Nobody reads this...

I should rename this blog my journal for that is really the purpose for which it serves.

Thus I shall feel free to scribe my latest, and simultaneously my oldest, dogma for the coming months. Less of this, less staring at what is far too often meaningless internet chatter and banal drivel, repeated from those far too numerous visits to the same monotonous sites. This is not the way to be a better person, if that truly is what I wish to be, and I believe it is.

So a restriction on access is in order and the best way to do this is to keep myself occupied with other things. For this reason, but not this one alone, tomorrow I shall be aux Invalides with my skates and Florian and I'm trying to organise a trip to the cinema for thursday.

I've mourned long enough, I still feel sad and lonely in her absence but I refuse to be a broken man once again, I've the experience of picking myself up to give me strength in these trying times. Today for example I was socially inactive but instead went to the pool after work and then managed to cook and study french in between playing my guitar, as usual producing the odd pleasant melody but nothing worthy of much interest (but then I've only ever played for myself!). I was happy to have contributed to my learning once again, perhaps inspired by Dom's comments about doing a masters course next year at Kings college in London, a new bold plan to suddenly launch my life in a radically different direction once again but at least in another capital city (is it that I'm destined to live in the greatest capitals of the planet one day?).

And so the plan is not set but the path to mental contentment seems to be at last revealed to me, now all that remains is to test my discipline in instigating these common goals of learning and physical activity intertwined in my own peculiar way.

As for women I have no need of them for the moment, I've let myself scar emotionally once more in the hell holes of nightclubs (why can't I be content with dancing?!) but shied away from the challenge once more, and thus it's time to withdraw myself from female company and to concentrate on my more pressing needs, a little self-improvement that so often leads me down enriching paths. Hopefully the removal of this malicious obsession of mine will cure my gaping, sensitive wounds and who knows, actually help me blossom once again into someone I'd like to know myself!

Back to the classics, I've not bought Moliere for nothing you know!

"Que ne me jurez-vous que vous etes toujours dans les memes sentiments pour moi, que vous m'aimez toujours avec une ardeur sans egale, et que rien n'est capable de vous detacher de moi que la mort!"

The real end of everything.

And so it had to end like this, both parties drawing away from each other, losing touch with who they once were and can now never return to being again. It's not something I could control anymore, I've been thinking for a while now that because I was the instigator I had no right to the sadness that has touched us both and that at the same time I have been denied the right to sympathise because it would seem patronising and hurtful.

And so it ends, I shant make anymore contact, it's not doing anyone any good to be running through these labyrinths of acceptable topics anymore and I'm clearly not sensitive enough to better pick and choose my phrases. Time to actually move on with our lives, but, sadly for me, alone. Friend, confidant, lover she can no longer be and I must respect her wishes and turn my back to walk away for good.

I've loved you. I won't hurt you anymore.

Adieu

Bored with strangers...

It's depressing after having passed such a lovely day with Romaric and having had such high hopes for a funky soirée that I unfortunately find myself sat distantly at the end of the table watching the conversation pass me by, picking at the remains of my cassoulet de tortellinis au 4 fromages and staring intermittently into the middle distance... Nul...

I can't justify this experience in any way, I've never been so excluded in social company as I am tonight and however much I'm not trying it has still shocked me how much these three young ladies have completely ignored me... Ni importa, I know I'm not some insignificant loser who deserves to be relegated to the level o interest of the table cloth but this is a bit much.

I find solace in my iPhone and pretending that by ignoring them I'm taking control of the situation but if they'd talke to me I'd probably be lapping up the attention and thinking not at all of posting blog posts. I wonder if they're actually becoming unaware that I'm sat at the same table at them as they don't even refill my glass when passing round the wine. Perhaps I've somehow dissolved into the furniture and the waiters will stack me away at the end of the night. Bah, whatever, I'll pay my food and take a walk to clear my head. I can join up with Romaric afterwards when it's time to meet Eva (someone with some decorum at least).

What could I be doing instead? That's an intersting question to pose myself at a time like this. As I mentioned before I would almost certainly have bitten your hand off if you'd offered me this situation earlier, but now find myself wallowing in the pits of loneliness, some horrific social limbo that I can't seem to escape!

Walk time, time to get away from this bullshit.

Sunny days, dream away...

It's high time I returned my mind to the beatiful grime that stains my life.

It's a slow start to a fast skate dream of passing cars and scared pedestrians. Swooping through gaps and leaping over cats and dogs and vegetable sellers I'm gonna speed up again at last in this sweaty summer heat and burning Paris streets. Back to being juvenile doesn't concern me at all as the world's too serious, no time to wallow in constrictions and constraints like the victims of a social boa squeezing the life from our flowers. Instead to be like Christophe and get on never get off, get up and not down and spin around and around, like a record on a turntable making his existence a fable of high times'n'flourishes enjoying that which nourrishes and burn, burn, burn like roman candles going pop like spiders stretching across the stars.

Conservar tu fuego, dejar de fumar.

How can the US government ask soldiers on the battlefield to give up nicotine? It's a 21st century obscenity, further proof that we're losing our collective sanity in a world that shares a collective inanity, an ongoing insanity of desperately unhappy seekers lost in the desert of our citiesto drink and drugs while the world divides around us letting those less fortunate drop limp and lifeless into the chasm that opens up therein; a social limbo lived out under bridges and outside churches that close their doors as they criticise others yet offer not the warm sanctuaries of the chapels, he who throws the first stone will be free from critisicm, a messenger to illuminate the people or a cynical manipulator of images and opinions, the beast that drains the blood from the world's poorest communities by their own free will and coerced mental slavery... The hope massacre. Popes in palaces...

Boys of the night dash around drinking on street corners and arguing their books away late into the dark hours, not until the sun goes down can we really feel free to sense and express our innermost energies, our throbbing mind-flows. Stunted in the daytime we long to release ourselves from the chains of office chair tortures and underground rat tubes, to run free and naked across the parks and bridges, stumbling in the heady night air, supping from the cups profered by smiling bar-folk and mumbling about the essence of existence and nature as if there in out concrete dungeons we were to be liberated from the stench of the sewers .

The book I'm reading is technology and porno blended into an overly active nightmare that is ultimately unnecessary and overly extreme yet enticing, tempting our own currents of paranoia and sexuality to be combined and considered in an unhealthy light. Come back from the brink and realise that all is not lost and this is not the Watchmen but exactly what we make of it. Does anyone read these tracts on modern living and go home with an axe to smash open their PCs and automobiles, buying a horse to prevent more large scale erosion of the environment, writing with pencils to save our retinas from searing pale lights, cracking our wrists on a mountain trek rather than sat infront of a dozen digital conversations with other ghosts of the web.

There is no truth, trillions of perspectives experiencing each other at the same time cannot agree and yet we pretend that there is a way that is acceptable, a proper behaviour for every situation. It's a series of experimental compromises and determined thrusts of unexpectedness that provide character to our passage through our short time on this world.

Don't let the man get you down.

Everything that comes must pass...

It's not the morning after the night before, technically I'm still asleep, or at least that's what my schedule tells me.

Environmental Tracking presses ahead across the channel while here my own projects lie dormant, biding their time before my inevitable, tri-annual phoenix resurrection launches them back into motion and hopeful fruition.

Nicolai has his blog up and running and is producing podcasts about way out music. I'm proud to see my friends and acquaintances bringing these ideas and interests into the field of reality, using the internet to make things happen, searching out nooks of online joy where to lay their heads and lay seeds in the dewey shadows...

Is it a seasonal thing that I have become ginger again? Time for a trim methinks, a summery cut, but not while everyone is full of compliments and praise...

Things tick along and time complys with our will to order and direction, it's time to jump onto that rolling bandwagon and put down the bottle of inadequacy.

Into the dawn bold youths, your hour draws nearer with each waking hour!

Telemonian Aias

Bold and fast, rushing to the fore is the only way to make waves.

All time flashes by in an instant. Wouldst thou dar'st contemplate infinity for even a moment!

The comfort cleanses my weary body and cares for the soul in a neat fashion. The Antics of the weekend have passed and it's onto the week, but that's no reason to slow down, Get up! ON and through..... Atravesando todas las barreras que te impiden.. Pero ha che sappere che questi alberi sono cresciute rapida come Hermes, il messagiero...

Oh Gladiators of yore how wouldst we seem to thee?

Oh Princes and Emperors what has become of England's brightest beacons?

A rallying cry goes up in the midst of the mob, a swell is approaching.

Those left behind will be first, those with wit and courage will ascend royally!

Staring into space is better than staring at the screen but it's a case of there being an attention deficit at this moment.. And then, suddenly, the phone rings, it's surely .. pero - io no capivo niente !

memories

Take the plunge, don't stop to think, dive in head first you proud Aries prince.

The drop is not nearly death defying enough to cause any serious harm and yet all the same Winston's body is flailing like a kite with no string in a gale. The too boys plummet in and break through the water like two torpedoes, penetrating the membrane with a great double splash..

Portsmouth is not normally reknowned for it's beach culture and yet these proud princes cared not, for their whims had spawned an outbreak of merriment that had consumed the evening entirely and anon had ticked the time.. Were it not for the dizzying mix of coffee, alcohol, poetry and love that permeats the scene one might consider the pair misfits..

The truth hits both Jon and Rob at the same instant as they are submerged under the disturbed sea shore.

Up above, on the pier, a fisherman can be seen staring perplexed and confused, trying to come to terms with what had just occured..

Breaking their heads up through the surf both boys begin to splash and flap and Yorp like excited bears wrestling in the currents, they break apart and swim around the poles of the antiquated structure. Their supple young extremities limbs should rightly be exhausted, an evening spent at maximum intensity learning to breathe and assimilate the creative juices of the universe gave birth to a marauding night of smiling readings and grooving to the words and the experiences comparted that night.

It was Rob with his Baudelaean enlightened style jousting with my lairy kerouac driving texts. The prose, anecdotal prose poems and sheer enthusiasm all poured out at once, the youths both jostling each other on to greater feats of pretention and egoistical glorification! The power thrummed the air to the beat of our tongues, letting slip rhymes and improvised commentaries all to the tune of "Yes, Yes!"s and "go cat" rocks.

A favourite poem which made me rejoice at the time was Riobard, the transformed angel child's, ode to the legend of My Iron Tiger claw!

An outleashed thrust once did graze the throat of a startled lass. The world seemed to stop for this minor scene but almost as quickly restarted with the flight of said maiden, distraught at the outbreak of violence. Dan had to run on behind with his tail between his legs, how would he