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November 18th, 18:16
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She briskly runs a hand up past my eyeline, "don't part your hair like that, you look like a geek."
"But, I am a geek."
"No you aren't," she lightly chides but she does not punctuate it with an additional hair tussle as Heather would have. She can't allow herself to breach that barrier.

I am glad, because though I ache to be touched with that kind of intimacy once more, I want it to be with new rituals and signs performed among those cairns I leave there, out of reverence, for the dead.
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November 5th, 18:35 Eyes deep; hazel oubliette.
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Her scarf high, my pinion; knight and lady.

There's a girl for whom I have an ache, and she reminds me of the castle I have become. Stone pillar irremovable but apart from the farms and cottages ringing it, overlooking the fields of life and considering the vines that struggle up its impassive body. Perhaps that metaphor is a bit much, but the idea I believe is conveyed.

She tells me I'm sweet, and cute, and that she doesn't know why any girl would not want to be with me. When she's drunk, that I'm hot. I can tell that I'm getting older, "wiser", because the knowledge that she's entrenched in her current boyfriend creeps across any feelings those sayings might elicit - her world so depends on him that being without him is simply inconceivable to her. It reminds me of myself at that age, and provokes a melancholic sepia smile with no trace of real sadness.

Life is still a fragile dance some nights.
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October 25th, 23:53 Hammered thoughts of a sunday morning walk
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Love is like a cigarette. It will kill you if you give it your heart, but you never forget the taste.
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September 4th, 20:22
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I received a song in my mail from Heather. Nothing else, just a nude mp3 looking at me expectantly. After having listened, once, I began my work. I am a problem-solver and as communication this had a meaning to discover. I slept on it, listened again, then went to work [the paying kind].
In terms of music I am more esoterically inclined than Heather. I will listen to three minutes of trash if during part of it there's a particularly clever or intriguing interplay of sounds contained within; or, just for the memories it evokes. She prefers things that sound aesthetically pleasing the whole way through. I view the vocals as more than simply another instrument only in that the sounds they make are particularly recognisable from everyday experience. She can't listen to anything with vocals that make no sense - while I am happy to wallow in Paramore's evocation of hard-rock and rich vocals, Heather's basically allergic to it almost entirely because the song-writing is so densely self-indulgent(referencing) that what meaning escapes it surely only does so incidentally.
So, we have premises; that I, as a a consumer of music have no taste beyond what I personally find delectable which is, itself, a capricious hunger - and that she is quite discerning. Our quarry is lyrical.

Directly after the opening we find a repeated chorus of goodbyes. This, for me, was the bulk of it and then the mind turned to why we should receive another, redundant, goodbye that was made malicious by its nudity and delivery. After a day or so of pondering this question, I set about to cast the inquiry elsewhere and moved to resolve the breathless mumblings in the back of the chorus. A lyric sheet proved that the song's story was not one of there-and-back-again-thank-god love that it seemed, but one of fond yearning after a goodbye said at the start of the story told. ¿Did she want me to call her? Surely she would've just said so, not encoded it in a song that was apparently pregnant with representation.
A few hours later I picked up the phone and hung up when it began to ring. I don't want to talk to her. I talked to her last week, all smiles and tomato wishes, and then something she said wrong made my day unravel; made the next a pile of threads. I kept on talking to her, biting down my agony, because she wanted to keep talking but I wanted to curl up in a warm place and try to force the pain out of my face. I didn't want that to happen again, so I didn't ring her.

The truth is that this song isn't a goodbye or a hello. It's an odd piece of synchronicity that has no intention beyond its gross mimicry. It's something we can share over something we used to share. And rivers won't slake a thirst for rain.
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August 31st, 22:40
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Weekend was good. Worked Saturday until three, then picked lavender from people's gardens while I walked to my Nana's house. I've never visited her before, by myself I mean and by my own volition. She brought out some home-made biscuits [I think grandmothers metabolise biscuits] and we drank tea in her conservatory. We talked for almost three hours.
Ben ate all of the lavender by Sunday night.

Felt off today, wasn't quite sure why. Things have taken a weird path the last couple of days. Spoke to an old friend for the first time in quite a while who, after talking about how much sex she's been going out and having after breaking up with her long-time boyfriend, then [¿I'm sure?] flirted terribly with me. I'd had a few beers so I didn't follow the conversation very well it seems.
Spent some time chatting today with the girl at the office I have a crush on who, it turns out, is not actually in her mid-twenties but is 21. She has two kids and her rather unexpected and [frankly] left-field inclusion of that revelation in the conversation took me by surprise and rather ended it. I spent the rest of the day thinking about the kid I may have had, who for me was entirely real. I'd questions I would've loved to ask, but felt like it would've been rude.
This evening Hannah asked me to do her and her friends a favour and when her friends threw it in my face she didn't even bother to defend me. I am up late because that upsets me, and I can't sleep upset.
Ben now has full run of the house. At night sometimes he needs to make sure I'm still alive so I wake up with whiskers and a little nose going "snurf snuurrrfffff" in my ear.
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August 22nd, 02:15 Miyazaki just isn't the same without her.
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I have written small notes in my ubiquitous journal, including two pre-drafts of a poem, but every time I write a nice entry in there I seem to miss a day of sleep and then the world comes crashing down the next day - I can't concentrate, and several times I wept openly at my desk.
I watch faces go past me like visitors at a zoo. Only my mother asks how I'm doing. I feel like I wear everything on my face, so I can't understand how people don't realise I need someone to say hello. I can't say hello. I eat takeout or a whole tomato with salt sprinkling on it because I can't bear to cook. I don't do laundry, and I don't clean up.

Then, the next morning, I'm fine.

Tim says I'm bipolar. I think it's less serious than that. I just haven't remembered how to shovel dirt on my feelings fast enough to avoid them surfacing like I used to. Then, they were hands clawing from the grave until broken by the face of a shovel - now I actually feel them rather than just experience. The difference is magnitudes.
That or it's just sugar crashes. I do have quite the sweet tooth.


I'm told I have to make a decision about what I want the family to get me for my 30th. Really, all I can think of asking for is a nice suit and a good pair of gloves. Everything else is dreams I should realise myself.

Sometimes I worry that life is passing me by. Sometimes I wish there was more time to just sit and be with Benjamin - give him a hongi and let him climb on top of me. I can sleep with the door open now that the seasons have changed here, and the birds have started up in the early morning hours that I've become accustomed to keeping in the last 6 weeks. Monday I start a new job and I'll be getting up at 7am rather than staying up till 2am. I will miss them. I tried recording them, but microphones don't work like ears so they, and the night-traffic, are drowned beneath a wall of wind.

I've started reading again. I was going to go to the library, but someone never returned my library card before they left the country.
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July 30th, 22:33 Paper Journal: Director's Cut
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I had a nightmare today - the memory of what exactly is hazy, but I awoke feeling more alone than I have before.
Confirmed with Heather before she went to the therapist that our talk last week was, indeed, us breaking up. Doesn't seem to affect her; shouldn't expect it to, really… Have gotten a touch suicidal, will have to keep an eye on that.
~
April 28th… Heather is gone in close to three weeks. It will be curious to be actually alone again. I don't think I ever realised quite how long we'd been living in this stagnation… I hope to god Benjamin doesn't die while in my care. Not because I expect myself to be negligent, but because I have grown fond of him and I'm still yet to say a final farewell to anything of which I am… I exit this relationship in good spirits though it has had its troubles it has grown me quite considerably and I definitely think it has prevented me from getting more conservative and prudish than I'd like to be… I would like to think I'm quite modern despite the bizarrely old-fashioned values I seem to have developed at some point in my youth. Inexplicably so, given the modernity of my prime care-giver. I am still getting old though. Dating the same person for five years? It's been EIGHT since María called me? I am worried not that I have not long left, but that I may not find more to fill it with.
~
And sometimes it's not a fear that it'll never happen again, but a painful certainty that it will never be as good as that could have been.
~
I dreamt of a girl - any girl, I guess, will do for a dream - and woke this morning with the longing for her. As the memories of Heather die and fade I find it increasingly an annoyance that my desire to bestow affection upon somebody does not, and I am very probably going to have to learn to live with that desire finding itself impotent.
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Everything is drifting away; sinking into the wastes of time.
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I miss Heather only in abstract now, which has become problematic as it is evoked by more than just an empty home.
~
Last night v. relaxing. Had a smoke and could actually physically feel my brain unknitting… Didn't get stoned, but it managed to just completely mellow out everything in my head; difference between me enjoying myself just cooking dinner and doing some cleaning and my prior incoherent and uncontrollable sobbing uselessness.
Slept soundly for the first time this week.
~
Glad I didn't know it would feel like this when she was gone or I would never have asked her to and would've wasted more of her life.
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July 13th, 23:32
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The echo of the knife I give/gave you still cuts as deep as it once did, though it's now by my hand. This compulsive despairing that I am now trying to turn to motivation. Conservation of energy has been too long a bust industry of my heart.


Today I made lists, one for tonight and one for tomorrow morning. Just looking at today's and seeing all of them ticked off makes me feel like I can keep moving on even though the most challenging of tasks was to move my wardrobe shelving (although, those to whom I am more familiar may contend it was, in fact, "reheat pasta and make salad").
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July 11th, 17:26
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"Pornography is just shadows on a wall," my hand moving from her hip traces the curve up "this is the fire." and there's a snap of lightning as my thumb brushes across her nipple; and I catch the briefest of smiles from her porphyric lips before the thunder rolls through an empty room.
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