I have a knot in my chest. My stomach rumbles and the tightness above it amplifies the movement into a tremble throughout my upper body. I am not cold, but am shaking. I do not want this. I. Writing stops. Staunched flow. Scabbing over. Haemophilic thoughts. I have always had a thing about bleeding - when I was very young I would always lick any cut I got. I still do to this day. I managed to avoid licking my tattoo. The poster about "how to care for your new tattoo" in the tattoo parlour said not to chew it. Aimed at people with tattoos in places such as the back of their hands or such like - brought about amusing visions of people chewing their arms or legs. Two stops. Time for bed. I will try to synchronise again, don't know if it will work. Some bloke has his foot up in the air - it keeps appearing in my peripheral vision and distracting me - he's getting off here. Radlett. What a fucking stupid name for a town. Then again what names aren't? I live in a town named after a saint. With my views about organised religion that really bites. Hmmm, all that stuff about homosexuality and then I find myself enjoying myself listening to Placebo. Quite a few books I like feature quite explicit homosexuality - I have no problem with it as long as there is no chance of it featuring me. If I did then there is no way that I would enjoy Anne Rice or Poppy Z. Brite so much. I wish there was such a thing as normal and that I conformed to it. It would make life much easier.
Monday, 23 August 1999
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