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My beautiful hair is starting to grow back.
"Oranges and lemons" say the bells of St. Clemens.
"I owe you five farthings," say the bells of St. Martin's.
"When will you pay me?" say the bells of Old Bailey,
"When I grow rich," say the bells of Shoreditch.
"When will that be?" say the bells of Stepney,
"I'm sure I don't know," says the big bell of Bow.

Today I went to Brighton with my parents. We had some dim sum then I wandered off by myself. I bought CDs and looked for non-gee t-shirts, then went to the beach by myself to read a book. By then, it was a rather nice day and gimps were jumping off the pier. I sat and read, trying to block out two dull old women talking about scooters. I didn't take in a single word of my book.

All I could think about was how much I wanted to be there, on the beach under a beaming sun, with someone. Anyone - a friend or two or whatever. It was absolutely perfect weather; the breathless sea was at high tide and stretched out, glistening, to the horizon.

I went into the arcade on the pier and hated it. I lost 40p in the useless machines I so loathe, then found another 40p. I bought a doughnut, but it didn't taste like food. I didn't want to eat it, but anyway, I finished the abhorrent ring and licked the sugar off my fingers. Then I walked about aimlessly for an hour before I sat down to read the most beautiful thing in the world. No, not really her.

So, we went home and my parents unintentionally annoyed me. Everything they do and say makes me want to scream. Later this evening, Caroline came home with a previously-mentioned friend. She spent the evening being introduced to Mikabomb, listening to scary-story-CDs in the dark and helping me clear out my room. She talked about school and I like her almost as much as I'm detesting the notion of King's. SheCollapse ) stole half of the stuff I'm finally getting round to lobbing out, and more, during to my rapidly melting heart. My room may not be remotely tidy now, but at least the drawers open and I have some shelf-space... Perhaps I could buy some books one day?

I remembered why I never seem to throw anything away. Every artifact from the past comes attached with a miscellany of memories that suddenly unearth themselves and shake off the senescent dust. It's always fun looking at old schoolwork, craze collections, photos, toys and half-finished Blue Peter projects. Together, we laughed at a long-lost innocence. However, some of those deep-rooted and long forgotten emotions that come together with dug up memorabilia rouse long-buried memories. When all the nostalgic times, thoughts and feelings came overflowing out of their recesses, I almost felt like crying. My mementos are reminders of the past - even more poignant as I know that's where they'll always remain. These things represent something that was at my very centre a long time a go, but is now barely recognisable to me. Together with my trivial trinkets, as they disappear, what is me is vacated and begins to fade away. Every single possession I discarded into the cavernous black sack was a part of me that I'll probably never remember again. But I'd done this before; leaving people I know behind. Nonchalantly throwing out what is probably some of my most important possessions was like extirpating parts of my soul. When all my old things are gone and the bin liners are dragged away, I will remain but my spirit will have been carted off to a colossal landfill where nothing can ever be recovered.

I'm scared that when I've forgotten, there will be nothing left to remember.

Here comes the candle to light you to bed,
Here comes the chopper to chop off your head.
Chip chop, chip chop, the last man's dead.

Almost as bad:Collapse )

    mood: red eared
    choon: Dead Kennedys – Holiday In Cambodia
Thank you more than you can ever imagine.
The remains of crumpled leaves in a roll up cigarette. And in my shattered dreams I can see your silhouette.

Desertion - Do I laugh or cry?


    mood: wretched
    choon: Miss Black America – Car Crash For A Soul