in a moment of almost-unbearable vision...

I think tonight could have been classed as a blog rave seeing how all the participant read this. As Alice (absolutely the aforementioned) would say, shout out to them.

‘Although our bones they may break and our souls separate’... I’d hate to have a broken soul. All black and dripping shards inside or jagged like Cynthia Voigt describes a broken heart in ‘A Solitary Blue’. It’d be worse than a broken heart. Or a broken phone for that matter. Because it would mean that something, or someone had not only stolen your emotions but broken your very essence. I guess you’d have to be really close to someone for them to do that.

There are sometimes a billion thoughts in my head and I can’t say any of them. Today people got the tail ends of thoughts, like I couldn’t say anything that I was really thinking, it was just the final worded version which appeared in the real world. I think this may be why I adore Joanna Newsom’s music – she’s nuts but it works because they’re like echoes of reality stitched into fantasy and all that harp stuff. Her voice perfectly encapsulates that duality in its crazy soundingness.

Speaking of crazy soundingness (it’s not a word) I think that it’s probably bad that people get into my head so easily. Even that guy with the kettle, in the schizophrenic advert (no word spellchecker, I did not mean scherzo, that means a joke, like a violin piece called that with a hundred jolly jumping notes which has nothing that much to do with what I’m talking about unless you add in some harpsichord and a drum beat freaking out in which case it becomes a little like all these thoughts in my head) is now implanted into my consciousness. I just had a discussion with him in my head, like the scene near the beginning of The Truman Show where Jim Carey is like, ‘promise me you’ll eat me’ at the mirror, except obviously mine was more like, ‘LOOK WE’RE BOTH MAKING CUPS OF TEA’. ‘O really well I’m diagnosed as mentally ill and you’re not and there’s little chance you ever will be except for someone to tell you that the little voice which is supposed to get swept away with emotions and drugs and so on is particularly persistent and furthermore you’re a bit silly because you’re terrified of being like me so why do you fake sympathy?’

Yeah, so, everyone, that’s what goes on in MY head...

So I drew a picture today of a little stick house and it was orange and green and there was a big red flower next to it called Florence. Anyone who’s been doing their homework and reading J M G Le Clezio’s Terra Amata will know that I was in fact making a direct literary statement, about how in that book the child’s picture has people and roads and my one had words and a washing machine. I guess it says something for what goes on in my head that that was the first thing I thought of when I saw crayons.

I want a pet Matt fish. They’re epic. It destroyed me to leave that one staring at the chefs. I think that probably sounds mad to the world at large but there are the select individuals with whom I participated in search and retrieve pizza times and they will know what I’m on about.

I won a load of swimming races today. My mum and my sister came to watch and I think my sister was, for the first time in a while, proud of me. I then went and robbed her piggy bank. Maybe I’ve only got sawdust inside me.

In case you didn’t already know, my song of the day is Joanna Newsom’s Sawdust and Diamonds, because it’s stuck in my head right now and is particularly nutty, and I think it’s beautiful.