My eyes are just too heavy and lost to look at the life that is now a reality. Why couldn't we just keep sleeping and drinking and reading. Why do we always fall back on living? It sure is silly.

Rain dancing and fairy lights, champagne and a fire. we go crazy at the thought of living, but it is great, it was great and we don't forget. Skin drenched, hair flat, eyes bloodshot, free and wild, that's all we ever were, all that we were ever going to be.

Yes, well sure. Bare stomachs and dresses cut in two. Oh I blush. Oh there they go, those stars. They sparkle because they like to tease. You poor boy, so poor, you've become insane. Yes, well sure. I am sorry, do I scare thee? I never meant to dear. Even the rich are insane. Poor in their richness because they forgot, what they were or who you were. You poor stuggling boy, insane. yes, well definitly. Definite in your insanity which was always more common than you thought.

Isn't it just so awfully sad?

Well I had my breakfast in the sun this morning and it was grand. A bagel and tea are a perfect Sunday breakfast. I might walk around to Sarah's after or perhaps she'll come here and we can drink tea and make a salad. Oh! and my garden is absolutely wonderful! The carrots are large enough to eat, the broad beans are lovely and green and the beetroot is just perfect in a salad. Marvellous, I tell you.

There it is again. That sinking feeling. I guess it's got something to do with the fading sun & jealousy. Really I have nothing to be jealous about, really nothing at all.

I just want to go and lie in a field of daisies, that would be nice.

Cigarettes Killed Reality

These girls, they would go on a holiday, during the spring, to a cottage by the sea where they would sit on the grass, under the stars and drink champagne out of teacups. They would go for bike rides down to the store and buy orange juice, milk and cigarettes and talk to the old man at the corner about how he has rolled his own cigarettes since he was five. In the mornings you'd always find a girl sitting on the verandah, taking one last drag of her cigarette before breakfast, and watch the last bit of smoke fall away to nothing. The bedrooms were littered with pretty clothing and floral nightgowns and on the window sill there would be a teacup stained with tobacco and butts and the faint smell of death lingering around its rim. Dinner times were lovely and full of homemade meals, followed by tea and cake or even ice-ceam and strawberries. Some days the girls would walk into town with only their pretty pyjamas on and bare feet laced with the earth. In the Evenings before the stars came out, before the spliff was to be spliffed, the girls would play scrabble and make pots of tea laced with gin, by candlelight. Then the evening would set in and a glow would be about the house and the garden would be alight with faeries and the girls would dance among the flowers and butterflies hoping that they would never have to awaken from this dream.

There is a sadness in my stomach because I think I missed out, or actually I think I wrecked what I had.

I wrote a story in my journal last night as the day was fading into the night. It was strange and I am not sure where it came from. I am not sure where anything comes from in my head. I guess my brain is fading like everything else in this world.

Oh no! another croissant. This is dreadful. How could I succumb to the terrible over-full feeling of emptiness. Oh the irony, Oh the contradiction.

I just ate a peanut butter roll and a croissant and am making a pot of tea. Oh the wonders of food whilst eating, afterwards not so much.

Your fairy is called Gossamer Moonfly

She is the moon goddess's messenger.

She lives in spiderwebbed wonderlands and insect grottos.

She is only seen at midday under a quiet, cloudless sky.

She wears tiny black spiders on her dresses. She has beautiful blue butterfly wings.

Get your free fairy name here!

Harry the Vampire, Cam the alcoholic, Bob the skater and some cross-dressing french men. Hallow-vogue, anything can happen.