I

Mother,

Jesus came into my dream last night and told me to repent.

Noone can never imagine what i'm doing to you in my dreams.

Even
Jesus
himself
got
the
creeps
.

II

I felt Jesus getting the creeps inside me.
I felt his cheeks turning red in shame.
I felt the fear embracing him when he saw my dreams.
This was the slightest second of my life i believed he might exist.

In 12 days i will be 21.
I have no joy for anything.
No worth in work. No love to study.
I have no courage to learn anything from teachers.
I have no patience to wait until i'm a professional.

I want to sit at home and listen to PJ Harvey.
If i was a woman i would like to be her.
I would like to fuck with the stage and make love with music and keep the world on my vocal chords.
These are my stories from the city.
Boring and shallow.

But, you'll have to wait and see my stories from the sea.

Jony said he fucked her a thousand times.
All the way in 'n' out.
He said she gives head and asks for no return.

Pornography practice and temporary companion.

He said she never says no and i should call her anytime or keep her for the difficult days.
I still don't know which are the difficult days i'm always told about.
He said i could fuck her and piss on her leg and she'd even be happy afterwards.
No charm.

I should start worrying about myself for still listening to such things.
Maybe I should stop eating spicy food before sleep too.

Inside the gap between vast emptiness and the idealism of void

this is where i lose my mind.

Now i can really understand why Joy Division don't fit summer.

It's almost November.
I went out running.
Earphones on and the cold air is hitting my face.
One slow hour running and feeling around the streets.
Getting closer to unknown pleasures.
Curtis shrieks in my ears.

"Where will it end? Where will it end?
Where will it end? Where will it end?"

And i'm weeping a tear from my face, not knowing if it's from the cold wind hitting
my face
or
from the cold inside my soul.

Dear Proletariat,

I crucified myself for the sake of being relieved.
I speak throught the wormwood that eats my cross.
I ride the chariot of reinforcement for a walk around hell.
Earth is the coldest lake i've put my feet in.
My toes are cold and broken.
My nails are biting my skin.

I'm nailed too hard it feels difficult to stretch my legs.
The air is hitting my face.

I'm guilty by design.
Born guilty, lived in sin.
Severed my ties, now i'm free to die.

This is my favourite season of the year.
Autumn.
Coffee, sad music, bad weather, running in the cold, rain, warm clothes, memories of ex-lovers, the view out of the window, my new room, fashion tips from bums and old people, Is This It? and Turn On The Bright Lights.