Feeling great.

I am feeling absolutely great. I have recovered from my horrific wasting disease.

I secretely wish that I was still ill. When I was ill I did lots of nice, secret things. I ate the most delicious of foods and threw them all up again. I lay in my bed hallucinating and shivering with a diabolic warmth. I felt seperate from the world in my small and comfortable coccoon.

I love feeling ill. I feel further away from life.

I have to call into work when I am not very well to update them on my status. I need to ring every five minutes and update my status.

I feel strange and different.

Number 2 Interview

I interviewed Jenn Asworth
I love doing interviews. I don't have to do very much and it makes my blog look big.

Why won't anyone interview me? Can't anyone tell that the only reason I am doing these is so that someone interviews me? WHAT THE HELL.


1. What is going on with your hair? It's like totally Outrageous.

Do you not ever have those days when you wish you could take a tablet that would stop your hair growing or changing in any way? I do. You just want to capture the perfect moment forever. But it fades. It fades and it dies. It dies. God, it's awful. I feel like crying right now. It goes like this. See, when it is going great guns, you want to look in the mirror all the time and touch it a lot, but you don't want anyone to see you touching it a lot and looking in the mirror while you touch, because you are supposed to be a writer and librarian and sort of scruffy and intellectual. Really, I would sell my brains to have beautiful hair. I would. Seriously. I would rather be stupid than bald. Mainly I feel a bit bad about being bothered about my hair. It is made out of the same thing as fingernails or antlers. So my scalp is covered in long dead antlerly fingernails. But I want the fingernails to be shiny and big and full of body, causing admirement, but not staring. I want to have antlers that made other people jealous. That has never happened. Do you have any hair tips for me?

2. Why should I hire you?

I can be sarcastic while making you feel respected. I can work for hours and hours at a task that holds no value whatsoever. I can wear suits and wave my hands about at meetings. I can use words like 'reader development' and 'evaluation' and 'local agenda' and 'test bed' and 'skills set'. Oh dear. Please don't print this. I mean, I like my job. I do my best. Even when I have doubts I do my best. The tax payer is paying me. I never forget that. I am servile and self loathing. I spend sunday nights ironing work trousers. I dish out books for cash. Doesn't matter which books. Reading is a valueless activity. We are all about the issue figures. Rising steadily forever. I can stand at the counter and scan all the books into and out of my own account for ten hours a day. Then our issue figures will be EXEMPLARY. (NB I don't do this. I am 'in character') Bloody Hell.3. Why have you changed so much?
See above. I sort of like being servile. It has affected my whole life. If my mum had let me have contact lenses at school I would have had a boyfriend. I would have done things. Then I would not have been a librarian. It all stems from there. Now I am going to spend my advance on having my eyes laser surgeried. True fact. I'm a bit drunk.

4. What is your favourite?

LITHOPS. And going to sleep with feet touching. I miss smoking.

5. Why won't you stop laughing at me?

I think its because you make me nervous. You are like a proper writer, with a FAN BASE. I feel a bit insipid and main stream beside you. If I was a man I would probably fight you. Because I am a girl I giggle.

6. Why do the bigger boys touch me in my private area?

It isn't your private area. It's your elbow. Go back to the manual. Look again. *That's* your private area. Please stop touching it now. Thank you. Good boy.

7. Is Halloween a con?

Yes, I think it is. Except this Halloween is the anniversary of me being friends with my best friend for ten years. Ten years! So we thought we would have a decade party. If you say decade a certain way it sounds like DECAYED. So we may dress as Zombies. So if we did that, Halloween would be personal and meaningful and special, and not a con. We would have replaced the 'hallowed' into Halloween.

8. Do you like the way I dance? Do you like my style?
Do you like my fancy steps? Do you like my smile?

Yes. No. Yes. Yes.

I am the editor of a new on-line blog review page.

http://twelvefortyfive.blogspot.com/

Degenerative Bone Disease

I am sick to my core. I have no symptoms except for feeling terrible. There are rings of pain around my eyes. I took days off work this week and got called sick note by someone in work.

I might never get any better and never get any worse. I think that I might be consistently below average for ever. I am a straight, non-sloping line on a graph, written in green ink. 

I am a set of data on excel. The data is slightly not quite good enough. 

I might have a wasting disease. I am wasting. There is nothing which is not wasting. Everything I do has been wasted. I am in a wasteland. A thinning, cold, anaemic wasteland. I am trapped in  my bed. I am on pills. 

Travesty

Shame
Anger
Pain
Misunderstanding
Failure
Tears
Sorrow
Disgrace
Worthlessness
Hunger
Disregard
Apathy
Smallness

Reminder

http://manchizzle.blogspot.com/2008/10/one-week-til-manchester-blog-awards.html



OH NO

I wrote this story

I submitted it to the Rainy City site (http://www.rainycitystories.com/)
I hope they accept it.


I live in chinatown.Every sunday there is a wedding and loads of fireworks go off on the pavement opposite my house. Every time I think that we are under attack by terrorists.The lights in china town are bright and of a number of different lurid colours. They make it look dangerous and seedy. Chinatown makes me feel sexy.There is a restaurant in Chinatown that I always go to. It is the Happy Emperor restaurant. There is a lovely lady in the Happy Emperor Restaurant who gives me free prawn crackers and beer when I go in.I am grotesquely fat due to all of the free beer and prawn crackers. I have started going to a therapist because I am so fat. I feel like a grease ball.My therapist is called "Arnold Phillips". He makes me feel better by forcing me to eat more chinese food. If I don't have something in my mouth I start crying.I spend all of my money on chinese food in chinatown. I go to all of the restaurants on a constant quest for chinese food. I love the smell of chinese food. I go into the bakeries and supermarkets, stuffing food into my gob, getting poorer and fatter.I cannot afford my rent.I now live in one of the gazebos in chinatown. I am homeless and fat. I am a drug addict.Leave me alone.

Young Hearts and Complications

I have a tender young heart that beats with a sad dull rythm.

I am sitting quietly on my bed in a trance, thinking about young ladies and forbidden dreams. I have been preparing for my award ceremony almost constantly since I found out that there was an award ceremony going on.

I have been practicising speeches.

Here is my speech so far,

" It's not every day that you get to go to an award ceremony."

I think it's a good start.

There is a little plate of ornamental cheeses on the edge of the bed. Creamy, rich blue cheese. Pungent goat cheese.

Cheese goes well with crackers and also other crunchy things, for example crunchy breads baked by artisan bakers with rare french flour, wheat and yeast.

I remember when I was young. I can't remember when I will be old.

When I was young I used to sit on the edge of the sofa with cheese and taramasalata in a trough and also various artisan loaves.

I used to make the taramasalata into shapes and then eat the shapes. I used to be a little boy in sweet short shorts. My fleshy legs were bare for the world to see. A small creature once got into my leg and buried itself under my skin.

It's still in there. It controls all of my thoughts and desires. It is a tiny man with a (relatively) large moustache. The hairs in the moustache control all of my movement by caressing my nerve endings.

It is making me write this post. Hang on, it is taking control.

Hello worms. My name is Pablo Rodriguez. I am in control of the pathetic meat collection that is typing this post. I am going to make him act like a fool at the award ceremony. I have been controlling his measly life since he was four years old. I have made him fail at everything for ever. There is no reason for this. I just think it is funny. It is a shame; if I wasn't here he would have done great things. It is a shame I am buried in his leg. HA HA HA. I just made him squeeze his penis thing. He is in pain. I am going to make him write something embaressing.......

I sometimes wish I was a different person.

THE INTERVIEW

http://www.impersonalelectroniccommunication.com/ (Sam Pink) answered my questions. I am training to be a journalist.

Question 1.

What the fuck is your problem?

my problem is that i want to climb a tree and sit on a branch until i die and i don't want anyone to touch me, i think starving to death would be the most painful way to die.


Question 2.

Why don't you leave me alone?

because i enjoy hugging your head to my chest until you pass out. you are my little lamb socrates. i want to walk around outside with you and do "science experiments" on birds and stuff.

Question 3.

Do you like it when I do this?

don't touch me

Question 4.

What rate of pay are you looking for per hour?

aside from whoever wrote "the indian in the cupboard" i am the best writer in the galaxy so i expect to be paid in gold, in diamonds and blood and bones and everything i deserve and i want to have at least ten kids with random women because i was destined by god to procreate and also to cut up little strips of the earth and throw them at the sun

Question 5.

Oh My God, You are Soooooooooooooooooo dreamy!!!

socrates, don't be cute with me. i will dedicate myself to ruining your life. you have no idea how fucking petty i am. i am the shittiest, most petty human, and i will dedicate myself to ruining your life if only to confuse you

Question 6.

How does it make you feel when you fail at something?

i always feel the same.

Question 7.

Why are you such a failure?

i always feel the same

Question 8.

Do you think you will ever succeed at anything?

maybe. right now, i am exercising a lot so i can just beat people up to reduce my anger rather than writing stupid "poems" and other shit to reduce it

Question 9.

Why am I such a failure?

because you forget to put your lips over your teeth while you are doing it

Question 10.

What are your influences?

hardcore drugs and cutting drugged people up in my basement with a box cutter and slayer and gummy worms and nice people and sitting on a couch in my quiet room with a big blanket wrapped around me and funneling a glass full of my own blood into my ass then jumping around until the blood foams and sometimes just having a hot cup of cocoa with some friends catching up on how much everyone hates me

Hands Off!

I nearly got mugged yesterday.
Two people from my work ran up behind me and grabbed me.
They were joking.
It was nightime and I got really scared.
I stabbed them with the fork I carry in case of actual mugging.
They are in intensive care.

Action 4

I sit with my arms in front of me and my legs crossed. I have a spike. I made the spike earlier. I ground a fork down until it became a lovely spike. I trace thin red cuts on my arms and let the exposed blood run gently down to my hands. The spike does not look bloody. At the end of my arms there is a bowl that I have filled with cream. My blood slowly and carefully pours into the cream. The white and red look good together. I wish that it was other parts of me with the cream. 

I don't lose much blood. A few grams. I can hear the sound of divine music washing over my head as I lose the weight. I touch rapture and transcendence. I am not often peaceful. This is not a pain. This is release. I do not hate myself. I am in love with my self. Only for an hour. 

Post Traumatic Stress Erectile Dysfuntion

Today I am in the middle of a week of training at work. Colleagues from the area offices take me and others into the small room and tell me about things that make me into a better worker and more kind person. 

I am in love with the people who train me.

I love you Trudy. 

Trudy is the most beautiful and clever woman I have ever met. She is tender and kind and sweet. Trudy, you will never know the secret and burning passion I have in my fragile heart for you. You will never understand the silent adulation which you cause.

When Trudy leans over the desk I do a small growing. 

I also love Mildred. Mildred does the morning training sometimes. I wrote a poem for Mildred:

Mildred,

Oh Mildred,

Mild Mildred,

When will we wed?

Mildred?

My Mildred

It is called Mildred.

I also love Rowena. Rowena is willowy and lithe like a silvery winter branch. She hands out all of the training booklets and it makes my heart pound to touch the pages she has touched. I wish that her glasses would fall off. There is nothing saucier than a ladies little spectacles falling all over the place. It is as though she is saying "For what I have planned, I would rather not be able to see."

I love you my three beauties.

My dream is that they are my wives and we live on a small canal barge somewhere inaccessible and private. In my dream they all have sex with me all of the time or rather whenever both parties agree in a loving and tender manner. 

I don't really love them I just want to have sex with them. 

I only ever had sex once and it didn't go very well.

I want to try it again some time in case I put it in the wrong bit or whatever.

OH NO