I feel like I’m in the recording studio and I’m getting tipsy and high and recording shit and then smoking and thinking for a bit and then mixing it and adding the soundtrack and sending it to someone first and, yeah, man.

I could totally get high in a 70s mega rock band and record shit at all sorts of levels in the whenever times late night in the desert wherever.

I would have been fuckn’ ace at it. Chatting shit with all these artists and saying random shit that influenced their songs.

Maybe that’s me being the muse?

I don’t think I hide things from people when they say how you doing and I say OK because I guess I am, certainly on the social outsides.

but am I? I think I am but I know damned well I’m not. I have shit going on that I don’t know how to fix or who can fix or or

I don’t want to join the real world any more. The grown up world. For want of sounding ego it feels beneath me. I’ve had close to 2 years living in my own head and space and I have come out wonderful.

All these new Art things I do, they take time but shit ton worth it for the recipient.

I don’t want this wonderful creative POET feeling to go away and get diluted by the real world.

I’ll have to and I will and then I guess I’ll go back to writing angry shouty poems again and have to fight for and seek out the longer, more personal poems.

I even almost have wizard hermit hair too so couldn’t I just get fed by the local villagers and live in my cave of creation…with gigs obvs.

I guess the thing of a diary is like going to see a shrink or something and it’s that, who do I tell that I want to murder my own arms right know?

I have a knife under the bed for emergencies, I have a lighter over there to heat the blade and then burn me like a fuck.

But I won’t do that and I’m not even close but I’m close in a I remember what it was like when I was there and did that.

I can’t I don’t think, do it any more and I don’t know if I miss it or wish or or or or orororororororo

it’s a fucking safety net to fuck and as much as I’m new to the not having it I’m not convinced I don’t need it.

I just want to cut burn hurt slice leg arm fire sharp anything any fucking stabbing myself pain.

I FUCKING want it.

a slight slice and bubble blood or flow of crimson or burn blisters like squishy derriables

I need these things I want theses things

So long after I’m dead when anyone reads it but fuck you you cunts for making me like myself and not be allowed to fuck with my own shit in order to i don’t know let’s press send have a a last smoke and watch scooby in bed

I wish I could still SCREAM inside my head. I wish I could squeeze my had as if crushing the pain. I don’t wish I could hurt myself but I wish I could. The inside pressure isn’t close to what it used to be and I will roll another because I just dropped the last one out the window, and then go to bed.

And I will not be Bad or Sad and I will deal with this shit that by brain tries to fuck with me with, but I wish I didnt’ have to, I wish I could still take the easy way out and just not like myself and get all fucked up and somehow end up liking myself cos I’m not dead but not rinse and repeat but a good, safe, comfortable, easy way out of the brain pain.

It’s all well and good eveyone an by everyone I

need to message Sandy

I’m heading for oblivion if I don’t find a focus but I don’t need or want one but only because I don’t have one.

I have no purpose other than to be me and be beautiful to;/for other people and that be groovy but,

I don’t know what I want I don’t know what I need, I’m groovy being me but

even if I don’t live to 113, I still have fucking THIRTY years left of being alive.

How long can I keep being me even if I am totes groovy with it at the mo?

Who will I be when I’m 99 and everyone else is dead or old and who will keep me being me then?

I can get away with it because I’m using other people’s eyes but what when there are no eyes left to look through ‘cept my own?

I think I used to be like this in my Hippy days but I saw things differently back then without now knowledge or eys.

First day yesterday doing half didn’t do anything but I think today with the second half might have done, just a bit.

I did a lot of online update website upload videos stuff. Don’t know if I would have done it anyway because it’s overdue but I did do it.

Ignoring mental head booze stoner now stuff,

something is wrong.

I’m still having naps during the day and sometime closer to when I’ve only just wokeen u that before.

bellend shut your fanny

I’m supposed to be doing this, it’s good for me, keeps the empty memories at bay.

So yesterday’s thoughts were the tiredness. I’ve been very tired for a while now and a cheeky disco nap happens every day or other day or so. Sometimes I’m up at ten, biccies and coffee and games or internet and then by 1 I need a nap.

I’ve had two naps in a day sometimes. I don’t know when this started but I never used to have naps and didn’t quite even get the gist when Sandy started to have them and she wasn’t even old like I am now.

I wonder about what it is and it’s not an inertia thing and nodding off from the boredom of doing nothing because I’m good at that nothing slow stuff. it can’t be because I’m ‘old’ because I wasn’t old 3/2/4/1? however long months ago since this first started.

I assume it’s not a Covid thing or a long covid thing with the lethargy because I don’t think I’ve had Covid so what is it?

Dear me,

you are a total fucking bellend.

But I do actually like you, even if only on other people’s say so and I am coming round to accepting you as some weird fucking thing that flows through life with eyes on everything but the road, and somehow never crashes.

I have wonderful friends and through them, I’ve come to trust myself.

Still think I’m a dick, obvs but don’t want to hurt myself to recompense that or anything and I do know people like me because fuck my eyes, they are using theirs not mine.

I miss not liking myself and paying the price but I guess it’s also a knowledge I’m not yet ready to share in case I’m not ready and I fall back crash and burn so much that bad shit goes down.

People announce they are not an alcoholic anymore and get applause and everything. If i announce mine, not only might I not be ready, nobody will really give a shit because they don’t understand.

Booze and drugs and gambling or any of that stuff is easy for people to get their heads round but this is a whole other world because they don’t even understand what you’ve escaped from never mind how much freedom you have just gained.

Drinking a million beers a night or injecting heroin into your eyes is at least something people can sort of get their head round but taking a knife and slicing your own arms because otherwise your brain will explode, is a little bit trickier for them to grasp I think.

I don’t want to squish my own head and squeeze it to hold in or let out the screams inside anymore, ish. but I just did it then when my hands were nearly doing it and my brain was somehow almost year do it and I’ll scream or not scream.

But I didn’t because I don’t need to. It’s want vs need and that’s what this fight is all about.

I’ve accepted I don’t need it but I still want it.

Not only am I losing the knife I’m even losing the hate myself when I’m wasted thing.

I like me and I don’t want to because it’s hard work and

you’re not my shrink, shut up