After our sleepless storm-hammered odyssey the previous evening, Dave, Alfie and I were finally allowed to crumble into our bunks at 3pm. I awoke three hours later; I was overtired and couldn’t sleep for nauseating nightmare flashes. It was dark and we’d missed the whole day, and we didn’t have the will or the strength to venture out again that evening in search of a party. Being homeless in a foreign city during a storm tends to quench your thirst for adventure a little. Continue reading
Dave had been prodding me in the ribs and asking about Prague for a couple of weeks. Petra and Leslie were driving down there for one night over the bank holiday weekend, and he wanted to road trip down with them. I wasn’t super keen – seemed like a long way to go for one night. However, a week or so ago I went for a beer with Hannah, and she mentioned she was heading down as well on the same weekend. Well, this was starting to sound more like a party. I told Dave next day and we booked a coach to Prague on the Saturday. We would dick about for a couple of nights, and Leslie and Petra would meet us on the Monday.
I was originally going to end that introduction with the tired old hook, ‘what could go wrong?’, however if you know me or have read anything at all on this site, you’ll know that really, that question is redundant. Of course everything went wrong. Of fucking course it did. Continue reading
In Berlin’s infuriating glitterscape I know three entire people who have written their own manifestos. Three: Annie, Emily, Dave. I like that; set down on wax who you are, what you are for, how you justify your existence, and what specific pains and lessons the earth has wrought upon you to fashion you into the sentient rib-eye steak you are today. The attempted manifestation of the blueprint of an individual’s soul; after being inspired by my friends, here is my own, about a subject very close to my heart; the sickness of my generation.
Continue reading
Something strange happened to me this weekend.
Annie and I have been living together for a week or two. She moved out of her flat a while back when her contract ended and has been crashing at mine while she finds somewhere new. Annie and I have quickly become best mates; I love her to bits. Continue reading
Hello bright eyes. However the devil are you?
[…]
Excellent! I’m glad to hear it old chap. Now, let’s talk about me. Continue reading
I’ve got holes in my shoes
And its autumn now so when I walk to work my socks get wet
I could buy more shoes but that’d cost money
And I don’t have too much of that. Continue reading
Right: Shut it.
Do not speak a word, idle reader. Do not utter a sound; for this day, this wonderful day, doth mark my one year anniversary. My Berlinniversary, as it were. Continue reading
Nobody likes to talk about their own, utterly, utterly, absolutely, hilariously unavoidable death. But I want to discuss it with you for a little while now because it feels healthy to be aware of it; to avoid hopping through life blissfully unaware of my mortality, one day to be smote by a falling tree branch and, my consciousness obliterated, rendered a floppy assortment of blubber and bone. No; I see you, Death. I see you there, hanging around with your head down and your skeletal fingers thrust nonchalantly into the infinite pockets of your ghastly black shroud, whistling and kicking celestial pebbles waiting for me to cark it. Yeah, I see you. Bugger off. Continue reading
Sometimes I like to write about songs that are special to me. Today the song is Born to Run; you know it, everyone knows it. It’s a hit. But there’s something about it I’ve not been able to put my finger on – a strange vertigo; a vague, nauseating sadness. And I’ve figured out why. Continue reading
I always start these diary entries in the same way and I’m gosh darned bored of it. So here’s my newest introductory paragraph:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
WHAOAOAKAKAKAKAKKAASDHOFUOEZZZZPPO
-KWIP!
See that^^^^? 100% Original. OG literature. Mark Twain said there is no such thing as a new idea. Well, I just proved him wrong. You’re full of shit, Twain.
What’s that? Joyce already did it?
Kerouac too?
Fuck’s sake. Fine. Whatever.
ANYWAY Continue reading