I'd be the one that dies. (No one dies). Well then what's the point.

This is all I did today (Not that that is a bad thing, it was the best fucking shit I have done in so long; I finished it slowly, even though I had to I still felt the need to slow down more, I wanted to savour this book. It's really something special) - save for some of the usual self-deprecation; and a presentation that I feel I kind of rushed through - I hate that sort of thing. I much prefer talking in my head than using my mouth. My mouth and my tongue are messy, ugly things that I don't seem to know how to use properly - something always breaks up on the way down. This counts as the clothes one too.

I don't like leaving. I don't want to. I feel like everything happens when I'm not there.

If that read 'Nothing Was Beautiful, And Everything Hurt' it would be a more fitting epitaph. Hah. What a barrel of joy I am.

i was sick in my mouth when i tasted the blood in yours

you've got papercuts all over your tongue

from licking and stamping all those envelopes

but youre letters are stories for one person only

the way you guide that pen across the page

you might as well be writing my obituary

and i know id be able to read the words

to the rhythm of a tragedy; is it one of the greats

is it samuel beckett's or some obscure post-modern wordsmith

but who gets the last laugh when the laughing's written for you

your inspiration might be complex but youre words are simple;

THIS IS WHY I WANT TO KILL YOU

but it's never that easy though is it?

while youre penning out the finer points of my untimely demise

im constructing my life from the things i find in gift shops

how nice it is to feel nothing

and still get the full credit FOR BEING ALIVE

you spent the next 6 weeks with your little secret

come on im not as fragile as you might think

i might burst out inauspicious tears

but id mop them up myself just give me a sponge and a bucket

and something to dry my face with

maybe if i scrub hard enough ill be more attractive

ill duck tape my tongue to the roof of my mouth

so im reduced to bellowing vowels

and ill just stop talking altogether

let you be so requited in your literacy

i ruined it but to be fair i ruin everything

while youre penning out the finer points of my untimely demise

im constructing my life from the things i find in gift shops

how nice it is to feel nothing

and still get the full credit FOR BEING ALIVE

i'd write you stories back but i'd just be telling lies

id concoct a symphony just to open up your thighs

id take you for all your worth and leave you on the hard shoulder

after being with you i know i shouldve gone for your brother

just one more question, is it my face or yours on the cover

(CAUSE THESE DARK CIRCLES ARENT FOR SHOW)

I'm gonna head for Box Elder, M.O.

We see each other a lot; but we don't do enough together. So at least we'll do this:

Hmm, I want to be doing this in 1986; for the C86 mixtape, I think we could make something that would really fit in then. Wait. I don't want to fit in, compliment maybe, fit in? Fuck off. Things are a lot more pretentious nowadays; you have to make yourself obviously different, not subtly, people don't get subtlety - good thing I'm not subtle in the slightest. Direct and blunt is the only thing I think I can pull off; I want people to know why the fuck it is they're listening to us. But we don't have enough time. I seem to be the only one who cares. Fuck this.

Day 01 - A picture of yourself

Day 02 - A picture of what you wore today

Day 03 - A picture of what you did today

Day 04 - A picture of where you went today

Day 05 - A picture of your morning

Day 06 - A picture that inspires you

Day 07 - A picture that makes you cry

Day 08 - A picture of yourself somewhere you love

Day 09 - A picture of what you had for lunch

Day 10 - A picture of what you like to do

Day 11 - A picture of your favorite band

Day 12 - A picture that captures your favorite song

Day 13 - A picture of your friends

Day 14 - A picture of your idol

Day 15 - A picture of yourself and someone related to you.

Day 16 - A picture of an object that captures your life.

Day 17 - A picture of phone

Day 18 - A picture of your room

Day 19 - A picture of your favorite musical instrument

Day 20 - A picture of where you want to honeymoon

Day 21 - A picture that makes you think of your loved ones

Day 22 - A picture of your favorite item of clothing.

Day 23 - A picture that describes your life

Day 24 - A picture of who you were today

Day 25 - A picture that you edited

Day 26 - A picture that makes you angry

Day 27 - A picture that makes you laugh

Day 28 - A picture of someone you spoke to today

Day 29 - A picture of someone you’ll never stop loving

Day 30 - A picture of you and your best friend

Stolen rims are they alloy or chrome

This sums up pretty much everything I've ever thought of ever. This is my approach to life, my approach to work, my approach to people even. I don't fucking know what you look like yet, but I will hear someone talk about you and I will make my decisions right there and then.

If you look different to that - you're fucking wrong. And yes I can say that - it's my opinion, mine, not yours, not anyone else's, just mine. MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE.

everyone has told me that everything

you said back in high school

was said with air quotes attached

you sat at the back of the class (OH SO COOL)

spit balling all your friends in the back of the neck

so they would find you more attractive

and you could get off on their reactions

you reasoned that nothing will help you

when youre alone like your mother before

single woman single bedroom single walls

and not a single pay cheque

they tell me that youre still the same

as you once were back then

and you cant learn anything at all

youre still the bitch they took you for

but even so there is a part of me

i havent yet doused in catastrophe

somewhere down in my toes

that thinks you could learn to tolerate me

that thinks you could learn to tolerate me

everyone else is a loser sometimes

but you only reached that in your prime

it's/not/what/youre/learning

it's/how/youre/learning/to/use/it

but/youre/full/of/useless/knowledge

and/you/only/want/to/abuse/it

it's/not/what/youre/learning

it's/how/youre/learning/to/use/it

but/youre/full/of/useless/knowledge

and you only want to abuse it

Remember, when you used to laugh

I think I want to be abused. Somehow. It makes such amazing things develop in people when they're faced with it for the rest of their lives. I know that sounds selfish, and it is, but I'm just too normal. I've gone through stuff of course, most of it I don't remember, and it doesn't affect me, I wish I was a weaker person sometimes; I'm not, I'm uptight, screwed shut and I don't let emotions get the better of me. I'm stupid and ugly when you look at me like that. But that's how I want to be looked at - I'd rather be a hive for sad looks and mumbled sentiments than one for fake half sentences like 'he's so cute' or 'you're funny' - why the fuck would I care about that. I need to stop being so harsh.

I can't really soak up emotion into the things I write, when most of it I don't really understand, no one I know has experienced it; I definitely haven't. It's a shame. I want some tragedy and perversion to creep into my pores, I haven't experienced enough, I'm mostly a boring person. I want a shock to my system to completely destroy what I think about everything and anything, to leave me skinless and bald. And of course naked, who would forget that.

I guess this all makes for a ugly read, but I'm glad, this is what I think about most days. Life is so dull at the moment, waiting around for people to talk to isn't what I want to be doing. I really wish I had something I was obsessed with, something I wanted to know more about, or even something I was afraid of. Just something. Keep me busy, keep me alert, keep me awake even. Some days I'm not even getting dressed, I'm slumping about, in my boxers, with my spindly weedy frame just laid out. All pale and depressing. I'm spending too much time with a blank face and a blank stare, I'm losing my edge.

Can you please come and help us by teaching us some piano and how to sing? I guess I have a voice, but it's not broken in, it's weak and lazy and defiant sometimes. It often doesn't sound how I want and expect it to. I need help. I don't know how it sounds, I guess that is the main problem here - I don't know what I'm doing. But yeah, some lessons, would be wonderful. If I could find even half the emotion to put into things to make them more real, more beautiful, more raw, that Perfume Genius does, then I would do anything for it. I want to send shivers down peoples spines, make them second guess themselves when they hear what I say, make them cringe at how blunt I'm being, make them sigh. I'm such an ugly piece of shit sometimes. Ah well, that's me.

Guinea pig hair in a twisted mouth

Perfume Genius

Cymbals Eat Guitars

Jamie T

Mystery Jets

Japandroids

Spoon

Beach House

Bear in Heaven

Los Campesinos

Bit different from last time. More Chilled music - summer makes me relax; while winter makes me run everywhere and anywhere and never want to stay inside. I wish it would rain while I was in it for once, I miss everything that might make me smile these days. Oh well, there is always drifting melodies and submerged deep sea vocals to keep my mind fresh and clean. Not so much punk as fuck, more, lost as fuck.

I hope someone lives up to the standard of the last gig at these festivals we're going to. Or I will feel like I could of spent £7 rather than two hundred. Modest Mouse better be fucking good, I need to somehow take some memories from it to show her, will make her happy? Yes, I think so.

Undercover lover's got it right between the eyes.

Los Campesinos never answer my questions on their Formspring; and I know it's probably something that shouldn't bother me particularly, but it really does. They answered her question, but not mine? Maybe I'm not desperate enough in my approach, not that she was, just far more eloquent than I can be sometimes. I can think it in my head - but when it comes to spitting it out and making someone listen, I always manage to mess up either the delivery, the words themselves, or just I can't even fucking speak. I hate my lisp. But I wouldn't get rid of it for anything - only way I can interesting when I'm saying nothing about nothing.

Two people like each other. Some other people are being overly pushy about it. One person is trying to be cool about it and leave them to either fuck it up themselves or make it work, hopefully, better than their prior attempts. I'm always on my own aren't I? Oh well, I can think clearer when I only have my voice in my head, and not some grating collective noise bubble. Fit to burst. Enough of this however, onto the unfortunate subject of my conflicting nature. Honest to -insert deity or fake religious icon here- it's going to be the fucking death of me soon.

I enjoy spending time alone together; but I incredibly dislike being with a select couple of people for fucking ever. Hence why I despise holidays that last for longer than a week, what is the point in breaking off from a whole bunch of people to limit yourself to a select few - usually that you aren't really in love with so much as the groups you're leaving behind. But yeah, I want to both be alone together and be apart but still together, I want to be able to say I have a life that isn't tied down to her. That being said, I want one that can rely on her being there a bit. I need to rely on people. Especially those who understand at least most of my behaviour.

I fucking love time spent with her though; usually it's completely wasted, and I don't even fucking realise. Perfect time that. Saatchi was good fun - seeing the amazement she had looking at stuff I'm so accustomed to made me realise how it didn't actually get any less amazing; I'm just so much more relaxed now. I don't like that. I want to be an uptight, itchy, twitchy person again - one who notices all those little imperfections I see in people, in art too. I adore simplicity that is complex. I want to show that somehow, I want something visceral and perfectly, and completely, shit. And I want that to make it brilliant. Please.

I've got all this wonder in my face, but none in the back of my throat.

My texture's a sidewalk and notre-dame's playing

What the actual fuck.

16 months is far too long

to only just realise you hate someone

but it's far too short a time

to realise that they hate you back

you say i dont think enough about my sexual conquests

so why dont you make me spew those bars of soap

and leave me washed out on the floor with our tortoise

my thoughts have never been so unclean before

and you just wont take no for an answer

but who even said i was offering it

ever so apologetic that i cant hear your whiney tones anymore

its being drowned out by the applause

of an era of cataclysmic lovers that are just like me

every morning you wake me up not by kissing me goodbye

but by backing up into the trash cans

and littering your endlessly reliable self help books

into the empty lay by i ended it in the male bathroom

of your favourite squalid chinese buffet

on a sick encrusted toilet seat

i broke your heart into a hundred pieces

and smashed them with the balls of my feet

into the yellowing floor tiles

until they turned an odd shade of grey

your tears staining them back to white

stop wasting them on me i dont mean anything

to anyone and im pleased

the first few days were heaven sent

and i couldnt digest what ive been missing

picking up on the girls that everyone else leaves derelict

they couldnt look anymore flawless to me

they make up for all my dance hall tragedies

and they look even better lying opposite my boney frame

under your favourite well worn bed sheets

wearing nothing but your favourite tshirt

and nibbling away at my modesty

ever so apologetic that i cant hear your whiney tones anymore

its being drowned out by the applause

of an era of cataclysmic lovers that are just like me.

BUT THE NOVELTY WORE OFF

when i realised that my jeans spent more time

on the garish carpet than around my girly hips

and the white noise bursting out of my ears

was actually your voice retorting

all the things i said to fracture you right back at me

its obvious that youre over me and im so beneath you

ever so apologetic that i cant hear your whiney tones anymore

its being drowned out by the applause

of an era of cataclysmic lovers that are just like me

curled up and asleep on your doorstep

feeling quite SHIT FACED(ever so apologetic)

your doorbell ring reverberates in my chest cavity

and my ring finger aches from the force

oh my god why wont you let me in

ive already pissed all over your fresh roses(ever so apologetic)

that i bought for you for 11.50

from the off licence around the corner

but it's the thought that counts

but it's the thought that counts

oh my god why wont you let me in(ever so apologetic)

I FUCKING LOVE YOU so why dont you want me

im ever so apologetic x4

I want day to day life to finish already, I'd much prefer to live night to night; far more exhilarating. Far more aesthetically pleasing. God I hate that phrase, I use it so often it feels like vomit in my mouth (I use that word too often as well, it feels like.. you get the idea), but it works, so I do it. That's how everything happens, it works well for what we're trying to do so we do it.

I guess that would be a good approach to making music; no limitations in terms of style or how cool an instrument is perceived to be, just do it because it fucking sounds good and it makes you feel good when you do it. That being said, I don't want any clashing going on; I might not be writing any music but I'm default diplomat here.

It's all good; something will happen. Sometime soon. We have a kit. We have somewhere to start.