Time to put up the last journal entry from those Brunswick warehouse times. It's really difficult to put up this stuff without editing. But that is sort of the point, and besides, I don't like forewords.
FUCK! Driving me
fucking mental and you’re not even doing anything! Anger mixed in
with embarrassment.
Ah, a last touch of
high-drama, to do with my favourite journal star. Looking back to
that night, last night, it feels like I was possessed, that was not
me. And yet, those feelings were so clear, I can still taste them.
Without punctuation, this is what happened inside my head.
She’s fallen asleep I
can barely keep my eyes open maybe if I announce that I’m going to
bed she will follow no that didn’t work never mind I’ll get an
early night and do some good training tomorrow go to sleep go to
sleep how long have I been lying here surely the movie has finished
by now she must be sleeping in Y’s bed I bet he’s stoked about
that I saw the way he turned when I walked into the kitchen the way
he had been holding her go away nasty thoughts fuck right off Y and X
are good friends my friends they would never but I saw what I saw oh
troubled mind just let me sleep I just want to sleep why do I need
her next to me just to sleep she doesn’t need me at all for nothing
I don’t want her to need me I don’t want to stop being crazy
about her either Fuck surely the film’s over now maybe if I get
some water then I can go past and look into the room put my mind at
ease oh I’m so angry I just want to sleep now will I achieve
anything if I live my life according to the patterns of a girl like
that I can’t believe I would think that Y would what is wrong with
my head there they are both asleep don’t worry about me guys have
a nice sleep over I’ll just wander around awake all night waiting
for insanity to set in what if this chair accidentally fell over oops
too hard felt good though how do I get her out of my head I gotta get
myself outta her bed oh now they’re awake I’m going to sleep in
my own bed I’m so sick of this shit now everyone’s all worried
and I know the more I try to explain the worse it will get
I would like to throw
this book in the ocean, or set fire to it, or both. I could seal it
in a large watertight container, so that it could burn and sink at
the same time. How long could it burn for before it ran out of
oxygen? She is my oxygen, what a shame I’m on fire
I miss her, the possum
that scratches and scratches up in my roof. That makes those
unbelievably strange noises. Fur so soft, inviting, but get too close
and you’ll get scratched to bits by those tree-faring claws. Dark
eyes, like someone has taken to reality with a hole-puncher. I tried
to talk to her sometimes, thoughts and feelings, but she just looked
in silence, a look that would make Shakespeare stutter. She wasn’t
concerned with the affairs of humans. Not this human at least.
Is this how the book
ends, with a fizzling dramatic climax, and no tangible conclusion?
Perfect really, in a couple of weeks I’ll be walking down Newcastle
streets with X, see page 1. The only difference will be the position
of the Earth in relation to the sun. And of course, 6 months worth of
bizarre memories from a particularly turbulent year. 2009. Year of
babies, break-ups, art, music, love, pain, savings, inspiration,
business, festivals, devising, dividing, and writing. Mostly writing
about, or to, one special strange young powerful girl. So here’s to
you, all of the other people who make up my world and barely get a
mention. I could never have hoped to meet and/or make friends with so
many amazing people. I’m learning.
The end
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