Combats verbaux vains, destructeurs et inutiles. L'alcool les rend de plus en plus violents. Dans une demesure improbable du genre: "I drink because of you". Cette merde en fait dire de plus belles. Il est temps de calmer le jeu, d'eteindre le feu ardent de cette putain de decadence. Hier encore, comme d'habitude, le silence etait ma reponse. Il debitait tout d'une traite, decousu. Puis, ma resistance a disparu, repondre avec la meme rage, plus sarcastique et ironique parce que le brouhaha des lamentations m'empechait de dormir et que ma patience s'amenuisait. Le sommeil est si salvateur, si doux, une fuite de la realite. Apres 5 minutes d'explications, j'ai capitule sur les landes des harangues blessantes, j'ai laisse le silence reprendre sa place. Ce n'est definitivement pas ma tasse de the de hausser le ton pour si peu d'enjeux. Il a fini par l'avouer lui-meme au milieu de la nuit et fondre en larmes et en excuses. Encore. Je ne sais pas combien de temps ce cirque va restait en place.

Alors que maintenant je me noie dans ce nouveau projet. Je vais voir en grand, me lancer, ne plus hesiter et commencer avant meme l'emmenagement, car c'est actuellement mon seul exutoire, ma seule issue de secours dans cette impasse dangeureuse.

Elle a dit 45kg, 1m545, suite de l'episode demain.
J'ai cauchemarde pendant deux heures apres la dispute. Elle mourrait sous mes yeux, et j'etais impuissante. Le second reve, le meme, m'a permis de la sauver, mes parents se marriaient et j'avais un chalet a la montagne. Je ne l'analyserai pas.


 

Je suis putain d'associal. C'est le début de la fin. Zola a raison, et en plus il ignorait l'histoire de toutes ces chicks. Qu'ils aillent tous crever en enfer. Il va falloir suivre et se contenir. Il va falloir tenir et se retenir. Et surtout, il va falloir être fort en résistance. Il me faut des grandes toiles, et des putains à dessiner, des filles avec des guitares, des rangeos et des ceintures cloutées. Je retombe dans le féminisme de merde, le riot grrl à la con. J'ai 16 ans, encore. 

Laments and jeremiads. I hate him and his inanities. He asks too much, exercices of translation. I don't really care your cocktails and can't see the ins and outs. Be precise, let me know or leave me alone. I wanted to give him the gate. Need my mum, not this kind of dummy father you try to be. Care about your own kids, we'll see what we can deal together afterward. I'm hard, I know. We are talking the same language, aren't we? To unit all the family to look like these beautiful models presented in the stupid series you watch on friday nights. He already pissed me off, and not exactly actually, because of the funny way I took it. Nice intentions, you wanna look like a savior, defending the weak and the oppressed. "the widow and the orphin" We are not. I don't want to spend loads of time I haven't just for your tomfooleries. Praise yourself to the skies if you want, I've fun behind my screen. And I can already ear her saying we smoke too much and we should eat more. Just shup up. Both.

But ok, I accept to come back for his birthday, which should be near my quarter. And I'll see my sister. Party time, to get smashed. Again. Haha. 5 years left. It makes me happy, I should enjoy more because life is short. HAHAhahaha. My unlimited insanity is incredible, I like it.

No logic. Macabre crazyness. Jump jumpjumpjumpjump. Everything was as a single word. Runrunrunrunrunrun. You are dreary and bleak you said? I am playing, falling. Uneven, unable to enjoy something. Saved by a fucking silly job. Why are you talking about it? WHY WHY WHY? I enjoyed the morbid numbers, and I still do. Seclusion. I can see them even without. Manipulation, i don't give a shit. If you know too much, you'll be killed with a plastic spoon. I give me a month. Fast. And you'll say what you want, you can. Nothing, you understand? Nothing. A dangerous method as well, without Freud and his bullshits, the Coué's one. Fucking more efficient than all moanings and lachrymal threnodies. Selfmanipulation, self conviction, self persuasion. Self belief. Selfishness, that's the way. We are alone. We are fine.

The P's tattoo is fine now. I should have use these needles before. Re-order news supplies. To finish today. Find what to do and pick. Had a chat with Ju., LD and T. and feel the wind of friendship. Funny scatophony with LD. The artist at the Cube. Tonight or never. Should call T. he wanted to see it. Lots of blah blah. Buy some credit at the ATM. Distant World Final Fantazy OST interpreted by The Royal PhilHarmonic Concert Orchestra in London in november and UK Subs at the Fleece in may. Promises.


 

The visual dictionary. Here, this little spread is a whitewater. Lots of rocks, rafting with rowing oars. Have you got enought fun? Sounded like if everyone had to have a decisive conversation with me. My hand is a shitty concept. I closed my eyes, opened a book, breathe beathe breathe. Go away. Leave me alone. Seriously killing me. Then I'm playing, flying, anywhere else, nowhere. Full of fire. Hot, uncontrolable. Void. Screaming inside, losing the voice. Deliring, shaking. I bought a paquet of cigarets.