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had to take my month's rent out in cash yesterday, as we have 'arrangements'
with our landlord that make for a pretty interesting cash flow. money going this
way, money going that way...
 
now, if I'd planned ahead I would have taken my cash limit (£250) out two days
in a row, two days ago **and** yesterday, so I had the full rent (£450) in my
sweaty little hand at the close of the bank day yesterday, without having to
pass through the human shield that banks put into place to keep clients out of
their money-stores. with a sinking feeling I realised I didn't have choice...
 
and so it came to pass that I spent half an hour trying to affirm my identity in
the face of incessant hassle, questioning, frozen uncomprehending stares. trying
to persuade a caged monkey to give me her banana. trying to explain to the
shrill creature on the other side of the glass that yes, I was me, I hadn't
forged all six of my photo ID cards, yes, my signature had changed since I was
16, no, I was not an alien replicant impostor (I wish she had said that, it
would have made my day...), the reason why they ***didn't*** have my correct
data was that I hadn't updated my account for six years, and the reason why I
hadn't updated my account details for six years waaaaaas... erm... (because of
people like her?)
 
why is it? why have I systematically avoided going in and telling a complete
stranger, a generally atrociously unpleasant, surly, power-intoxicated and yet
existentially frustrated fleshy cogwheel in the humming vampire machinery of
international finance, all about my life???... *why*, as long as there is a
contact address in my account details, does any semi-major financial transaction
require that they know all the most recent developements of my life, where I'm
living, what I do, who I work for... and don't tell me they're trying to help
me...the fact is, I don't like banks. and I don't like cashier-people.
 
why, you may ask. for example, cash machines:
 
a) give you all the information you need as soon as they can (this machine is
out of service; no £10 notes available;etc.)
 
b) do their job swiftly, impersonally, efficiently, objectively and without
bumps. they are perfectly suited, designed in fact for their job.
 
c) do not express their frustration by exerting their petty little bureaucratic
powers over innocent bypassers.
 
d) do not ask stupid questions. have no capacity for stupidity at all, in fact.
in fact, they have no personalities. perfect.
 
 (you can extrapolate the template of the cashier from my description of the
cash machine.)
 
 which is why I prefer machines.

just had one of the most intensely erotic experiences of my life, and I was fully dressed and didn't even kiss the person.

my friend (previous entry) came around, we watched a couple of films and decided to catch some sleep before she had to leave at about 4.30 to catch the plane.

obviously, we didn't. sat up catching up with each other, wisecracking and giggling hysterically like idiots. haven't had this much fun with another person for a long, long time... total release. we were kind of prostrate on the double mattress I keep on my floor, lying about chatting, then gradually, step by step, we ended up closer and closer, lying next to each other, spooning, then facing each other, then legs tangled, holding hands, semi-asleep, and I gradually became aware of her hot breath against my neck, and that we had started pressing up against each other, and that my hand was cupping her breast. I had the most intense and almost painful erection, and we were both aware of it, and she was breathing fast in my ear and against my neck... and somehow, things stayed more or less like that for about two hours, waves of mute passion rising and sinking... hot breath, occasionally tracing fingers, breasts pressing against my chest... sometimes I'd almost doze off, but most of the time I was *quite* awake, though we were both pretending to sleep...

Then I got up, made coffee and had a cigarette. It was about 4am. And we had a chat about it.

Suppose we have a past history. pretty much every time we meet up, in fact, we have some kind of tryst... Not for the last couple of years, though...

She put to me that she was stronger than on previous occasions, because she no longer felt anything, and I laughed (I always laugh when I'm around her). she clarified that she didn't feel love or anything for me, just sheer attraction. I grinned back and said, well, ditto... and she made a face at me...

---snipped---

Anyway. Suppose it illuminates the state of my sex life. can count the number of times I've had sex in the last year on one hand, even though I've been in a steady relationship. My girlfriend decided that life was simpler and easier without sex, because she has a tremendous, truly tremendous guilt complex. about sex, about life, work, achievement, family, obligations. she's not even a catholic, she's a western liberally raised agnostic muslim... one of the many things that make me wonder precisely what I'm doing in this relationship... but save that for another entry...

Suppose if I have a question at this point, it is: should I feel guilty? I've asked myself what I would think if my girlfriend had had an experience like this, and to be honest (though I'm evilly jealous) I wouldn't mind that much, if the nature of the experience was clear, if nothing happened, etc.etc.

another friend of mine is supposed to be meeting up with me tonight. she's one
of those cyclic friendships, that seems to continue existing though years can
pass between every time I see her. like a plant that lives off the water in the
air.
 
There is a continuity there, which survives changes and moves and flings and
episodes of all kinds... sadly, I wouldn't say we're close, because we don't
mantain the relationship. I seldom speak to her more often than every six
months. and yet, I am always happy to see her, we can talk about things, and in
some sense, I suppose we both expect that if things really did go wrong you
could turn up at the other person's doorstep and moan and be looked after. part
of each other's security network. potential parts, rather maybe... though maybe
that's how it used to be... not sure now.
 
 anyway. she's also a dreamer, as you'd expect, and we have quite a tangled
history. we were such good friends that at one point I decided to try having a
relationship with her, which was a fatal mistake. you see, she was 'in love'
with me, but I wasn't strictly speaking 'in love' with her... but I thought this
friendship was enough to build a relationship on. it took several years for the
boat to stop rocking wildly and regain its balance, so to speak, during which
time we didn;t really have much to do with each other, and there was venom and
hurt and bitter resentment and supressed sexual tension in the air. then she
'gave up' in a sense, because she realised that I was too 'comphuzed', generally
and at the time (was taking rather large, brain-numbing and unpalatable
quantities of class-A substances most of the time) for us ever to get together.
and incredibly, it all passed, which was kind of what I had hoped for all along.
 
so now we're kind of distant-but-not-as-distant-as-you'd-think friends.
 
AND the point is, she's been in England for a week, and is leaving tomorrow
morning at 7am from Stansted to go back to Norway, and since I live 10 minutes
from Liverpool Street station my pad is the most convenient base to spend the
time til 4.30 am when she has to leave for the station... AND she just rang me
now to say she's at the station (10 minutes from where I work) so I'm about to
leave the office and head off.

my friend is Greek. she's weird, colourful, dreamy, yet practical and very, very
easy to talk to. down-to-earth. intriguing. cute. compassionate. generous. very
very bright. slender. dyes her hair red, wears strange fur-lined jackets. full
of strange dreams and premonitions. sexy intelligent articulate sweet. she
converted to Foucault last year... :-)
 
in short, the kind of person I think of in my less politically correct moments
as one of the 'real' people. a not a massenmensch, a personality. a beautiful
personality in fact. in fact, there have been times when I've wondered why the
hell we're not going out.
 
I mean, she thinks like me. I can connect to her sooo easily. we agree.
discussions with her aren't arguments, they're like constructive enterprises,
where the object becomes clearer and new branches, thoughts and ramifications
are uncovered...not only do we think alike, we synergise. bounce off each other
and clarify each other. at least that's what I think. we talk, communicate,
trust each other. at least, that's how I think of it.  maybe I'm deluded.
 
besides, it has been pointed out to me that I have a weakness for slender,
long-haired dreamy types. very very sexy. :-)
 
but then the catch is, I really like her boyfriend.
 
and everytime I think along those lines, I also think of *my* girlfriend of 2
years now (2 years!!!) and I go back to trying to make it work. another story
entirely.
 
waxing introspective, the real catch is I think that I would be afraid of being
in a relationship with someone as 'real' as that, because it would be intense,
it would challenge me as a person, and I'm still not sure whether I'd be able to
live up to that... and the fact that this worries me in itself indicates that
I'm not quite ready for it. I'd be fearful that when she got to know me with all
my moods, the moments when I can't think of a single thing to say to anyone, the
moments when I haven't got an ounce of empathy for anyone and everyone else
seems to flow in some preconcerted harmony *except* me, and all my strange
reactions to people, my dark jealous moods, my strange psychological lacunae, my
sometimes acute selfishnesses... in short, I don't feel 'real' enough myself,
I'm not self-possessed enough to be able to give myself out to others, to
confront a 'proper' relationship...
 
but then, how will I grow unless I throw myself into things that are over my
head? paradox.
 
and shitshitshitshit. the only reason I'm even thinking about this is that my
relationship at the moment is *not* working. everything I've said above
illuminates with a harsh-light contrast the things that don't work between me
and my girlfriend. I'll save that for another entry.
 
anyway. the reason I'm writing about her is that she was meant to come over and
watch films today. drink Greek spirits and somnulate over esoteric films til
4am. in fact, she was meant to come over yesterday night for dinner but
it turned out she had promised herself away to her flatmates, who were having an
'Australia-Day' bash... And I had prepared salmon steaks wrapped in prosciutto,
with lentils, herbs, spinach and (Greek) yoghurt. which I proceeded to have with
'just' my flatmates. then we watched 'my name is Joe Black', of all things...
which I thoroughly enjoyed ripping to shreds.
 
and today she was meant to come. but she has tonsillitis, and her boyfriend had
promised them both away to a couple of friends. without her knowing. she
apologised profusely, and said she'd make it up to me...
 
hence, I'm left here watching daytime tv, in a smoke-filled room, malingering over my research
proposal that I should be writing, writing meaninglessly long entries in an
online journal the value of which I'm still uncertain of, but which gives me a
weird exhibitionist pleasure... and feeling slightly deserted, bored and
unwilling to go out and face the world. not that I haven't got stuff to do. I
ought to go down to Tottenham Court Road and fix my digital camera. I ought to
get my washing done. sort my room out. clean the living room. read a book or do
something worthwhile. yeah right.
 
[...]
 
shit. think I hear a chocolate mousse calling my name in the fridge. think I'm
going to change back into my dressing gown and turn my back on the world for a
day. can't do me any harm.

actually, I'll write about two things today: the other one is the lame excuse for a poem I posted a few days ago.

my only excuse is, I've never written a poem before and the inspiration suddenly struck me. I admit it's coached in morbid language, and that the sustaining thought is rather dark, but in the end I think it's weirdly life-affirming. learn to look for new beginnings in the darkest hour. life is all-pervasive. 'non tutto il mal vien per nuocere' (not all evil brings harm)... very Nietzschean thought, come to think of it. that which does not destroy me makes me stronger.

in my case, that's turning into a truism. stronger, because scars are numb. stronger, because broken bones mend and are stronger when they do... suppose one day I'll get around to writing why I'm so pissed off and depressed and 'scarred'... not at the moment though. just classify it as yet another OD 'I'm-so-traumatised' rant, another interesting nugget of extraneous pain.

decided I'm going to write about one significant fact, event, encounter, aspect
of my life as often as I can. today, I got a new cursor for my machine at work.
it's just an arrow, but it's big and black and bold, and it crackles with
electric blue fire. very satisfying, 'mythical'. empowering. gives me the
feeling that whenever I click on something, a link, an image, I'm commanding
vast powers, electrical currents that obey my will and zap through cyberspace. I
am an intelligence, a presence on the web; a godforce commanding, manipulating,
creating, directing; my own little thunderbolt of Zeus...
 
 never mind the phallic symbolism (too obvious). cheaper than getting a new
sportscar, I suppose. besides I'm too young to worry about phallic substitutes.
 
 lots of other things I could write about, but they're too big and horribly
depressing and confused. much easier to focus on one particular microscopic
detail.

'children'                                         - 1/22/2001

...

on a bright and morbid day,

as i wandered underway

and dark foreboding clouds

were gath'ring overhead like shrouds,

...

I stumbled on a lifeless lump,

a handsome child, prostrated in a slump;

with empty eyes, and skin consumed by flies,

its little body naked to the skies.

...

And in the boy's decaying condition

I discerned my own perdition,

the coming fate of all mankind,

condemned to rot by fates unkind.

...

 That selfsame evening, sitting down to eat,

a strange conception came, on sly and subtle feet:

that wrapped up in my sad enmesh,

I'd failed to see the maggots, riding in his flesh.

god. just as i predicted to myself, i looked back on some entries from 4-5 weeks ago and was stunned at the clumsiness of my style.

can't believe i write copy. but then i don't write copy about myself, do i...

anyway. i'll leave it on and not delete it, because it'll (hopefully) leave me humble to see my twaddle as irrevocable. not a great fan of quikfix solutions... strong self-punishing streak in some contexts.

 as my mother says, the best thing about hitting yourself in the head with a hammer is when it stops... perceive by contrast. pain creates the possibility for pleasure, and vice versa. which is why i always sleep with sumowrestlers on nailbeds. tossing and turning. nothing like that blazing sun and fresh air outside on the morning when you leave the hospital in a wheelchair with punctured lungs again...

another year. i'll be 24 this year. feel like i'm getting too old. sitting in
front of a computer screen all day, all week is draining the life out of me.
went home for a week and I came back with fresh enthusiasm, sparkling eyes and
bushy tail. after 1 day, ONE DAY I feel myself slinking into scrambled apathy
again.
 
at least I wake up between spells of working. but if this is my life for the
future I am changing <i>mestiere</i>. noway. lonely, bored and with an empty,
buzzing head at the end of the day. *brrrr*...
 
not just that: calamity of calamities, I'm getting a cold. and it is one of the
colds that make you sniffle til the end of march... if I could I'd hibernate,
get a life transplant and wake up in spring as a rich, single, beautiful,
decadent dilettante with a house on the spanish riviera. maybe female as well,
just to find out what it's like. always wanted to be a beautiful wanton bosomy
female. probably not homosexual, though I've had homosexual fantasies. whatever.
strongly heterosexual.
 
AND I'm sexually frustrated. incredible how a very, very simple thing, when one
is deprived of it, can take up your imagination and strangle all other
thoughts... Can't meet an attractive female without wondering what she's like
naked, in bed, writhing. feel like a 16-year old boy, frankly.
 
Not that I act upon it. my imagination is just an entity I coexist with in my
head, not a coercive force.
more than anything, it's just an irritant to find yourself desiring old friends,
wanting to sleep with your flatmates, you name it. gets in the way, seriously.
 
need to sort my head out. I go loopy in winter. not enough sunlight. why did
primeval ancestors ever leave Africa behind and migrate to lifeless, barren,
COLD and FREEZING shores like these?
 
rhetorical question. besides, I repeat myself. not much point, I'm logging off
now.