.

.

.

An excuse to throw eggs at people

disguised as an art project/ IRMA VEP photoshoot.

.

COMFORTABLE ON A TIGHTROPE

PULLED OFF A SHIT HOT NIGHT ON MONDAY.

YES, A MONDAY NIGHT.

THIS IS WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE.

KLAUS KINSKI

SILK FLOWERS

FOOT VILLAGE

THANKS LADS.

.

.

S,A.
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
AND HER NOSE
IS LIKE NOTHING I'VE EVER SEEN
IT'S PERFECT
SHE'S PERFECT
OH AND SHE IS
SHE FEELS LIKE
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
SHE KNOWS
AND I DON'T KNOW HOW I SHOULD APOLOGISE
HOW WOULD SHE WANT ME TO?
HOW WOULD SHE WANT ME?
HOW WAS IT FOR YOU?

TIME TO GET YOU OUT OF MY HEAD.

.

I JUST CAN'T STAND YOU BIRD PEOPLE. YOU MAKE ME SO ANGRY WITH YOUR LITTLE FACES. WITH YOUR LITTLE FACES. YOUR LITTLE BIRD FACES. YOU CAN'T EVEN WALK. YOU CAN'T EVEN TALK. YOU CAN'T EVEN DO A LITTLE BIRD WALK. YOU CAN'T EVEN TALK. YOU CAN'T EVEN BIRD SPEAK TO ME. YOU CAN'T EVEN FUCK. YOU CAN'T EVEN FUCK. YOU FUCKING CAN'T EVEN FUCK WITH YOUR BIRD FACE. I JUST WANNA TAKE YOUR BIRD WINGS AND I WANNA RIP THOSE FUCKING WINGS OUT OF YOUR BODY AND THEN I'M GONNA. THEN I'M GONNA SHRED THOSE WINGS AND I'LL SHRED YOUR BIRD LEGS AND I'LL FEED THOSE WINGS AND THOSE LEGS TO YOU AND YOU WON'T MOVE. YOU'LL STAY STILL. OH AND I'LL GET YOU A CAGE AND YOU'LL LIVE IN YOUR CAGE AND YOU'LL SHIT AND YOU'LL PISS AND THAT'S ALL YOU EVER DO ANYWAY. ALL I GET FROM YOU IS SHIT AND PISS. BIRD SHIT AND BIRD PISS. ALL YOU GIVE ME IS SHIT. ALL I GET IS FUCKING BULL BIRD SHIT. AND YOU KNOW WHAT I'M GONNA DO. I'M GONNA FEED YOU THAT FUCKING SHIT. I'LL FEED YOU THAT SHIT AND YOU'LL TASTE IT AND YOUR LITTLE BIRD TONGUE WON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. AND I'LL TAKE YOUR BIRD WINGS AND YOUR BIRD LEGS AND I'LL LAUGH.

.

SLEEP, AND DREAM OF LOVE,
BECAUSE IT'S THE CLOSEST YOU WILL GET TO LOVE.

.

MEET EDWON.

.

.

.

.

.

For some, quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills it's victims. It's called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones. The walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space!

.

.

.

.

.

.

Why has everyone chosen to forget that Michael Jackson molested young boys?

Funny.

.

.

Sometimes I think and I panic and my thoughts turn into shouting and everything in my head shouts. This can last for hours, days. A song stuck in my head will scream at me. It is so loud. It is scary and I can't stop it. Usually I have to sleep straight away to get rid of it. But sleeping is hard. It is considerably harder when it is so loud. I am thinking but I cannot hear my thoughts because they deafen me. It has happened to me every now and then since i can remember. It is strange. Is it happening to anyone else?

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

An infection is the detrimental colonization of a host organism by a foreign species. In an infection, the infecting organism seeks to utilize the host's resources to multiply, usually at the expense of the host. The infecting organism, or pathogen, interferes with the normal functioning of the host and can lead to chronic wounds, gangrene, loss of an infected limb, and even death. The host's response to infection is inflammation. Colloquially, a pathogen is usually considered a microscopic organism though the definition is broader, including parasites, fungi, viruses, prions and viroids. A symbiosis between parasite and host, whereby the relationship is beneficial for the former but detrimental to the latter, is characterised as parasitism.

.

Who do I fucking think I am? That's the thing, I think I am nobody so why do I make other people think I think I am somebody? Why do I give a shit? Everyone is shit whether I am something or nothing. What can I be? I have nothing left. Nothing to show. Nothing to be, do, shit, piss, kick myself in the fucking head, in the guts. Oh i'm so good at it I kick and kick and I kick and oh it hurts and oh do I know it. Do I say do I do I do I go on and on and on about it. I can't stop. I can't stop i'm intoxicated I love it. Oh self deprecation and pity what would I do without you? What would I be? I'd be nothing, am I not already? Will this end? Will I ever stop asking questions that no one can here and no one can answer?

.

Equinophobia is a psychological fear of horses, derived from the Phobos for fear and Equus for horses. Sufferers of Equinophobia usually experience an anxiety of approaching horses.

Equinophobics usually begin such feelings at a young age, either:
-Falling off a horse while riding
-Being bitten by a horse at a young age
-Meeting a horse for the first time that turns out to be aggressive

Even in cases where horses are relatively tame, Equinophobics will avoid any form of contact with horses or stables. Another less common, but linguistically superior, word for Equinophobia is Hippophobia.

.

get up.

.

I hate people that read while walking. I saw TWO different people doing it today. What. They can't see where they're going, they bump into people, they are incredibly slow and are always unfortunately fat and/or ugly and are always reading shit books. I kind of hate birds I think, I've been toying with this for a few years. I feel like I don't want to hate them but I know that deep down, I really, really do. I hate everything about them. I also hate people that look slightly like birds. I hate their birds faces. I want to rip out their fucking bird wings and break their bird legs and snap their dirty little bird beaks. I hate people who pronounce the word 'scone' as 'scon', it makes me want to smack them so hard I'd break my wrist. I hate tripping over pavement. I hate flies on my arms. I hate cuts on toes. I hate sweat on the back of necks. I hate oil pastels. I hate v-necks. I hate roll-necks. I hate people that are so fake they can't even see themselves in the mirror anymore. Man.

.

.

.

I'M SORRY BUT YES BRAD PITT, EVERY TIME. GOOD GOD.

.

I have returned to nightwalking.
The moment I stepped foot off my driveway I was driven to tears. I walked across the field, feeling the dampness press through the soles of my shoes. Cold. And, at once, the clarity I had known night after night returned to me. I felt that something I thought I had lost, never to find again, I had found. A white cat, pure white, ran across the road. Every noise, every shriek from the birds, every rustle of leaves - brought back to me. My home. I was home. I felt scared, terrified. As I put on my shoes to leave the house I felt as though I might never come back. So long had I been away from the night, from the crippling, comforting loneliness of night. I felt it would reject me. For so long I had remained in ignorance, knowing of such peace and beauty but choosing to stay away from it. I felt I might be swallowed by the night. My nose began to run. I shivered. I felt a presence coming over me. The presence of the night, I felt it creeping, crawling towards me. I felt sick I felt terror beyond any terror I thought I could feel. I looked down at my sodden feet matted with grass. I wanted the grass to strangle me. My head was telling me that it already was. I was already being strangled. I was choking, drowning. As the day came I sat and waited for its rescue. For the relief it had once brought to me. Striking out the fear the darkness brought. But there was no relief. No feeling of security, only the harsh, stinging brightness of reality. I felt more scared now than ever. The light blinded me. I looked around and I could see everything, right in front of me. Sharp, cruel. The realness of everything I could see. I couldn’t do anything about it I was helpless I couldn’t move. The mist cleared and I saw everything for what it was. Nothing. I lit a cigarette and saw life.

.

.

First week of a new college. First english assignment. Late and clueless but still resourceful. 10th september 2008

One day, I met a strange thing called a ‘Nicola’. The ‘Nicola’ had huge, staring eyes and long, thick, black hair. She was, I’d say, female and around 9ft 2in. She wore stripes from head to toe. I did not know what to make of this long, slightly disturbing, slightly unfortunate creature.
We stood, as though in a Mexican stand off, examining each other. I looked around in search for others of her kind, but she was alone. Then, all of a sudden, the ‘Nicola’ began to leap around, seemingly as part of some tribal dance. She lunged and thrust about in quite a sexual and off-putting manner.
I tried to interrupt this display by immediately verbalising my thoughts, “You are very crude” I asserted. The thing then stopped dancing, I was thoroughly relieved. She laughed and then started shouting. She wasn’t saying much of any coherence, mainly sprouting vulgar terminology and filthy lingo. “Be quiet.” I ordered. The ‘Nicola’ was in hysterics by this point but after receiving the order, fell silent rather abruptly. I looked at her, waiting for her next move, as she waited for mine. A smile spread across her thin face.
The ‘Nicola’ grabbed my hand and before I had chance to stop her, started running (as did I, with no other choice). We ran for what seemed like days, until we reached an amazing building. ‘Nicola’ stopped outside of two large wooden doors, she looked down at me “We are here!” she shouted. I attempted to ask where we were but the ‘Nicola’ did not hear me. I soon learnt that her lack of hearing when it came to my words would occur frequently. The ‘Nicola’ spun around again and again with excitement, her eyes bigger than ever. I tilted my head up and was blinded by a magnificent light. After readjusting my eyes, I looked back to the light, somewhat squinting this time. The light formed letters, a word. I smiled.
“Now that you are here, you will never need anything else in the world!” the ‘Nicola’ screamed, jumping with joy. I smiled half-heartedly, due to partially doubting the strange creature. “But…who are you? What are you?! Do you have a name?” I stuttered. ‘Nicola’ began to speak.
“I am a Nicola, from the caves of Nicolat. Each of my kind must find a place to spend the rest of their lives, but no two Nicola’s must choose the same place. The place must be magical and amazing; like this one. Nicolakind look much like humans and so fit into human life easily and are accepted by all”. I pulled a strange face in disbelief, I wondered how such an odd looking being could fit into human society…despite this she continued. “You may call me Nicola, I have been told that humans say this.”
“I suppose.” This was all very strange to me, but I couldn’t help to feel drawn to the slightly perverted ‘Nicola’. I decided to stay. I learned to love Nicola, though she remained vulgar and disgusting. She even gave me a job at the wonderful place, and while on a shoddy wage, I loved it. Nicola taught me all sorts of valuable life lessons, and we also enjoyed going out dancing.
One day I asked her for some advice, “Nicola, what would you do if you walked in late to your second English class of the year, feeling embarrassed and hungover, to find that you had to write a story, only you didn’t know what about, maybe it had to be about the boy you’d met on Monday or maybe it was just meant to be about anything at all, and even if you knew it had to be about the boy you met on Monday, you hadn’t brought the list of nouns and adjectives you’d made about him with you due to being late and hungover?”
“Well that’s obvious,” she said, I felt hurt and belittled but was keen for the answer nonetheless, “I would simply write about the day on which we met and you first saw the wonders of this amazing, back street shop/café; Oklahoma”.
“What a great idea.”

.

Time flies i swear it.

.

I CAN'T CONTROL IT.
I can't seem to control anything.
I can't control my feelings.
My timing is so off.
Or am I just confused?
Do I even know what i'm feeling?
Do I even know if i'm actually feeling these things?
I feel lost.
I don't know which are right
And which are wrong.
Part of me knows that not all of these feelings are real.
I am fooling myself.
I am making myself think that I want it all.
And making myself feel as though I have nothing.
It's strange, it doesn't feel too bad.
But bad things could happen if I don't get in control.

.

.

The last time I saw my Dad he was in a hospital bed and my Mum told me and my Brother he was sleeping. I remember holding his hand and looking at him and wanting him to wake up so I could talk to him. Earlier this year my Mum told me that he was dead that afternoon, not sleeping. She didn't want to upset me and my Brother. I wish she hadn't told me. I can't remember the last time I saw him alive.

.

The gospel, if there ever was.

.

A grammatically incorrect offer that

me and thompson felt we just couldn't refuse.

.

DRILL THIS INTO YOUR HEAD.
TRY AND STOP CONSUMPTION OF SELF.
BE MORE THAN JUST THAT.
NOT ONLY FOR PEACE OF MIND.
BUT BECAUSE EVERYONE MUST GET REALLY IRRITATED
BY THE LACK OF VARIETY IN TOPIC OF CONVERSATION.

LEARN TO LOVE SELF AND ONE'S COMPANY.
STOP LETTING THOUGHTS STRAY.
STOP LETTING THOUGHTS PERSUADE YOU THAT YOU NEED MORE.
STOP LETTING THOUGHTS TAKE CONTROL.
OR AT LEAST CONTROL YOUR THOUGHTS.
WHEN YOU GET TO A POINT WHERE YOU CAN FEEL SAFE
WHEN YOU GET TO A POINT WHERE YOU CAN FEEL SECURE
IN YOURSELF
OUTSIDE SECURITY WILL GROW.
LOVE WILL FIND YOU.
LOVE WILL NOT COME TO YOU IF YOU DO NOT LOVE YOURSELF.
RESPECT IS GIVEN TO THOSE WITH RESPECT FOR SELF.

PUT THINGS INTO PERSPECTIVE.
DO NOT THINK IN TERMS OF ALL OR NOTHING.
LET THINGS KEEP.
TRAGEDY IS NOT AT HAND.
DWELLING SOUNDS LIKE AN AWFUL WORD
AND TO DWELL IS AN AWFUL THING TO DO.
ACCEPT FACTS.
DO NOT FANTASIZE.
THIS MAKES REALITY SEEM DULL AND DISAPPOINTING.
REALITY ONLY BECOMES THIS IF YOU LET IT.

.

OFF ALEX,

.

STOP LOOKING FOR IT.
IF IT WANTS YOU IT WILL COME TO YOU.
IF IT DOES NOT COME TO YOU THEN IT DOES NOT WANT YOU.
DO YOU WANT SOMETHING THAT DOES NOT WANT YOU?
THINK ABOUT WHY YOU WOULD WANT THAT.
THERE ARE COMPLICATIONS.
IT IS NOT THAT YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE WANTED.
BUT THAT YOU WANT IT TO WANT YOU.
YOU WANT SO BADLY FOR IT TO WANT YOU.
BUT IT WILL NEVER WANT YOU.
AND IF IT DID, WOULD YOU WANT IT THEN?
YOU WAIT AND WAIT AND WANT AND WANT.
FOR IT TO WANT YOU.
BUT WHEN THAT TIME COMES.
WHEN IT DOES WANT YOU.
DO YOU STOP WANTING?
WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT?
GET REAL.

.

PAYNE.

.

JEN JEN.

.

.

GEORGE spends Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons in the pub with his friend Derek. He wishes he could spend every afternoon in the pub with Derek. They talk about tomatoes and picture frames. He enjoys Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons thoroughly but on Mondays he works on the tomatoes in his greenhouse and on Thursdays he updates his picture frame collection.

PETER was walking home from the bus stop after a hard day's work as a security guard at tesco. Peter was 48 and had held the same steady job for 27 years. John, a fellow security guard at tesco had been there for 2 months and 3 weeks longer than Peter, and due to this, was head of security. Peter resented John for this and as he turned onto the street where he lived, and was raised, thought about how much of an arsehole John was. 'ARSEHOLE' he shouted when he got into the house. He did this around 3 times a week. He really hated that guy.

'Good morning' ANNE sighed as she heaped her bag and coat onto her desk. 'Good morning' answered Matthew. This had happened close to every single day for the past 3 years, 7 months and 6 days. Now 7 days. Anne and Matthew worked in the same advertising office. Their office, shared by 6 or so others, was identical to countless other city block offices. Matthew had been in love with Anne for the past 3 years, 7 months and 2 days, now 3 days. Anne had loved Matthew the same, give or take a day. Anne always said 'Good morning' and Matthew always replied with 'Good Morning'.

SIMON slammed his £3 pint of lager down on the table and said to Andrew 'I hate this place'. Andrew took a calm sip of his and said 'Well why do we come here everyday then?'. Simon leant back and drank his lager.

.

.

Sunday 26th October 2008.

How is it that I have reached a point in my life where the only thing I look forward to is watching an hour of sex in the city each night? I feel that I am never achieving anything...Just passing time. I always feel tired. Nothing is ever really good. Nothing I do is worth it, I feel like I am surrounded by great, great things, talent and expectations. I am completely seperate from these things. I see the talent and I want it. I want to reach the expectations - beat them. I want to embrace the great things. The truth is, I cannot embrace anything. I want intensity, I want to be overwhelmed, I want my feelings and actions and thoughts to be larger than life. But I'm finding that the only thing I can feel is exhausted. I cannot really think at all. My only thoughts are empty. And my actions...My actions? Do I have any? My actions are sparce and meaningless. I drift through everything.

.

I love my brother so much.

.

Unable to cope with the stress of choosing what to get at a German mcdonalds.

.

CHEERS, ONE ARMED CIG MAN.

.

Comfortable - Comfortable in the sky with the clouds. But the clouds talk. The pillows and the cushions and the sheets and the mattress tell me to leave. “You do not belong here” they say. I believe them and part of me doesn’t want to but part of me is alright with it. I know that if I stay here or even want to stay here then their words will reign true. This place is not permanent, nor is the company, not for me. I look into the faces of the pillows and the cushions and the sheets and the mattress and I see that. This place will not be permanent for anybody. Or maybe it will? Maybe it will for me? But do I want it to be? The pillows and the cushions and the sheets and the mattress have stopped listening to me now. They are ignoring me and covering their ears. They are sick of my voice and I probably am too. They have kicked me out and double locked the door, leaving me with nothing but a souvenir and some bruises.

.

SHY ALEX

.

MOUSE

.

still got hope for the blind.

.

it brings tears to my eyes.

.

.

.

what difference does it make?

.

.

I cannot think. All I can think is that I cannot think. All I can think of writing is that I cannot think. All I can think is that I can only write about my inability to think. Confusion. I am frowning. Frowning as though it will help me think. I cannot feel my feet. I need to find me. I need to find myself and I need to find my mind and I need to find some common ground. I need to find my thoughts and I need to find what I used to be. I cannot move. When I look I cannot see. I do not know what I am seeing. I do not know what I am looking for or where to look. When I walk around things shock me. My body shocks. Electric. I feel as though I am going to break down, shut off, come to a halt, break down, shut off, come to a. What am i doing? Sometimes I see things and they make me smile. And the sunshine makes me feel fresh. Things go right and I climb up. I think about negative things and push them aside. I am proud that I am able to do so. The things still worry me but I do not dwell on them and I wonder how I manage that, but I do not care for the time being. But it is like my head can only put up with enough, so much, just that and then. And then. Lately I feel that I am letting other people have too much of an impact on me. Not an influence but...mind space. Worrying about people, wondering about them, fantasising, contemplating, resenting, lusting, feeling nervous, feeling angry, feeling attracted, feeling obsessive. I do not want to obsess and I constantly tell myself not to but I do not know. I do not know how or why but I do and cannot stop. GET OUT OF MY HEAD. My head is like a bin. It fills up up up with rubbish and then gets emptied.

.

.

Adriana lima is god damn fine.

and not fine as in

'how are you?', 'oh i'm fine'

i mean fine as in

'dayum that girl is fine'

yeah that kind of fine.

.

IF YOU ARE MILDY INTERESTED

OR VERY INTERESTED

OR NOT INTERESTED BUT WANT TO VOLUNTEER

IN THE NAME OF ART;

GET IN TOUCH PLEASE

EITHER COME INTO THAT SHIT LITTLE CAFE

IN THE NOTHERN QUARTER CALLED OKLAHOMA

AND LEAVE YOUR DETAILS

OR

CONTACT ME VIA EMAIL:

KATYFLYNN92@HOTMAIL.CO.UK

I NEED ANYONE WHO IS

FEMALE AND WILLING.

ANY BODY TYPE,

ANY HAIR COLOUR, EYE COLOUR, SKIN COLOUR.

PREGNANT OR NOT PREGNANT.

PLEASE HELP ME

.

why do people ever take pictures of me?

.

"Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought your train moving while sitting still? Maybe i was just crazy. Maybe it was the 60's. Or maybe i was just a girl...interrupted."

----

"Explain what? Explain to a doctor that the laws of physics can be suspended? That what goes up may not come down? Explain that time can move backwards and forwards and now to then and back again...and you can't control it?"

----

"Where is Lisa? Where the fuck is Lisa?"

"Can't hack it without her?"

"You banish her for singing to Polly...We were trying to help her...We were trying to help her! This place is a fucking fascist torture chamber!"

"No. I worked in state hospitals. This place is a five star hotel."

"Oh lordy pick a bale of cotton!"

"You know, i can take a lot of crazy shit from a lot of crazy people, but you? You are not crazy."

"Then what's wrong with me? What the fuck's going on inside my head? Tell me Doctor Val, what's your diagnonsense?"

"You are a lazy, self indulgent, little girl who is driving herself crazy."

"Is that your medical opinion? Huh? Is that what you've learnt in your studies at night school for negro welfare mothers? I mean, Melvin doesn't have a clue...Wick is a psycho...And you...You pretend you're a doctor. You sign charts and dole out meds, but you's aint no doctor Miss Valerie, You's aint nothing but a black nursemaid."

----

"Don't make a lot of noise in the morning, i like to sleep late. I'll come down when i'm ready. Give me the valium."

"We don't need your daddy's money."

"Then leave it there. Just give me the fucking valium."

"What's this? What's this huh?"

"Let go!"

"Trying out your new silver?"

"Get the fuck off me!"

"Less appealing for Daddy."

"Look at your own arm asshole."

"I'm sick, Daisy, we know that, but here you are in so-called recovery, playing Betty Crocker, cut up like a goddamned Virginia Ham!"

"Help me understand, Dais, 'cause I thought you didn't do Valium. Tell me how the safety net is working for you...Tell me that you don't take that blade and drag it across your skin and pray for the courage to press down. Tell me how your Daddy...helps you cope with that. Illuminate me."

"My father loves me."

"I bet...with every inch of his manhood."

"I'm going to sleep now. Please be gone in the morning...You're just jealous Lisa...because i got better. Because i was released. Because i have a chance at a life."

"They didn't release you because you're better, Daisy. They just gave up. You call this a life, hmm? Taking daddy's money, buying your dollies and your knick-knacks, and eating his fucking chicken, fattening up like a prize fucking heifer? You changed the scenery, but not the fucking situation, and the warden makes house calls. And everybody knows...everybody knows that he fucks you. But what they don't know, is that you like it. Hmm? You like it. But hey, man, it's cool. It's fine! It's fucking fine! A man is a dick, is a man is a dick, is a chicken. Valium, speculum, whatever, hmm? Whatever. You like being Mrs. Randone. Probably all you've ever known."

"Have fun in Florida."

----

"I couldn't stand up to her. A decent person would've done something. Shut her up. Gone upstairs...talked to Daisy."

"Melvin said you went upstairs."

"Too late."

"What would you have said to her?"

"I don't know...That i was sorry. That i was sorry. That i'll never know what it was like to be her...but i know what it's like to want to die. How it hurts to smile. How you try to fit in but you can't. How you hurt yourself on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside."

----

"When you don't want to feel, death can seem like a dream. But seeing death, really seeing it, makes dreaming about it fucking ridiculous. Maybe there's a moment growing up, when something peels back. Maybe we look for secrets because we can't believe our minds...Though i missed Lisa, life was easier without her. A thought is a hard thing to control. All i know is that i began to feel again. Crazy? Sane? Whatever i was, i knew there was only one way back to the world."

----

"Where are you going? I'm talking to you! You don't like me anymore?"
"No i don't!"
"Because you're free? I'm free. You don't know what freedom is! I can breathe! And you...you'll go choke on your average fucking mediocre life! There are too many buttons in the world. Too many buttons and they're just...Just begging to be pressed! You know, they're just begging to be pressed. And it makes me wonder. It makes me fucking wonder...Why doesn't anybody ever press mine? Why am i so neglected? Why doesn't anybody reach in and rip out the truth...And tell me that i'm a fucking whore...and that my parents wish i were dead?"
"Because you're dead already, Lisa! No one cares if you die, Lisa...because you're dead already. Your heart is cold. That's why you keep coming back here. You're not free. You need this place. You need it to feel alive. It's pathetic. I've wasted a year of my life. And maybe everyone out there is a liar. And maybe the whole world is stupid and ignorant. But i'd rather be in it. I'd rather be fucking in it than down here with you."

----
"Crazy isn't being broken...or swallowing a dark secret. It's you or me, amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever. They were not perfect but they were my friends, and by the 70's most of them were out...living lives. Some i've seen, some never again. But there isn't a day my heart doesn't find them."

----

.

M.E.S AND ED BLANEY TURN TO GOD.

PENDLETON CHURCH, 6TH FEBRUARY 2009

WELCOME SINNERS.

DAN AND ALEX ARE CONVERTED, NICOLA CANNOT LET GO OF HER INNER DEMON.

THE LORD'S CHILDREN

THE DEVIL'S REJECTS

SAINTS

LORD M. E. CHRIST

GOD BLESS YOU ALL.

.

THE FALL, HOLMFIRTH, 29TH NOVEMBER 2008.

M.E.S

ELENI

.

.

mitzi...

.

.

.

true but give a shit. im not them im me im the only one i've got and if i dont worry about myself and feel sorry for my self then who will?That's why the worlds fucked katy, we are all selfish. and scared. a little kindness and consideration go a long way. theres no them n me. theres us.i've tried living like that, i might be young but i have and it goes nowhere fast. THEY are fucked and will fuck YOU and ME over time and time again.only as long as theres a 'them'. on the radio before, gaza airstrikes, 900 dead, a third are children..but thats okay to israelis because it's 'them'. You've been hurt, i understand. But don't let the world change you. dont let other peoples weaknesses destroy you by being like them.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I wonder if anyone will ever get it. I am going under. I am already gone. I am so far gone that I am below the bugs and the dirt. When will anyone find me? When will I find myself?

.

.

.

NIGHT WALKING.

I ran for life…from nothing. I felt such a great presence. How gruesome nothingness can be…yet, so enticing. I will try to continue to run from my terrors but I will not escape. Maybe one day I will walk into the night and never come back. Lost in the solitude of dark forever. Alone I am chilled to the bone. Yet to be accompanied seems a nightmare. The birds have only just woken up. They hurt my ears and send the chill of reality down my spine.

No wind, no breeze to disturb me. What once filled me with dread, now from dark turns to light. I ran from it in fear, yet now I am soothed by it’s presence. Time is a wonderful thing. The passing of night to day: dangerously kind.
I am free. The soft, sharp air chokes me. I am sick to the stomach. I am momentarily unbound of burden. Those asleep are not of concern to me. They are unaware of the horrifying beauty they waste. Now I know the reason for the lack of good literature, of good music, taste and general goodness in the world. We are all in slumber when it is to be conceived. Why would anyone sleep at such a time? Kept in reserve from such amazing silence and stillness. I no longer have respect for those other than the restless and somnambulists.

.

.

.

.

.

WHY?

.

Nik cleans for NYE

.

.

.

"Why is it you always wear black?"


"I’m in mourning for my life."

.

This sort of looks like Katie Patrick...

.

.

For Dan.

.

Mitzi.

(Notice disabled position in last picture..)

.

Akihiro Furuta.

.

Jan Saudek.

.

How can I know what I want to say until I say it?

.

I really hate christmas. I used to love it, which is sad. I wish i still did. But to be honest, why would i find a day so family orientated and isolated and hyped up and dull enjoyable? It's half six and i'm sat alone in my room when on any other day i could be at the pub or something. Not only is it a shit day, but there is no escape from it. Buses don't run, taxis are double fare and everyone is too drunk to drive. All pubs within walking distance are disgusting and are shut anyway. Why is everyone supposed to be joyous on a day which is so awful? Why do i find spending time with my family so intolerable? Why did my brother get an xbox and loads of games and aftershave and clothes when all i got was some perfume and and a couple of films? Why is my mum about to give him a lift to his girlfriend's house where he can drink and have a good time and stay over and i have to stay in drinking shit beer by my shit self? Just why christmas? WHY?

I wish i was anywhere else but here on any other day but today.
I'd actually prefer to get into college on time and go to all of my lessons everyday than put up with this day for even five minutes longer.

.

I love nat so much. I sometimes think that maybe i love her too much...but then i think no, never too much. She is the wind beneath my wings. She burns down my house. She makes me lose my cool. She is n n notorious. She gives me so much booty luv, i'm not even ready for that jelly. She is all by herself at the moment, but that will soon change. I will keep her warm at night in Berlin when we share a room together. It'll be magical. I might even throw up or wee a little bit. She might do a shit and then eat it, or fuck her sister. Booty can come too, the more the merrier. We'll have good times, bad times, green times, hey maybe even cunt times, who knows? She is my sun. Ah. Push it.

.

Bad times tiger lounge.

.

Despite the fact that my mum insisted on making me have a boys haircut for the majority of my childhood, this is probably the happiest i've ever been in my entire life. Look at my face; pure joy.

.

Working late.

Blog blogs happily as usual.

Nicola smokes with a pained expression.


I pull faces as usual.

Rachel trys to teach the group sign language.

Nicola takes gammy pictures of herself.

.

Still got love for the ice cream.

.

I remember being thirteen, happy, tanned and cute.

WHAT WENT WRONG?

.

Blog hates blogs.

.

i hate blogs.

.

.

.

.

I used to be someone else.


TIME TRAVEL.

.

.

Yes, a real town in Texas.

.

.

When you have nothing to lose, the truth comes through.

.

.

pointless.

.

.

i love james.

.

TWO QUID FOR A KEBAB.

Can't go fucking wrong there can you.

.

.

.

.

.

.

DD IS ALL YOU NEED.

more to come but it's nearly 3am

been doing DD since 12.

not good.

.

.

.

The revenge of the bacteria.

One day, not so long ago, I woke up to find the lovely little arrival of George and Stewart. Despite the deceiving description, they happened to be big hideous pain balloons – otherwise known as fat ulcers. They seemed to be attached to each other; either that or they were just incredibly close to each other, regardless of which I came to the conclusion that they were Ulcerian lovers. They would not stop in their reproductive mission until my mouth was completely filled with ulcers of their kind – balloon- and looked like one big jelly blob. However, they were quite friendly. I think this was due to the fact that I fed them lovely things such as sugar and pancakes, and did not drown them in ugly Bonjela. Unfortunately, despite their friendliness, they were the source of disgusting pain.

Anyway, after meeting George and Stewart, my pleasant new lodgers, they introduced me to Richard. Richard was small and discreet; he was intellectual and not a party animal like the other two crazy sores. The pain he caused, however, was even more overwhelming than that of the doting couple. He was a charmer though, with his retroussé nose and forget me not eyes, Betty would’ve loved him.

It only took a couple of days for Richard to settle in. Everyone was quite happy – painful, but happy. When suddenly, on the way to the gym to shape up for ‘Ulc Dizzle’‘s party, George and Stewart died in a horrible ulcamobile crash. Richard was besieged with anguish. He could do nothing but lament for George and Stewart. He was so horribly depressed that he just couldn’t go on with life. Friends tried to help but he knew what he had to do. He reached up to the medicine cupboard and took out a locked safe. He unlocked the safe to see his destiny; Bonjela. Richard went peacefully, after all of the burning eely pain. My mouth was left in peace though, slightly missing the guys even though they caused me so much pain.

I soon got over my loss and the next day, went to Danielle’s party, as I was in the mood for dancing. Danielle was in the mood for romancing, the little hussy. She liked Calum you see, but that’s another story. We had a jolly night, but by around 4am, while watching ‘Hide and Seek’ with Danielle’s Mother – which, might I add, is not remotely scary - , my nose was going crazy. After finally getting to sleep at 6, I got a lengthy 3 hours rest before being rudely disturbed by an alarm. I awoke to a hideous pain and soon realised that Danielle had kindly passed her lovely cold onto me. My throat felt like there was a small man inside of it…with a chainsaw. The expression ‘sore throat’ was the understatement of the year. Every second spent with this ‘sore’ throat, was hell. I named him Rupert, I felt fully satisfied with this name.

Rupert was pure evil in flu form. He insisted on hurting me, despite me showing him nothing but love. I fed him tablet upon tablet, yet he refused to leave. He made my throat feel as if it was constantly on fire – he really wasn’t a nice guy. Danielle was walking around cold free, yet there I was, full of Rupert. I didn’t know what to do; he kept taunting me, itching my throat, making me sound like a man. However, after a while, I learned to love Rupert and his abhorrent nature – why? I do not know. I began to enjoy seeing the contents of my throat in the sink each morning and coughing until It hurt to gulp; I thought I was falling in love.

One day, I noticed that Rupert had started hanging around with Georgina, inviting her to parties – instead of me -, baking with her, allsorts…it was the day I’d feared for so long. I was involuntarily passing my cold onto Georgina. I did all that I could to try and make Rupert stay, but it was too late, he’d already packed his things, and was getting the bus out of my system and into Georgina’s nose. I felt empty and alone, I missed his phlegmy spirit and itchy cough hugs. Why would he leave me like that? I tried to hold back tears as I watched Georgina and Rupert gallivanting around, as free as a pair of infected lovebirds. I was heartbroken.

Suddenly, while brushing my hair out of my tear filled eyes, I felt something on my forehead. Not just something…some things. I ran to the mirror and, to my disgust, discovered at least twelve of them, a family. Spots. This was it, just when I thought things couldn’t get worse (after Rupert dumped me), these monsters had arrived to ruin my life. They were awful, but my, the variety. There was Sue and Bryan, the proud parents; they were big, but not painful. Then there were the ten kids. Annie, Tom, Horatio, Jimmy, Louise, Violet, Rachel, Peter, Steven and Charlotte: Horatio being the most troublesome. He would force the others into causing off peak pain and itchiness. I spent months scratching and popping the little specimens of pus. They made me writhe with nausea on some occasions.

Until one day, My mother came home and called me to come downstairs. I saw she had something clutched in her hand but took no notice of it. She sat me down and told me she had something to tell me. ‘I have something to tell you’, she said. I sat and waited for her to carry on when I saw her lift her hand up and place what she had previously been grasping, in my hand. I looked down and saw a tube of some kind. ‘It’s about time that family moved out once and for all,’ she looked at me sternly, ‘Use that, quickly.’ I rushed upstairs and went straight into the bathroom, to follow my strict instructions. I looked at the tube. ‘Clearasil’. Of course! Gets skin clear in three days! I smeared the cream generously, all over the ghastly, sickening craters, making sure I put an extra large amount on Horatio. And surely enough, three days later, I awoke to a spotless, pus free forehead.

I went into my Mother’s room to tell her of the good news. After celebrating, I asked her how she thought I should finish this story, she was reading a book and I think she had gotten sick of the background noise that i was inflicting upon her, and just made some sort of growling noise. I took this, not only as I sign that my mother could in fact be a werewolf and could be a very good storyline for my next piece of coursework, but that I should leave. Therefore, I did not get an answer concerning the events that should conclude this story and so it shall be abrupt and unexpected. ‘And then everyone died.’ The end.

.

.

.

.

The day of the unholy ulcer.

Along time ago, on a cold, wet and boring, yet average Thursday afternoon I’d just endured a very uneventful R.E lesson. I’d spent the lesson eating some lovely crisps and listening to The Smiths while spinning around on a swirly chair. I was now on my way to my first English lesson of the term.
As soon as I entered the classroom, my lip started pulsating with agony. I sat down and started poking Mouse’s face to soothe the pain. Sir then asked me to remove my jacket. After this request he added a nice little comment; ‘Though it is a very nice jacket’. I felt a giant wave of pride in my jacket. Moving on, the pain was coming from an ulcer – namely Betty – on the side of my silly, pink gums and was now more excruciating than ever. Betty was horrible, I wished death upon her. I’d made plans to get the little jelly man to kill her. I soon discarded those ideas because they would involve more discomfort, as Bonjela made my mouth feel like fire. Betty was the ugliest little white blob I had ever seen and she tasted/smelt/felt/looked/sounded like pain – it was really quite awful.

.

lovely little dog on the bus.

.

.

genius.

.

.

.

today was full of deception.
firstly i came out of the house this morning wearing a light jacket due to the sunny blue sky.
it rained.
i don't know what i expected after the last few days but let's say i was feeling optimistic.

then i come into town and think 'oh it'll only take me around fifteen minutes to get into rusholme'
i got on the bus at 1.30pm
i got off the bus at 2.15pm
thankyou freshers, for polluting oxford road and all of the buses that pass through, you fucking cunts.
then i spent a reasonably pleasant afternoon in okla on my laptop only to find, after a few hours, that i'd lost my earphones.
why?

after all of this trauma, i thought 'right okay, put all of that behind you, you're going to spend a nice evening in with nicola'.
i walked up to her flat and knocked on her door.
there i was greeted with the news that we were not infact staying in, but that we were going round to the arabs' flat next door.
i protested but eventually gave in.
it was absolutely awful.
i sat awkwardly smoking away with food being thrusted in my direction every couple of minutes by arabs ( similar to the way mums force food upon visitors).
i managed to sit for a good hour before having to kick nicola and make her leave.
they were so disgusting.
all of them insisted on grabbing our faces and kissing us - twice - as we left.



i feel so unclean.

.

.

the work of a genius.

.

wise words from dan and gawain.

.

there is a light that never goes out.

.

.

Bad news girl.

.

we love to boogie.

.

.

.

this has oklahoma staff written all over it

.

snails are alright.

remind me a bit of mushrooms

they look like them i think

maybe

mushrooms are really nice.

.

breakfast at nicola's

.

today has been okay
didn't go to college
weather was a bit funny
cold but not
had some nice chips
bit tired now
my nose and my feet are cold
don't know whether that is linked or not
still in a bit of a mental rut about mirrors
quitting college tomorrow
which is a bit weird i suppose.

.

.

moors murder victims

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

writing notes on dan writing notes