What a dick. Yes. Yes it was another example of ‘the man’ using whatever means they can at pacifying an unruly black crowd.

Anyone know how to put music on a wordpress blog??

Dear person I’m currently ‘shagging/subjecting to my bizarre emotional needs’, I wrote that years ago… before I went to the states…

I hugged someone last night. I mean, I really hugged them.  

In the fleeting moment before unconsciousness hit, we were happy. The vomit and the piss no longer existed. The fact that we both threw up at the bar had passed from our consciousness. We held each other tight. Our legs and arms intertwined. We were together. Part of it was the extreme cold; the more significant part was we both needed to be held.  

The last thing she said to me before we drifted off into the black was, ‘Will someone ever love me?’   What can I say to that? I held her tight and passed out.  

Romance in the 21st century. Shots of ABC with cider chasers followed by throwing up under the bar, sharing a joint and passing out. Romance.  

This morning we awoke on separate sides of the bed. That has to be about the most lonely experience. Waking up alone – next to an almost stranger. The delusions of love gone; delusions of togetherness gone. Unable to pretend.  

I felt the harrowing loneliness the other week when someone else rolled over in the middle of the night and I was left on my own. So close, and yet out of reach. Snuggling in bed is so personal, so intimate. Yet I don’t know anything about them. I don’t know why they are here. or why I’m there.  

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Occasionally I’ll wake up holding their hand but usually they are on the other side. Repulsed by who they are with or what they did or who they are. Usually not much happens, usually we are blind drunk. Usually we are passing out. Yet, we always fall asleep snuggling. Pretending to love.  

Pretending.  

The strange thing is, I’m not a lonely person. I love sleeping on my own. I’m a greedy motherfucker. I use all the pillows, I lay diagonal. I fart, god how I fart. I love spending time with myself. I get antsy when I don’t get personal time and space. I need it. I often go to sleep thankful I’m alone.   

I’m happy… most of the time.   

Where the fuck does that loneliness come from? Why does waking up on the other side of the bed affect me so much? Do I know I’m never going to have someone wanting to share my bed? Do I realise I’m alone?  

… it’s as if my life has become a Jackson Browne song.

I wish there was some way to simply save 8years worth of blogging into a word file. Then I’d publish it in a book… and you dumbfucks would buy it.

Uh ooh. I think I just crossed over into wanker. I’ve been tettering on fence between ‘wanker’ and ‘really interesting’ for a while now. but, um, I just took a photo of my beer with the intention on blogging about it. It’s a Stone & Wood Pacific Ale. It’s rather tasty on this 40+ degree day.

fuck this weather.

It’s amazing how much of my life is spent thinking about where a bathroom is. I’m deciding on which cafe to go to, based on which one has a better bathroom.