two sets of words in just a few days, we call that progress somewhere out there.

the bus smells bad, stale and clingy. i think that my duffle coat will smell the same when i get off. we're at ferrytoll, the end of the earth. it really should be; there is nothing here but a park 'n' ride used for dumping and migrating elsewhere. crossing the bridge into my city, dreich and full of decadence and squalor. sometimes i think that i'll be killed here; back alley stabbing on the fringe of suberbia - because i live in a nice area that borders a not so nice area and at night, the moon calls wolves. other times i can see myself soaring, lifted with a power ready to spill over like cloud's tears, raining down. i feel whole. i feel whole until i hear, a whisper from the corner, of parties and futures. even today, with someone who is like my twin, i could not tell who she was becoming. fear isn't leaving me, and neither is the hypocrisy i spout - i've come far but apparently it's not far enough. x xx

we are at one with the world around us but at war with the world within us.

i should check in more often but since failing is art, i like to do it to the best of my abilities.

i have a link for you, it's a selfish link at that but hopefully you won't hold it against me.

amongst all the puffs of normality that now ebb into my life (babies, God, chocolate fondue, mentally berating myself for not having written a personal statement yet) there has come an idea.

i want to save others, that has always been a constant since i could not really save myself. but now, now we have a plan. i say we because thankfully i am not the only one embarking on this naive adventure.

it's not like i am a secret anymore so here i am sharing my secret whereabouts and name...

welcome to edinburgh. here we want set up a charity for people in the same situation that we found ourselves, a place that holds onto their hope even while they can't, something i always needed done for me.

the fully story will be explained shortly a la "this link"

love and dreams x xx

how did man learn to talk with such stagnant thought and stale tongue?

i need to get back to words. books have been good but now i must do the writing.

when i didn't eat, i use fill my time with writing and now i'm so busy with the business of "trying" to eat that i don't write. which is ridiculous.

i guess, no matter what, i use to find the depression inspired whirls and turns of ideas. now it's fading into a drug induced clouding.

they say we have twenty one grams of soul and also a book within us all. i like the myths and legends, our folklore and fables. i want to write something that goes down in history but who am i to decide what is worth making history?

just now i'm storyless, i'm still holding out for an epiphany of inspiration and clinging to the stars. i think sometimes i forget that you have to go searching for the unwritten tales so that you can know them, so that you can give them voice like never before.

x xx