherly in others. It’s hard to really present how, there’s a weird balance somehow, she kind of fluctuates between the two. Her mood does the same thing, early on she was very matter of fact and brusque in conversation and I felt like perhaps she was just not interested, but then she opened up quite suddenly and began to put just as much or even more thought into the conversation. In her own somewhat idiosyncratic way that is, which I’m getting pretty used to.

For example, she plays a lot of vidya, and I used to play games a lot so that was something we spoke about a bit, but I’ve always been a console pleb. Well actually the first games I ever played when I was really little were on PC, the original Age of Empires, and a few other RTS games like it, but when I got back into vidya as a teenager it was with the Xbox 360. And I still have a console because I use it to talk to a friend, and play with him, but I know I’m not gonna buy a console ever again and my laptop is getting old. So, I’ve been thinking about buying a PC, I do have steam and some low requirement games but without a proper PC it’s pretty useless. Anyway when I mentioned that I was considering getting a new one some time within a year or so she was really interested in helping me. She was explaining what different parts I’d need; she put a whole list together for me; she told me about the risks and how I could screw it up, and then suggested good deals on prebuilt PCs if I preferred that idea; she even said she’d explain how to get a version of Windows 10 installed without needing to pay for it.

It’s not exactly a huge amount of effort, but the enthusiasm was appreciated, and we’d only been speaking a couple days at that point. It might’ve been before my last entry actually. It can be hard to get her to talk about her interests, I think she might have a hard time doing it. We’ve talked about films and books, and the conversation got a little awkward. It’s not really that important to me though, obviously I care about getting to know her and what she likes or is interested in, but I don’t need to really share the exact same taste in art to see myself with someone. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but other than generally enjoying doing similar things because of course you’ll spend a lot of time together, I don’t care that much about the specifics. That’s not really what I talk with my close friends about, we usually talk about more personal things. And when it comes to that kind of talk, I’ve found it surprisingly easy with this girl.

I could write pages and pages about what we’ve talked about — she wants to talk almost all of the time — and how much we’ve spoken, but that’s not what this post is about unfortunately. No, it’s about this fear which started while I was talking to her yesterday, this painful lump in my stomach which won’t go away. For some background information, a few days ago we were chatting and she became very upset suddenly, and I learned more about her living situation. She used to live with an ex boyfriend — the only person she’s slept with she told me, and I do believe her, I know she’s lied about some small things but nothing like that I don’t think — but after he cheated on her she was forced to move in with her brother. Her brother and her live in the same city as me by the way, she even recognised the station I work at when I mentioned it. She actually recognised the place I work, that is to say she mentioned the “purple coffee shop” and I told her that it’s been redesigned but that’s the place.

Anyway, after this she told me that she was in a lot of trouble, that her brother is charging her rent and she can’t quite afford it because she’s not getting paid during the lockdown. She got quite emotional, and told me that he’s talked about kicking her out and she’s really scared, and she started talking about how she’d have to sell her PC. Thankfully she assured me she didn’t mean to sound like she was e-begging which she gets accused of by others, and wasn’t asking me for anything, just venting. She also said she has to buy her own food, and so she’s eating very little. I think she was exaggerating when she said she hadn’t eaten in over a day, I’m pretty sure she mentioned eating the night before, but she is fairly skinny and also mentioned being hungry a couple times before I found out about her financial situation. I know it was really stupid, but I offered to meet her and take her for lunch — with no ulterior motive, yes I’m interested in her but I’m not a predator — however she said she’d feel bad getting help from strangers.



Sorry, it’s been a really fucking weird week for me, I started writing this entry before most of it and then got distracted by it, so I’m going to start again. Just leaving what I did write for context, evidence to myself that my early concerns were completely valid though I didn’t get to completely finish writing them out. Basically, in the paragraph after the last I was going to mention that the same night she got all depressive about her financial situation she also mentioned for the first time that her PC’s graphics card was broken and therefore she couldn’t play one of her favourite games. Most of them actually, of course. Well, at one point she just said it was very difficult and incredibly laggy, at another that it was completely impossible; however the night before she’d asked me to play. Only my PC couldn’t run it (it’s a free game, tf2) and so we didn’t.

At the time it did seem a little weird that she kept focusing the conversation back on it, and if not for her mild autism — and my “I’m so lonely, girl being nice to me” blinders being on — I would have already been suspicious at this point. Because if this was a normal girl, who I’d only been speaking to properly for a couple days, I would immediately assume she was trying to scam me or at least only interested in getting free stuff from foolish lonely men online and not actually looking to find a relationship. I’d never in a million years do something like that, of course, not only because it’d never fucking work but because the idea of paying for a relationship is gross to me. It’s functionally just prostitution at that point, assuming there ever comes a day where a pay pig simp actually gets the e-girl he obsesses over to go out with him. Which I highly doubt will happen.

Anyway, that’s crucial information for later but I’ll get on with the post now. So, in the very first photos this girl sent to me, I noticed self harm scars on her arms. Even a photo she showed me from when she was quite young, like mid teens, and she told me the same night I wrote about above that she still sometimes does it when I asked why her legs were bruised and cut in a photo from that day she took. This is probably the same for almost every guy, but when you notice a girl has self harms there’s two things that happen. Red flags go off obviously, self harm scars are the most clear sign of mental health issues one can have; and yet at the same time, a powerful desire to somehow save or help the girl in question kicks in, call it the white knight instinct if you want. Well, the mental illness eventually revealed itself, or at least something did. Bear in mind that while we were talking for just over a week, it was for often seven or eight hours some days, a lot of time invested by both people. If not for her sleep pattern, she’s probably want to talk from the moment she woke up until bed time, it was actually quite overwhelming.

That night was the first time things began to get weird for me, and from that point forward I slowly began to notice more and more the various inconsistencies between different things she told me. It was strange, with every lie there was also fairly reliable confirmation that some of what she was telling me was completely true. Here’s a perfect example. A day or maybe two after that night, I mentioned my blog and linked it (stupid maybe, idk, need to wait a little longer in future) and she became very serious all of a sudden and promised not to read it. Said it should be my private thing, and she was scared that if she read it it would change what I say about her, stop me from being honest. Except, she clearly did read it, immediately after sending the link I got several views from one unique visitor in the UK, and after I went to sleep that night more appeared. So it wasn’t as if she took a quick look and then did keep her promise.

So, this means the person I was speaking to definitely lives in the UK, but she did lie about not visiting. I didn’t really care, I linked it to her so I obviously didn’t have a problem with her reading. Frankly, I liked that she lied because it seemed to mean she was interested in my opinions about her but too shy to let me know. And she did seem really into me still at that time, even though some of her lies were becoming apparent. Very interested in fact, it was a very sudden shift after the first few days. The next morning when we spoke, I think she was drunk again, she asked me more about the blog. There were only ever two things she seemed really interested in, my blog and my sexuality, I got a lot of questions about both and very few about most of what else we talked about. To be fair, most of my questions were about similar things. She was just so unashamedly open about it, I’ve never had someone be that open with me about that sort of thing before.

She was drunk in the morning when I woke up because her sleeping schedule is completely fucked up, she’s almost nocturnal. She seems to wake up late afternoon, and then stay awake until late morning the next day, so often I’d go to sleep at night after speaking to her for hours and when I woke up she would still be there. Anyway one morning she was quite drunk — not sure how someone struggling to buy food keeps buying alcohol — and that might’ve been when the conversation about my blog continued I’m not sure. She was really “lewd” with me, even more than usual, sent me a bunch of (not nude, but risqué) photos telling me I could save them, and then told me she loved me multiple times. Before this she would always ask me not to save photos she sent, and delete them pretty quickly after sending. So I felt great for most of that day, waiting for her to wake up, but also uneasy. We’d only been speaking for about a week.

That was the high point though, from here things quickly fell apart. She woke up, and I just decided to make sense of things once and for all. Things were clearly going really well, I thought, so I asked her if she was actually interested in me or if I was just another orbiter. But from here on out her responses were always vague, and hard to understand. She said yes, kind of, but in very unclear terms. I asked her a lot of questions about how many other people she was speaking to, did she have a bunch of orbiters, etc. We’d joked about it before, but now I knew she’d read my last post and seen I was insecure about it so I wanted honesty. But she kept giving responses that were contradictory. “I don’t have orbiters” “No one talks to me” “I get a lot of people but they don’t say much” “I only have friends, or strangers” “my online friends are all female, guys always have an ulterior motive” and more of the same.

Then, she seemed to start trying to toy with me, like it was some kind of game. She said she had been speaking to another guy, and that he was also from the same city as us, that she really liked him but he softly rejected her. I asked if she was just making things up, given that previously she’d told me there was no one else she was talking to seriously like with me, and she got really defensive. She said she had no reason to lie, even though I know she’d lied a lot already at this point. At this point I had a kind of pit in my stomach, the same kind of dull and slight pain I’m so used to at this point. It was as if, so suddenly, things were falling apart in front of me. I just insisted on a straight answer, is this leading anywhere or not I asked. And… here we go.

She told me, that she wouldn’t consider dating someone unless he proposed, gave her flowers, and gave her a “gift”. She said that that was how it always went, and used her autism as some kind of reasoning saying things have to be a very specific way in most areas of life. Funnily enough, one of these three things seemed quite a bit more important than the other two. So, at this point I was thinking to myself that I’d just fallen for a literal scam artist or something, and she (if it even was a she) was just preying on simps to get free stuff. I asked her a load of questions about it, as always got contradictory responses, and then as a test I decided to ask what her ex bf had bought her. I hate that I knew what she would say before she said it, high score for whoever else guessed correctly. Yep, her old graphics card.

I was so confused, I just couldn’t believe that I’d invested so much time talking to someone and it might all have been completely fake. My head was spinning, it was just such an insane larp if true. If you want to get free shit online as a girl there are a hundred far easier ways to go about it than actively being difficult to talk to for over a day before opening up with your target, then continuing to talk to them for a whole week and presenting several red flags, before trying to push them to buy something for you. Unless, it’s not a girl, but somehow a guy got hold of this poor girl’s photos and was pretending to be her. Easy way to find out, I told her I would never spend any significant amount of money on a girl I wasn’t already in a real life relationship with. If I was just the victim of a scam, she/ he would just give up at that point. She didn’t though, she said that’s ok, and she didn’t mind if I never bought her anything and I was fun to talk to.

I told her I needed a timestamp, like as soon as possible, and she said ok but she didn’t have a pen. It was late at this point, so I went to sleep and she promised to look for one when she could and prove she was real the next day. Next day arrived, she was being shifty about the timestamp, I said instead she could send me two photos, one so I could see what she looked like that day and a second holding an object of my choice after the first was sent. She promised to do that, later that afternoon after showering. Then, out of nowhere she mentioned she was speaking to yet another orbiter, and that he had asked her out. I asked if he sent her a “gift” and she said no. Then mid conversation her story changed and she said she’d already accepted his offer. At which point I’d just completely emotionally detached I think, I told her she was lying and all her stories were full of holes. She got really upset, told me she felt uncomfortable and unfriended me.

So, what really happened? As much as I’ve tried to distract myself I’ve been unable to stop wondering. That server I mentioned last week was really helpful but not enough, the guys in there did a lot to cheer me up the same night she unfriended me. Lots of doomer bantz in voice chat, it was a lot of fun, at least I seem to have made some friends. It could have all been a complete scam, but she just seemed so real that I don’t think it was. I think she’s a pathological liar, but that a lot of what she said was also true. Could be half of what she told me about herself was true, or just a third, or 80%, I don’t fucking know. I think the mild autism is probably true, which is why she’s so unbelievably bad at maintaining a lie, and she did remind me in some ways of actual autistic people I knew growing up which is hard to larp effectively for as long as she did. I’m pretty certain the last guy she mentioned was made up, to get me to back off perhaps, or just because she enjoys messing with people.

It doesn’t really matter does it, I should just move on, but I don’t think talking to girls from 4chan is a good idea anymore. I think back in 2015 I somehow found the only girl on the site who isn’t insane or just looking for orbiters, and that’s misled me to believe I might actually find a good girl on this shitty website. Sorry to disappoint you frens, I know things seemed to be going well last week, I even got a couple of quite supportive comments which is rare. This is what you should expect I’m afraid, my life is like a sitcom without the laugh track. A series of absurd and pathetic failed escapades, no wonder it doesn’t seem real, if I could view my own life from a third person perspective I’d find it hard to believe it was actually playing out this way as well. I feel like a living punchline. I’m fucking tired of this shit boys, I think this life meme has actually broken me. I just need a beer or something, I’m tired.



Ok… I had finished. I was planning on finding a header image and uploading the post above as is last night or this morning, and then I saw something. She added me back, like nothing happened she just asked me what’s up. We spoke a tiny bit but it was late. She said she removed me because she felt it’d be better if she was out of my life — she only started having a negative effect after she began to lie and gaslight me for no discernible reason — but missed me. I think the only thing I can accept is if she made those other guys up to get me to back off, because I was being too pushy, though thinking about it I wasn’t really. I don’t know, I’m not sure what to do now, if I should talk to her or not. She was a lot of fun, kept me company I have to admit. I didn’t feel lonely once last week thanks to her, she never ignores me if I’ve sent a message, messages me first just as much if not more than I do, actually seems to like talking to me. But, I’m not really interested in collecting online friends like pokemon. I guess I’ll keep chatting to her, but I’m concerned about getting drawn back in. Thanks for reading, sorry it had to be this way.

Wut I’ve Been Up 2

Ah, I’m so hesitant to write this post, but I did promise some kind of explanation last time. Not that it’s a promise anyone wanted me to make, this is my personal blog where I document my increasingly pathetic escapades from time to time sure, but that’s not most of what I do. I think people reading probably do enjoy the vent about event style posts, there’s probably a degree of schadenfreude to it or alternatively if you’re having similar problems it’s relatable, but I just feel that posts like this are rarely among by best writing. It’s also so embarrassing, I already fail to see how someone could read this blog and have any respect for me, but I keep lowering myself more and more as the months and years roll on. Ok, let me start with some background information.

I had something of a New Year’s resolution this year, but I didn’t mention it in my New Year’s entry because I didn’t have it yet. It was more of a retroactive resolution, the idea of which was floating around in my mind before but I didn’t consider an explicit goal until I got home from Rome in February. I’m never going to know what it was I had with the girl I was visiting back in 2015 — and it doesn’t really matter much because that ended the first time we stopped talking — but as I explained in my initial post talking about her, the way it affected my life after did matter a lot. Because things ended the way they did, in a very slow and boring way, I gave up on even trying to find a gf. I kind of lost interest, I was still a young and lonely male so of course I ended up catching feelings for girls I knew irl, but I never actively sought a relationship. I never considered trying to talk to a girl from 4chan again, or discord, or even using dating apps. Wasn’t even something I thought about, for a good long while.

I’ve talked about all of this before though, in fact evolving beyond this mindset to a degree — part of me still does cringe at the idea of seeking a relationship in the abstract, rather than a specific person, but I appreciate now why people desire it, because I do too — has been something I’ve documented over various posts relating to the subject over the last year or two. Long term readers will be well aware of my changing views on this sort of thing. So my opinion changed, and I was entertaining the idea of picking up where I left off when I was 17 and actually making an effort to find someone myself, albeit only online because I’m a coward and it’s much easier to go about it that way. This was my mindset around the New Year, but it was an idea I wasn’t sure would be successful or if I’d actually seriously pursue so I didn’t mention it. And I was still very strongly caught up with the oneitis for my co-worker, which made it difficult to think about other girls.

I left the country to get over her, in part, but while there I also was able to get over something else as well which I didn’t even fully appreciate I needed to get over until arriving. The girl I was visiting. Who might be reading this, so apologies for talking about you in the third person. We got along really well, and I know it wasn’t because there was any romantic undertones because she’s clearly in a very happy relationship, so that means we got along because we actually got along. We actually make for pretty good friends, and so the reason it became so boring to talk to her all those years ago was not because we didn’t actually get along at all, but more because of the restrictions of text chat. I know, it’s quite funny when you think about how much of an impact such a small detail can have on people’s lives. As well as this of course, finally meeting in person and hanging out gave me some closure. I think a tiny part of me never quite moved on until then.

I got home from the trip, and the resolution became a much more realised goal. I’m going to find someone, I thought, it’s a completely healthy thing to seek. I’m lazy though, so I didn’t actually do anything for a while, until I made the Bumble account I mentioned in this post, which as I explained was a failure. I wasn’t doing well at all, I don’t think — not that I expected I would — but god the women on there were awful. Generic stacy/ thot types who I’m not even particularly attracted to, just made me feel desperate for bothering with them, the shame of even trying with these women who aren’t even my “type” was just too much for me. So I deleted the app, less than a week after using it. I’m just not interested in the charade, I’m a loser, and trying to larp as an aloof and disinterested chad is fucking exhausting. Talking with the two girls I matched with was painfully dull, there was no enjoyment in it for me. What’s the best possible result, a relationship where I have to pretend to be someone I’m not?

I knew that I would probably have to reinstall the app, or try tinder, some time later, because what other options did I have. Then the meme virus happened, which frustrated that intention of course but I found myself incredibly relieved by. “Thank god I don’t have to go back to that shitty app any time soon, I would rather do anything else” I thought to myself, while also lamenting the loss of opportunity. I’m known to live contradictions, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I think it was reading Pessoa that made it apparent to me, because he had this literary quirk of referring to certain contradictory patterns people have, and in turn this made me more aware of how I myself fall into them. I’ve even mentioned a few in posts written since I began and finished reading that book.

So I forgot about the whole thing for a while, I decided to just enjoy not having to worry about that sort of thing until the quarantine came to an end, and focus on reading more and writing, etc. Then just over a week ago, I started talking to a girl from 4chan. I don’t want to go into the specifics, thread could be found, but maybe it was one of those threads where attention whores and insecure losers post photos of themselves for attention and validation, and maybe one girl who was quite pretty was rather complimentary about my appearance. And maybe I made a new account on discord — had one before starting this blog but deleted it — just to talk to her. Or maybe something else entirely happened, it doesn’t matter, but by last weekend we were talking. Only problem, she lived on the other side of the world. Quite literally, in the land down under.

I know I should write a whole long series of paragraphs explaining what happened, but I’m not interested, for reasons I’ll get into I’ve moved on very quickly though yes when I wrote my last entry for this blog I was feeling awful. Long story short, she wasn’t that interested. Or she was at first, not quite but almost lovebombing me with attention for a day and a bit, then disappearing. That was around the time I was writing my last post, so my insecurity flared up very suddenly as is quite clear to see. The day after that I messaged her asking where she went, she mentioned her mental health being quite bad, and she seemed to be warming up again because we shared timestamped photos; but that was misleading because the day after that she ghosted me for good. It hurt, but I had something to distract myself.

I’ve joined a new discord server — despite how bad every other one I ever bothered with was in the past — which has a really solid but small group of people who are a lot of fun to talk to. Anything goes really, there aren’t a bunch of dumb rules or abusive power tripping mods, it’s very comfy. As well as this, and I know it looks like I have a real problem, I’ve also started talking to another girl. Again I don’t want to talk about exactly where I found her, but it was on 4chan. I will say that in this case we didn’t know what one another looked like right away, which is useful contextual information for something I’m gonna talk about. She’s completely different, when I started talking to her I was still kind of thinking about the failure with the aussie girl so I had none of the usual inhibitions I have when talking to new people online, and somehow that fucking worked in my favour completely.

I was honest to a fault; I told her I can get fairly insecure and I’ll probably always respond right away when she messages me; that I’ll send messages three times as long as hers, usually ending with forced questions to hook her to keep responding; that I’ll probably tunnel vision on her and be unable to even think about other girls; I mentioned how effete and weak I can be sometimes; I was open about my desire for a “mommy gf”. I’ve never really spoken about that on this blog, but there you go. I mean I’ve mentioned my desire for a mother figure, but if I’m being honest I’ve definitely downplayed how that ties in with my sexuality. Just feel like maybe it’s something I shouldn’t share, or at least I did. I’m feeling weird lately, things are weird, maybe she’s helping me be more aware of my own proclivities…

Anyway, beeing myself worked, kind of. She’s like an irl tsundere archetype, so a lot of one word responses at first, but she seemed entertained by me. She has a way of being funny with few words, and anyway I’ve got her to open up a lot more now. I’m very entertained by her, which is new. I’ve never had this much fun talking to a girl in my life, well maybe with some female friends when I was a little kid, but absolutely never with any girl on the internet. Even the girl from Italy — talking about you again sorry S — who I used to think I had fallen for and still now consider a very close friend who I care about a lot, I’ve never been able to talk so comfortably with over text. There’s still a bit of awkwardness, five years after first talking, possibly because we’ve developed a certain pattern that’s hard to break out of.

It’s like what some people say, fake it till you make it, but I faked it by actually being honest for the first time in my life. Stupidly honest, too honest perhaps, but I’m so glad I was. Those first few lines were so fake (sincerely fake has the more literary ring to it, but “fakely” sincere is more accurate) only because being open about who I am is not who I am. Contradictions within contradictions, I told you so. Oh and I forgot to mention, this girl actually lives in the same country as me, though she is very wary and says she is looking to “e-date” for a good 6 months before agreeing to meet anyone in person. Then again, through sheer persistence she’s already opened up a whole lot more than she said she would this fast, but I’m not impatient anyway. Obviously I’m looking for a real life relationship ultimately, but I’m not just a coomer only interested in sex. I’m looking for a person.

This is the only problem, she has told me she’s openly looking for a romantic partner. Meaning she’s talking to quite a few other guys, and for reasons that I’m sure are obvious this is concerning. There’s nothing wrong with looking because otherwise I wouldn’t have found her, but I don’t know how many other losers like myself I’m competing with. Her stony exterior probably filters a good number of potential suitors, in fact she told me most give up, because she’s very difficult. Most almost instantly, the rest after a day or two, but a few do persist like me. I didn’t get her to really start opening up until the second night of talking and that was unusually early because I caught her while drunk and tired, she told me. She sent me a bunch of unprompted photos of herself that night, despite originally telling me she would need a long time to get comfortable with me before doing that.

Which makes me think I’m doing something right, or making a particular impression, but then she also mentioned there have been others who’ve stuck out as I’ve said. And they’ve had more time. I really don’t want to screw this up, I know that she likes me enough (and now we’ve swapped photos, that she finds me attractive enough) that without competition I would be able to successfully woo her, but it’s gonna be a slow process and I don’t know if she’s still trying to collect even more orbiters. I don’t want to be an orbiter, so if someone else gets far enough along the way to snag her as his “e-gf” I think I’d have to stop talking to her however much it’d pain me. And it would pain me a great deal, because fundamentally the conversation itself I have with her is enjoyable; assuming I actually had the strength to stop. I’m not sure if I would, though I’d know I should.

And she’s so pretty, it hurts.. In a somewhat unconventional way, she looks very different from the slag/ thot look that is very popular here in England among the stacies and deanos, more cute and kind of soft. My type, if it’s not apparent, pale skin, dark hair. Well, she said early on she doesn’t have orbiters, but then later admitted she does. She says there are a lot of guys who add her trying to be a friend but clearly only trying to be a bf, so hopefully it’s refreshing that I’m honest; though then again she also says there are guys who are aggressively flirty, most of them give up when it’s not reciprocated much she says. She does reciprocate with me though, in fact she’s the one who initiates the flirty mommy/ son light (not that light actually) rp talk most of the time. She’s a lot more into it than me I think actually, hard to say because she’s kind of coy when pushed on it.

So things are going well, really well, but I’m also standing on a knife’s edge. It’s the other orbiters, my love rivals, they need to be destroyed. I’m kidding of course, but they are really the only thing I’m worried about. Given how quickly I’ve been able to develop a rapport with this girl, and that she is looking for someone, I know I could get her in time. With competition though, and I know at least there’s one other guy in this country who has been talking to her, I’m not as sure about my chances.  Some are almost certainly further along than me, in getting to know her that is. I think I’m going to have my heart broken, I can sense it. But still I push forward, because I have to. A week and a half ago, I wasn’t even thinking about girls, and now I’ve not only found one but two.. I just can’t shake this feeling of slight dread, I don’t know what to do. Thanks for reading.

Dreaming in Prose: For the Most Part

So completely mentally frazzled, want to write, can’t. It’s so sunny now, during the daytime hours — an openly hostile heat that seeps in and slathers itself all over your skin. The dust everywhere, which you can’t help but breathe in; in your eyes, when you sit down too fast; in your veins, into your heart. Leave the window open and the little friends come in, who want to suck your blood and nothing more. Not so easy anymore. Yes the money keeps on coming, the world economy despite being short a few souls keeps on running, and things haven’t been as easy as this since the earliest days of personal becoming. A return to infancy, life becomes easy, again. Here we are, bored as kings of old.

There is a balance so delicate, maintained and a paradise, but teetering above an abyss. You fall in, you stay in, because it’s so nice down there. So easy. No routine, just screens, forever. To move, to cross this carefully balanced rod, risks everything — until the old world comes back to pull you up and drag you home to that old and almost equally easy hell anyway. So instead, sit with legs dangling into the dusk below, mostly comfy but occasionally looking down to see the slow creep of the gloom. It’s making it’s mark. “Why shake my legs free, it’s not worth the effort” I think to myself. Settled in, I’m happy, no routine is the new routine. I suppose I can just do nothing a little bit more, I’ll get round to some something in good time. And lean back.

I wish I had the resolve of Ken Allen, that great and friendly ape, who lived a life of resistance against the loving forced tedium imposed on him. To him not even the life lived free first was afforded, born into the state I know now and allow he still felt the pull towards something he knew in his heart was possible. Could’ve been doted on until his dying day, was in fact despite his desire to get away, but took the mighty steps again and again towards harsh freedom. As a little monkey boy he had a yearning for something his soul told him was there, but not his experience; as an ape-man grown still the need wouldn’t die down; even in old age while less restless the desire remained. In honour of the courage you had, enough for both of us, let me compose a sonnet in your memory.

Ode to the Red King

Last name Allen, first name Ken, remember                                                                              His short life lived and all it represents.                                                                                   Next time we reach the first of December                                                                              Spare a thought for this friendly malcontent.

He dindu nothing, just wanted to roam.                                                                                       For this goal alone, no price too low, he                                                                            Willingly forfeit his harem and throne                                                                                     Nine times a failure? No, he did succeed

A life of luxury forced upon him,                                                                                                   He rejected it all, a gilded cage                                                                                                      His sole held desire to climb or swim,                                                                                            To see the whole world, of gravel pathways.

His deeds seem, to us, insignificant;                                                                                             but who resisted kind imprisonment?

Yet there is something now which pulls me out of the stupor I’ve allowed to slowly consume me. The return of an old familiar stomach lurching that holds there all day, appetite drifting away, sleepless nights once again. I hate it, and yet I (like all people) so desperately want it too. What am I supposed to do? I’m following a road I’ve been down before which ended well in a certain not initially intended sense, but not before bringing quite a lot of pain. It’s so familiar in ways, quite different in others, I’ve learned a lot I realise as I go. As I dig my own grave. It’s not the good kind of hurting which reminds you that you can feel something, rather the slightly sickening knowing that you’re circling the drain once again.

It sure is unhealthy to obsess over similarities and differences, but it’s hard to stop it too. I am making a mistake, and I think that embarrassment or hurt are all that wait, but what else can I do? Disengage? As if I have the willpower to resist the fantasy that things will actually end happily. I am on a course now, can only wait and wonder will the track end shortly — if it has not already — or drag and so hurt all the more as well as halt progress closer to home that could be made in similar more potentially fruitful endeavours. I don’t know what to do, it’s shit, I hate this. But, I do it to myself, I do — and that’s what really hurts. A little less each time I guess, but for some reason right now that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Nothing will, attempts at distraction always make these kinds of situations worse for me. Spent some time writing a poem for an orangutan, started as an idea without any others, became a distraction as life swung back into a new motion so suddenly. WHY DOES IT HURT SO FUCKING MUCH. When nothing bad has happened, when nothing has really happened at all, when I am exactly where I was three days ago in almost every respect other than those three days in age. Well, I’ve probably aged more like three months due to stress. It’s not knowing, it’s anticipation, which does this to me really. Not to say a sudden good thing disappearing from my grasp as quick as it appeared doesn’t sting, but the lack of closure is what’ll actually do me in. If this sort of thing keeps happening, that is.

Because even though I think I know it’s over, part of me still thinks it’s just a misunderstanding. Part of me still thinks it’s all ok, that the thing that was there yesterday hasn’t gone away, but merely took a break. Or maybe if that’s not the case, at least the thing can still be saved. But if such saving is required at so early a stage, then maybe this is the sign to stay away, anyway. As if. I don’t know what to say, I’ll just have to wait, and go against every single piece of advice and make another try, because I have to. Sorry for a failed entry again, hopefully within a week I’ll be back to sane. If this message is too cryptic but has got you interested, I’ll explain then. I just had to expel my feelings as I always have to do, and want to keep the details private until this thing concludes. Thanks for reading.

Some Loser’s Personal Log: Entry No. 87

Other than the stultifying effect it has had on my desire and ability to keep writing for this blog, I am really quite enjoying myself during this countrywide lockdown. I haven’t enjoyed the entire experience, at first I actually missed work a little bit. Humans are not hamsters we’re social creatures, and so losing the consistent human interaction that work provides was thoroughly felt, I’m over it now though. I’m having a really nice time, and the fact that normalfags are finding this experience to be miserable is only a garnish that sweetens the dish a slight bit. My life is objectively better right now than it was just before the lockdown was enforced, and I’m actually getting paid slightly more than I was when I had to work due to… reasons. Nothing against the law, though a similar decision made a day or two later than it was would have been, I made a slight gamble that paid off.

My old friend from school who I was beginning to feel I was drifting apart from completely is online most evenings, so I’m playing vidya with him most nights of the week. I may be having less social interaction overall, but a few hours chatting with him is more pleasant and meaningful to me than an entire day with customers who don’t care about me and co-workers who hardly know me. That alone has made for a drastic improvement in my overall mood, bear in mind I was speaking to this friend a couple of times a month and even less for my other friend. Who I’ve also chatted with over text a few times since the lockdown began. I guess now I’ve actually met her and confirmed that she is indeed a real human being, I should actually said I have three friends. I’m also staying in contact with her, chatting every couple weeks. It feels a little weird writing about someone who will likely read this…

I’m feeling healthier, ironically; every day other than weekends I’ve been going to one of two parks nearby for an hour or two to walk around and listen to music. It has been pretty consistently sunny, outside of one very rainy week, but never too warm; I think the warmest days we’ve had lately were still cooler than the warmest day during my trip to Rome back in February. My skin feels cleaner and is less pale/ sickly than it has been at any point since I started my job, even though I didn’t shave at all for the first half of this quarantine period that’s already passed. Speaking of exercise, I’ve been doing some of that. Nothing impressive, I don’t even have a real routine or plan, I’ve just been doing simple bodyweight exercises on weekends when I don’t go for walks. Push ups, sit ups, bodyweight squats, I was able to hold a plank for two minutes the other day.

I’m listening to much more new music as well, rather than old stuff I’ve heard many times before like I usually do at work. I listen to a new album on the vast majority of my afternoon walks in the park, and I think there’s something meaningful there. Instead of falling into familiar patterns, I find it’s a slight but notable counter to the lethargy that not having the routine of work leads to when a significant amount of the music you’re listening to is new. The audial experience is more dynamic, you could even say you’re tapping into the Logos in a certain sense, living more closely to it. Even though music production today is very sophisticated, it still is a very primal art form, it’s influence is mostly subconscious. A novel or film will affect us in a totally conscious way, we’ll remember it or a moment from it that has some crucial impact on our way of seeing the world for the rest of our lives in some cases, music influences the day to day. I think by introducing novelty in this respect, through music, it keeps one on the move so to speak.

As well as new albums (popular music), I’ve been trying to listen to more classical music also. Almost entirely pieces from Baroque period composers specifically: Bach, Pachelbel, Vivaldi, Handel (yeah yeah, the list goes on.. I know I’m an entry level plen). I can’t really explain why, I just find that the music from that period is the most enjoyable. It’s all very pleasant, though I can’t help but feel a degree of imposter syndrome, or that I’m a LARPer. I can’t actually analyse this music I’m listening to, after several listens to the same piece I’ll find moments in the music that I can pinpoint as a particularly “good”, but I don’t have the understanding or vocabulary required to describe them or what makes them “good”. I’m incapable of truly appreciating it in the way that a musician can, it’s kind of wasted on me.

What is notable even to my entirely untrained ear is how much more melodious it is, with popular/ contemporary studio recorded music the rhythm or beat functions like a spine which holds the whole song together, but it’s not like that with classical music, at least the stuff I’ve been listening to, which is a pleasant change. Unfettered by this need for a constant drumbeat, or something which fulfils a similar role, the music much more easily attains the grand and sprawling quality that I find a lot of my favourite songs tend to have to some degree. Again there’s this imagery of the steppe which I’ve talked about before, of any great green and wide open space. A meadow filled with flowers even. The music feels like it’s expanding outwards as you listen, like vines on some kind of powerful ancient plant snaking out and flowering as it goes. It feels like fresh air, like spring and summer.

Of course there are songs I like which somehow have this lofty quality to them while being very beat driven at the same time, a perfect example is Heliosphan by Aphex Twin, but it’s undeniable that usually this potential is restrained. Honestly, compare it to one of my favourite pieces that I’ve found recently, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and you’ll see my point. I know this is the most normie tier choice, but I am a normie when it comes to this, I’m not here to flex on you with my obscure taste. This piece has such broad appeal for good reason as well. Note how much freer the music is, the way it feels like it flows out and is evolving and changing. It’s not entirely unrestricted, you have some sense of where it will go, but the potential on first listen seems much broader than with a lot of popular music.

See another thing — or perhaps more of a theme within the one I’ve been talking about — which I like in music, of any kind, is when it goes in a direction that is unexpected. Again it creates this same feeling of freedom, of greater choice and vitality. I’ll give two examples, the first being the title track from the first Cure album Three Imaginary Boys (which has really grown on me since I wrote about it almost two years ago), and the second being Where The Wild Wind Blows by Iron Maiden. Not entirely arbitrary choices, of course if I’m talking about music I’m going to mention my favourite band and the second pick has a certain amusing/ ironical timeliness I think, given the situation in the world. Anyway, note the moment after about 1:50 in the first song, and just after the five minute mark in the second, and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

These moments give that same sense of dynamism that I think we should always strive to get closer to; I think that life is movement, and death is one’s coming to a halt. Though these things are also necessary to give structure to one’s life, like a fine tightrope we all walk, to fall into complete familiarity and routine is to give up. And in a sense, to accept death and cruel fate. We all die eventually of course, either life’s great speed knocks us down and leaves us behind or we just slow down ourselves and let it, doesn’t matter so much. To hear a piece of music as it transforms from something you’ve already become accustomed to — it takes not much more than a minute — into something new and bold, that is life represented. Not having the restraint of repeating rhythm holding it down, the classical music I’ve been listening to just seems way more volatile and prone to these sudden and drastic changes, and that’s what I’ve been enjoying.

The other day, over a week ago now in actual fact, I was “recognised” on 4chan. Something about my style of writing was noted, I’m not sure, this was on /lit/ which is not a board with a small population. Someone else’s thread, actually a rather shit off-topic one, for some reason inspired me to respond. An Anon responded to me, a brief exchange, then he asked if I was the person behind this bleg you’re reading right now. Yes. I is. It was very strange, because while I do now get a consistent number of visits every day, I still get very little response from anyone telling me why they read. Yet his message to me was really heartfelt, saying that reading my posts had helped him through a rather difficult time in his life. When no one responded to the strawpoll I made a few months ago, I assumed that the readers I have are for the most part just casually interested.

To find out that my writing genuinely helped someone, that it was able to provide some kind of comfort, really feels good man. I think it’s really cool. What else can I do really, I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me? I’ve been thinking a lot about that exchange since it happened, which you can read for yourself if you want, and what it is that I’m doing here. I don’t really know what I’m doing here, I don’t think I’m ever going to know. Every time I decide on a goal or ethos for this blog I contradict it a week later, I’m just writing that’s all I can say. I just need to keep writing, it’s so hard to explain how helpful it has been for my mental wellbeing, I can’t stop now. I love doing it, even though I also hate doing it. It brings me genuine joy, like nothing else in life, but it is a source of stress. The stress itself is good for me, the urgency, the niggling knowing that I have something to be working towards all the time.

I have posts which I’m really proud of; which I think are both witty and intelligent; where I’ve presented my unique point of view clearly but without sacrificing any of it’s complexity; where the prose is alliterative, slightly poetic and enjoyable for aesthetic reasons alone. Just as common however, are posts like the one you’re reading right now, which are meandering and obviously rushed through; where the prose is awkward and filled with grammar errors that I’m too lazy to fix; where I don’t have any real point, or I’ve failed to explore one effectively. I did have a much more interesting idea planned for this 87th entry, it wouldn’t have been too dissimilar to this one in that it was a response in part to that same exchange (among other things, like the tonal contradiction between some of my earliest posts and the very last one I uploaded), but it fell through. Because I’m lazy, and I struggle with consistency.

The thing is, maybe it doesn’t matter so much, the posts which mean the most to me are not the ones which tend to mean the most to readers. I always feel like a narcissist when this blog becomes excessively autobiographical. Of course all posts are in some sense about me or my experience of life, but I try not to be too self indulgent and just talk about myself straightforwardly, I like to start from myself and look outward. I realise though, that I actually don’t find it that annoying when other people write about themselves. I’ve read My Twisted World three times, and listened to an audio recording of it, I’ve talked before about Londonfrog who’s posts I enjoy. I think someone mentioned him in that thread I was just talking about funnily enough. I enjoy hearing about other people’s lives, people like me particularly. Or people who are like me in a sense, but very different as well, to me precise.

Maybe everything’s fine, maybe it’s not. I’m not going anywhere, I’m just writing a little more slowly than usual at the moment. Thanks for reading.