[] There is a really great feeling when you hear good news for a person whom you have unintentionally hurt in the past comment

[] You will probably never read this and that's alright I can understand now that as great as it's been, we have miles to go, oceans of time to cross before this will trump the monument-to-pain that lies before it. Its easy to feel invalidated; to feel bitter that this... marble statue on a pedastal invites comparison at every turn-- but it does. And it's easy to discredit you, to assume fault falls on you, for your inability to forget, to appreciate the current-- but you are only being human. You will probably never read this and thats alright, because when I write you this letter I am really writing to myself. I am signing off, signing away my pride and my anxieties and my humiliation-- because I am signing onto this, and holding on for improvement. The brick-by-brick accumulation of little happinesses will hopefully someday mean to you as much as he; as all of the time, and the nature documentaries and the sureley-not-just-cooking-marshmallows camping,and the visits, and the introducing-him-to-your-parents-that-i-still-havent-met and the mutual-enjoyment-of-gender-fulfillment-by-watching-straight-men's-tv-programs and the "san francisco"-accented-banter and, I am putting those concerns away; i am trashing them with the foot-and-a-half of hair I just cut off, with my own thoughts of the past and with any delusions i developed about the future. One sided renewal, 9 months. Like a baby; clean slate. comment

[] Again, it's time to go. I move so fast these days I am beginning to feel I need a seatbelt, a speed limit, something to keep me from days like these when my body is literally overwhelmed with fever. I feel my cells pounding, looking desperately for vitamins, bits of food I ate days ago, the few drops of water I haven't lost to nausea. Every inch of my body is desperate for sleep, but I am desperate to keep the balance. For sleep would be time; time not spent working, not spent earning, not spent releasing my tensions into the body of the one person who really cares. I couldn't let go of one if I had to, so I stay awake. I'm tired of being tired, so 1 ; comment

[] it's time to go comment

[] "second time around" by YoYo Ma Coming home get's easier and harder. It's familiar but empty, uncomfortable and disarmingly devoid of immediate relevance. It feels unrelated to anything in my new world, and facing it feels like standing on the edge of a great prescipice just for the shock. What I am confused by is what I'm getting from this; Am I just shouting into a canyon or am I bouncing echoes to describe the cave around me? What I do know is that it's sad to feel obscured by absence; and in the complicated cocktail that is the fear of death, there is a potent shot of the fear of being forgotten. And as that ultimately demonstrates pride, maybe it's good to face the dragon and look into his desperately hollow jaws. These days I only really hope to be relevant to the people who are important to me, or even just to myself; and if you can't know that you are when facing the darkness of death's lonely eye then you don't really know it all. comment

[] everyone is so quick to warn you what you're walking away from that one can easily forget to consider what one is walking into. there is no such thing as a vacuum. what you give up is saddening but almost instantly replaced with unimaginable adventures. i keep wondering where life has run off to; and whether it is running from me at all or rather, whether that is just my guilt at leaving it behind me. 1 ; comment

[] On monday I carried three heavy bags (one was holding a printer and laptop) through central London to Fenchurch street station where I was meant to pick up a train ticket for tuesday's journey, before bringing the bags across town to Ralf's. For some reason there were no machines at Liverpool street station, from where my train left. The machines were broken at Fenchurch street, sending me far north to Euston station. Tuesday morning I left for the countryside where I met a friend and read, walked, drew, and swam for a peaceful yet fleeting 36 hours. I was surprised by the beauty and serenity, having chalked both up to nothing more than buzzwords for tourism. I was reminded how much I miss home. I got back into London and not more than five minutes into my walk to my flat I was approached by a tall, thin woman wearing an impossibly short black dress, equally low at the breasts. Her black suede boots passed her knees, revealing legs covered in green bruises. She asked me for a pound, and having none (actually having none) her face seemed filled with an anger, sadness and possibly nausea that made me sick myself. London is wonderful, Urban environments are wonderful. But Life gets complicated with so much at your fingertips, and I am ready for the simplicity of home and the silent vacuum of a long-awaited rest. 1 ; comment

[] People are always talking about their lovers's smiles, their ex-lovers' smiles. As ever, I am tempted to call anything "everyone" does phony. But when I look at pictures of my ex-lovers, and when I see my Ralf laugh or smile, there is a powerful, calm warmth I can't help but love to feel. It's a return to the first time we met, the first time we loved. It's all the joy and none of the mess, just for a flash of a moment. comment

[] It still hurts to see him, changed and changing, far away in more than one way. It hurts to miss funerals and weddings, performances and birthdays, nights in and nights out. And it's not like worlds past where foreign voyages were as removed in mind as in matter. The age of internet means that every subtle nuance of change-- haircuts, weight loss, weight gain, travels, parties, new responsibilities, wardrobe reassignments-- are broadcasted for the absent to look in at. For the absent to see just how well or poorly their loyalties have been maintained. It's hard to say where to draw the line between the Eternal and the Insubstantial; what to hold fast to and when to say "That isn't my life anymore." comment

[] In the wake of Valentine's day 2007 (a relatively anticlimactic day - save the jonathan saunders show!) I am struck less with a person-specific nostalgia or a wistful long and more a disbelief, sad disbelief at how deeply and fully reality changes. Valentine's day 2006 saw such different times, differerent priorities, different feelings and different settings as far as what i had and who i had and what was felt about me. I spent the evening alone at a show and party, chatted to a few people I knew. Took a lovely walk home. At the risk of sounding melodramatic it felt appropriate. I am alone in more than one sense and that's ok-- And anything else for valentine's day would have been a front. If anyone still has a livejournal or reads it, hope your day was nice; It should be. I'm so bored of people whining about it being corporate. It's a nice sentiment, any way your reality affords you. Love Always Nick comment

[] I finally understand fantasy. I used to hate fantasy; condescend upon it, call it pathetic. (And I understand that, now, too.) Fantasy isn't much different than it seems, but it is a stronger beast than it may appear... More powerful, more heroic and more dangerous. It's an escape from your situation into another. I used to hate it because it wasn't concrete; it left me with my old reality and a sort of day-after-christmas feeling in my stomach, arms and forehead. But fantasy requires a certain desperation, it's not meant for civilians. It can only be appreciated by the man to whom a momentary escape is escape enough. To expect any lasting change is not only dissapointing, it's disasterous. Even Love's fiercest soldiers have gone lost in the mire, only to return months later asserting a life that doesn't exist. Insisting on a peaceful end for every man, and a heavenly match like some sort of celestial game of concentration; oranges with oranges, apples with apples, athletics with athletics, nuerotics with nuerotics. I digress. No, fantasy is for a man who can consider it quickly, appreciate it and let go. Like most things in life, the moment it loses it's carnality is the moment we're ready to handle it. These days I don't so much long for change as think how nice it'd be. I suppose it's how I've circumvented the dissapointment, holding loyal to as much as i've got. Thanking whomever for soft pillows, good vietnamese and a sense of adventure. Afterall, what i've got is good; but what I crave is divine. comment

[] turn the lights off carry me home comment

[] I would consider it a HUGE favor if anyone could send me a copy of "Don't Go" by Mirah, it's nowhere online and I am needing it. NEEDING. Please help me 2 ; comment

[] it just occurred to me that this might be what depressed feels like comment

[] Home is where the heart is and where the head was to proud to let one stay It was important for me to come here so that i could stop romantiscizing it, start enjoying my new life and move the fuck on comment

[] Embarassing admission: I am addicted to heartache. comment

[] so sometimes when you live in london you get mugged. yep. 4 ; comment

[] i forgot what it's like and how everything up through yesterday reminds me and makes me feel sick to my stomach 2 ; comment

[] (a) god today sucks (b) "i don't really love anymore" by the magnetic fields (c) that has nothing to do with why today sucks (d) actually maybe it does (e) going home isn't going to solve anything, (f) fuck. 4 ; comment

[] if i've learned anything this far, it's to just give up the ghost. 2 ; comment

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