+I declare war.+
+U.R. has turned out to be one of the best friends I've made. I was at Frecnh House one night with Blow, one red too many, but we had already toured Bar Italia and we said why not Frenchie too? Having a moan in the smoking area about not being able to find my people in London, writers.
Where are they?
Spin around. He's having a pint and he's got that Seussian grin already, eyebrows furrowed, and a bit suspicious but friendly nonetheless, Could I tell?, I'm not sure, but he was my first suspect, so I posed the question.
Do you write?
Why?
That’s all I needed to know.+
+Meeting Keir Starmer was more anticlimactic than I’d anticipated.+
+Cycling past Westminster with T-Dawg at a 100 miles per hour. Rue.+
+Morning after I rub your belly+
+I.W.+
+Hi caveh+
+How could i forget you?+
+I could have gone 10x harder at the era journal reading in the horse hospital.
+Most things fail because of bad communication+
+Run to the park, do 40 pullups, do 40 pushups, do 40 squats, 40 lungers then skip rope for 14 minutes.+
+I miss West London+
+We walked from Lower to Upper Holloway in 3o minutes and I couldn't think of anything more perfect than to have cherry tomatoes once we got to my place.+
+The Peter Hujar is excellent+
+New Papers vol. 2. Cigarettes afterwards. And a hostile pub. I would have caused a ruckus, but this isn't my rodeo. I'm just a guest star here.+
+H&B to get drugs for mom.+
+Dragon energy at 3am. Group chat at 9 am. Poster at 7pm. I've got my eye on you.+
+Hot, hot, hot. With F.A and E.K on Brick Lane, looking at the iced creams. Peachy Den's got a big shop over now on Ely's Yard. They put up these terrorist warning signs all over the street. DOn't be scared.+
+The ballons are still up after my sister's birthday. She never made it home for St Patties. I wonder if my dad bought the balloons, he looked a bit sad under the sight, scrolling on his iPhone as the floats paraded his head. I wonder if he thinks about what could have been, I know I sure do.+
+Royal George with Y., I.C, Blow, and A.M. N. arrives and we walk back to the bus, then the bus walks over us. On the train ride home, I wave as she leaves at the stop before me.+
+Lanzhou Noodle Bar solo after meeting with M. at Curzon Soho, sad cigarette, light rain, tourists.+
+I SURVIVED THE LAST FULL MOON.+
+JPG+
+I wrote a poem today:
I bumped the train today,
felt it in my bones real, good.
Everything humming in harmony.
The guard grins, lets me in,
slips me a relic: Flip a coin, you’ll see.
This is how the machine turns.
What did I miss at St Mary Magdalene?
The doors hiss
Get off.
Hope Café waits,
patient like an old friend,
Steaming, whisper, words we unsaid.
If I’m lucky, I’ll see you again.+
+One train to Shacklwell Arms. Deny the k bump. Prouda my S. Pellegrino making it past security. Green room, watching Britain's Got Talent.Are you all right or are you all left? On the bus back, I read X's auto. He was real funny.+
+Had dinner with the 4HL team at Tayyab's in Whitechapel. They're both good lads. I hope to make them a boat load of money. Came back awfully depressed. Maybe it was the full moon, maybe it was all the Indian food, maybe it was how they removed all the book exchanges in London. But figuring myself a way out of this+
+We argued so of course, I did the best skipping I ever done, going double dutch in an underground car park, listening to two comedians talk about Ireleand under the flickering flourescents.+
+Train broke down today so had to corrall a group of people ont he platform to split a cab to N.'s. The logistics of splitting the cab put me in a Paracetamol. I gotta start cycling again. It was probably in the top 10 most talk some strangers ever got on a London Underground station.+
+Barbican doozy. Real sleepy head, stumbling through the City. Anxious. Don't eat vegan burgers.+
+Highbury & Islington is a very political place to live in.+
+M.V.M’s show. Bump into her and YM at Lidl. Ramadan is funny—you can’t even eat unhealthily. If you do, you’re messed up the next day. Drinking coconut water. Earlier, I broke fast with J.G. and J.C. at Mosob. The sculptures are great, so everyone’s jolly for the pub after, where there’s music by some old folks with guitars. Sloop John B—I sing along. I’m going to miss this place, I think. Johnny B Good finds a hat, suits him like Stallone in Rocky I. Then another cab across the city to a party at this den. Cigarettes indoors, no furniture but bare mattresses—the hosts just moved across the street. Chatting shit, cracking jokes, but really, a J would be a fancy. Then a taxi back to J.G.’s, listening to 808s. I wake up in Luton. It’s sunny. Thank God.+
+There is a very controversial word I think needs to be in The New New Lexicon+
+Everything acts real seasonal to me.
That’s why the only time I cry is when the snow leaves.
Lonely fucker up top, can only see your behind.
And when your eye’s black, you can sleep on the lies.
Good man like you, looking for pies,
pick up a penny, needing surprise.+
+Hungry, walking up this hill. Asked a couple where they got this cookie from, if they sold it inside. No, they said. It’s from the manager. Growing delirious.+
+I'd rather kill myself than live for you+
+Skipping rope in the park near J.G.’s.+
+Plane to Glasgow in the AM, taxi to J.G.‘s in Kelvingrove. 4HL work. Then I’m out, straight to Polish Bar to see Yung Maestro set up with the lads from 1416. I love this city. The high ceilings. The air. The people. It’s what the UK needs more of. I’m shot from the meal deal. Five days into Ramadan, so I’m locked up real bad. Even a drop of ale could quench my thirst. People start pouring in. When the screen goes up and the lights come on, it’s tears in my eyes, especially as J.G. does the final number. Feels like the end of a chapter. Three years for 30 minutes, three cities. After, we play pool. It’s a tense game, but I feel a sore winner. Maybe because I’m sober.+
+Love Seduces Innocence screening. Right before I’m running away from people, trying to upload this thing on letterboxd. A nice bouquet, the hard part at the beach where i cry sometimes and some questions and thethen it's over. Proud of the pool game at the blind beggar afterwards in Whitechapel, smoking and having a coors and destroying the local pool team who has tried to corruptly take over the game. Victory roar - WINNER STAYS ON. WINNER STAYS ON.+
+I’ll talk less soon. Two trains back home. Only really want to do it if it’s pure of heart, there’s no money in this town anymore so it has to come from my heart. The love has to come from my heart, not my head.+
+I’m feeling lucky.+
+First weekend after half term so the kids are pretty happy with Nerf guns as the Sun is up, looking over the tower blocks in North London.+
+Touch me and I’ll rip you apart.+
+Buckingham palace with N and her bro. God bless the coach, all the way to Manchester on this first day of Ramadan.Finished Dubliners and watched people eat. Then broke the fast at the Vietnamese place by P3 with Young Maestro. Duck vit and summer rolls on this kinda summer day.+
+Stockport saga. The place in Manchester didn't make sense. We spent 10 minutes trying to add up whether we should or not then I called the cab and we blasted down to Stockport to P.P.'s place in Stockport. Still fasting so can't have pork, sorry. But zll smiles and super hugs as we lay down on the mattress. The builder's tea was caffeinated though and all I'd ate today was pho, summer rolls, coconut water and half a a protein bar so I stayed up until 5 am tossing and turning as Yung Maestro snored beside me. Skipping rope in the AM after deleting the mattress, new Coach on the way back and there's a couple rock guys from London. He pretends to not see me. I go out my way to make him uncomfortable. Then, it's Finchley Road walking in the sun. Ramadan Mubarak, my bro.+
+24 hours on God's Green Earth+
+My flesh and my heart may fail, but+
+This is a machine.+
+On the calendar, it says Monday but this was the most Sunday a Monday could have been.+
+Chai with V. and N. at the Hut about history and religion, like how it hsould be on a Sunday. Then to T.'s place to hang. Then the ocmmune to read a poem. Sunday should probably be spent at home, but now I'm in pay-off space, I've got to keep it going.+
+Wild Iris, thanks to I.A and M.D for pulling out the stops.+
+I've probably travelled more these last three months in London than ever. Almost 10 years in the city and I'm starting to know it like the back of my hand, but I stillg et lost as there's always a winding road that takes you to a dead end full of mews and other cute things.+
+Started wrapping my knuckles for boxing+
+Marylebone. A good place to listen to the Goldberg Variations by Glenn Gould. The O2 Tower looms over Clipstone Street, my tower, in a way. It’s really shit here too. Nordic deviance and diplomat supremacist plastic surgery clinics, all wrapped around the block. I don’t know what this is. Kind of an office, kind of not. If it's nto that, it's a pub. A hundred of them, all playing the same thing. Live sport, cricket, rugby, tennis. It’s February, so everyone here is with a crutch fresh from ski season. The Castle is shorter this season, but we’re still outside. Maybe there’s something to get going. Just the others from my class, the guys, the painters, happy in their T-shirts and shorts, covered in paint, not giving a damn. Right next to the pharmacy, next to Luxx Apartments, next to the Turkish restaurant. At least we’ve all got a Nando’s. The rain drapes over the city, North London especially. I just wish I could slip into Grace Centre spa, melt under the 5G flashes, let it all blur. I remember the flings here. Even the one night that never became anything. They’re all on the map of London. Not a Nando’s.+
+Skipping by the car park+
+Sundays without Sun are just days and they're retardedly depressing.+
+F.A's - New Switzerland. E.O. is here from Amsterdam. He's quit his job and is learning Dutch. I've been working, man, yeah justsuper busy with all this stuff, no worries though, yeah I'm taking care of myself, yeah, not really sleeping but it's all good, man. Gotta meet A.G. in Soho, I take a late one and then take two wrong trains then I'm in French House. Then the arcade and E.O disappears before I could say bye. Pool like in Glasgow where I nearly mouthed off at the Polish lady who fucked up my shot. Bus to Notting Hill. Arrive during the intermission Some drama in Soho readings. Couple guys stole some socks, and it's a ruckus. We watch it all play out step by step, the movement int he corner, the two ladies going up T.Wwith the report, T.W. rubbinhg his head then making a bolt for the corner and then the commotion outside. Classic shoving and falling over. No blood. But cops called. Socks returned in two fists. Cheering. d.K. ends the reading sombrely, but after, all everyone wants to talk about is the shoplifting scandal. All the angles and the hooplah. And te funniness of the novelty - socks. Let's all go to The Eagle. Procession to the pub for the lit crew, one pint in and carouselled around. Just want a smoke. The socks are still on my mind. Socks to be you, and I'm laughing, socks to be you. There's a party after. Where. Should I bump it? Another crawl with the lit crew through West London, reminiscing about the months I spent in Ladbroke GGrove, washing dishes, subletting a 2 bedroom and spending all my pay, the littleness of it on Portobello Market, which is still the best market in London. Crisp cold air trips. sporting club. Try to order food but the kitchen won't budge evn though I see acake on the dessert shelf. salivating over the cake then drop my coat to dance to the karaoke guy, swinging from Bob Marley to Depeche Mode. Jumping on my feet and swaying my hips. Bending low and spinning around. There's a party after. Where. Give me a drag. This one will take a cab. Shotgun to South Ken, even more memoria of old days, walking house to house, when things mattered more or less and everyhthing felt so new and clean. And I'd still eat the cookies by the station because you couldn't get them in Surrey. Party is over by the mews by the Chanel store. We decide to get drinks but no coner store fo another 15. So we walk the 15 then t's closed so we walk around then walk the 15 back with no booze, no smokes and nothing to give to this party but ourselves. Birthday girl from Sporting Club's house. How old are you now. How old are you now. How old are you nowww. How old are you now. So rude! But she tells me she's 36. I guessed 4 years younger. She's not feeling too happy about turning 36. The procedure three weks ago, old strange people, strange old people. her friend comes by and we all chat and have. a group hug, but admittedly I was eyeing the smoked salmon in the corner which I was allowed to help myself to. Then, talking nature. The kids at he rjob had been planting a garden then a string of noravirus broke out so the gardening was put to blame. Eyed half-closed so I excuse myself, then take the cab home again.+
+I keep forgetting what we did on Friday. What I did on Friday. i had this reading at abney Books and C.K. and U.R. came and afterwards we went to the pub where C.K. read a poem I wrote, and I decided to write it like a song, because that's better poetry to me. Then I took the bus to Dalston but really it was the bus to Tottenham and I had to then take the bus to dalston where I listened to the same sog onr epeat the whole journey and then got to Cafe Oto. Hung out outside, then went walking around in Dalston Junction looking for a piss. I'm drunk. I dance in the rain, then nearly fall. I checked my knee then headed back, just in time to spot X. and C. outside smoking, talking about the show. I missed them perform but they say it's great and I trust it was awesome. Then 300 comes around, then E.M, then I head in and spot N. scootering about. There's a party after. Where. Trim daps me up. We decide on a cab, then decide against a cab. Catch the bus 243 to Waterloo. Half our party gets off early. We jump back on the bus then make it at the crux of Old St. Walk about ten minutes. Up flight of stairs. Indoor smoking vibe. Squeezing past some bodies and make my way to the corner. Talking to the Swede. Not much to say to the Swede. S.C. starts putting on some music. Dancing with myself. Hi, hey, whatever. Drop my hoodie and coat in E.D.'s room. Smoke a bit. Everyone piles out of the kitchen like a circus act. In the hallway, smoking under a lightbulb. Maybe we should go and then we get a kebab and speed back to North. Only got home when I realised I left my hoodie at the party.+
+Retail park therapy with N. and her friends for her birthday in Barking. Barking must be one of the worst places in London, and I feel no remorse in sharing that. Though, it's kinda cute in that way. The retail park is worth every penny. End up home with about 15 CDs, 7 sweaters and 4 books, even though I've got a wall of books yet to read and even though, I probably shouldn't buy more things. Great to be in the parking lot, smoking by the huge cell phone towers and proclaiming abotu the stars (Venus is close tonight) and playing a game of word association. We get Turkish food in town and then take the Overground back home.+
+Spending more nights at the commune than I thought I would. Bumped into U.R.'s girlfriend, S.J.P and we laugh about it and she's going to Paris. And we think maybe we should go to Paris. But we can't go to Paris. Then it's the city lights twinkling over the dirt mound in Shadwell and I'm thinking maybe all this time it's worth it. Coconut water andbanother Asahi. There's a GBC concert happening so a lot of kids aere around in oversized jeans and hoodies, it makes me want to go skinny onmy next pair. Party's cool. Music's great. M.M and E.P are always great hosts, everyone's smoking for a lot of it. Braver ones smoking indoors even though we should all be smoking indoors. Bump into R.L, see her all the time now but she's good news. Her boyfriend and her just split. She's a Pisces just like me so when she's smiling, I know it hurts even more. I can't have any more beer. I dance a bit in my boots, I talk a bit with E.P. and M.M again. I wish no one else was at this party but 4 of us. Then, N. and I escape in a taxi and the driver tells us happy New Year.+
+Day after the reading and I'm drunk watching Wild At Heart at F.A.'s Screening Room. Nick Cage dances and screams on-screen, while I nurse an Asahi through the runtime, no breaks. Afterwards, thinking of T.C who just split up with his girlfriend, maybe this film woulda changed his mind.+
+ ***’s Letter
When our bodies meet, ecstatic for a midnight’s madness,
My addiction and yours for something deeper than the big blue sea.
Swimming across turquoise dreams
Of my words and your symbols.
Oh, my love, I ache for your midnight embrace,
For your madness to consume me,
Like a whale swallowed whole by the waves.
With every kiss, I feel a quiet death,
As I walk upon the shore,
Free to be real again,
To hide my wooden nose from your knowing gaze,
And in your touch,
Discover longing once more—
Raw, aching, and beating,
In my soft, decaying brain. +
+D. is teaching me to box, now I have to learn how to dance+
+Bounce+
+ I want to make love with you lets do it now lets kiss i don’t care they don’t care +
+Nursing a stomach ache in Glasgow. This is my second time here, and it feels like a direct loop. Burns Night dinner at a stranger’s house. Touring the cloisters. Drinking Polish beer with the seaman and his fiancée. Watching the rushing waves from Kelvin Park. Then, there is a dance. Tonight, it’s FKA twigs for her new album. She only comes on for three songs and then bows out before getting the crowd to recite a prayer. I’m putting out fires on my phone at the same time. January is always hard. And always worthwhile, too. My patience for London is shot.+
+What’s your thoughts on gender segregation?
50/50+
+She hid her face with an umbrella+
+Eating cow heart+
+1. Art doesn’t need to be interesting; it should just come from the heart+
+ It’s 10 am, and the street lights are still on in sleepy London. I’ve got a coffee from Cafe Alexandria, and I’m skipping rope.+
+To live as a youth today is to be homeless. Spiritually homeless. Emotionally homeless. Socially homeless. Sleepwalking to armageddon, but everyone wants it to happen; meanwhile, it won’t+
+At E.’s beautiful apartment in Notting Hill. No, I did not complete Dry January. I did quit the backy after David died. E.’s been ill and has fully recovered from drinking horse supplements. We all talk about the godless. X hates the godless; the truth is that we all are.+
+’The only way I could do that was if you had to do a little more work and I would be happy with it but you have a hard day to work and you know I don’t know how you can get that much work and you know that you can get a little more time off but you know that and you can get it and I know you have a good night I hope you’re having fun I know that but you have a great night I hope that you’re feeling good I hope that your sleep gets through tonight I love it and I’m so glad that you’re doing well and I’m so proud that you’re feeling much more rested I hope that I hope that I hope that I love to hear you and I’m glad you got some sleep and I’m glad you got a lot better and I’m glad you have fun I hope that you’re doing well and I’ll see me know I hope you’re feeling good luck and I’ll see if I can get better I hope you’re not too busy with the rest is good luck to me love and I’ll see if you’re doing well and I’m so glad that you’re feeling good morning I hope you’re having fun and I’ll see how you are you know I hope all the same good luck and good night and I’ll see if I hope you’re feeling good I hope you’re doing well and have have fun with the boys and girls love to you guys love to you and miss seeing your mom’Notes App generated text from M.M. & E.P’ commune dinner+
+GOD SAVE LONDON!+
+Tonight, David Lynch died. His lungs burnt up just like the trees in California. The news comes by way of a video of a parody talking fish On Instagram - just as he'd have intended. I'm on the way to the cinema. After the screening, at Waxy's, we're outside and the film colorist hands me one. This will be my last.+
+Ple Ca Vu at Brick Lane coffee shop, discussing M with Y. and R. and F.C. It's all fab until the usuals start playing fishing videos on the projector. Guys in Bengal rivrs with trophy trout as big as their arms, flashing them up the camera. Y. passes me a Double Happiness. Gifts from I.C's time in China. I'm thinking of somewhere else.+
+At Brick Lane coffee shop with I.S., and the evil is near us. It's so near, i want to grab it but Go won't let me. Not this time at least.+
+He's at The Jugged Hare. SHe's gone off to the toilet and he stares back at the menu. Dry January. A text from the group chat - lol. Soda water should fix this itch - it doesn't. Maybe that wrecthed 0.0%, no that doesn't either. He takes a sip of the tap water. What am I doing here?+
+Every day I spend in this wretched hellhole, is everyday that I see my life flushing down the drain.+
+2.17 am going to a big cinema for the first time in a few years, very depressing, very depressed. bad movie and badder crowd. I see why this business isn't viable, people suck and there's a small number of people who make things worse for everyone.+
+b2b dalston days of mizry and hope+
+Moving The table again in new conditions to F.'s. +
+Tarot +
+You only sing when youre winning b +
+Moving table from Bethnal Green with X. and I.C. So much can happen here b+
+Table read for the new film with V, Young Maestro and J. I'd love to dance soon. +
+If I had to choose a religion, the sun as the universal giver of life would be my god.+
+Hump Day in Moorgate. January, so it means that after the rain, there's no tourists, no cityseekers or Jack The Ripper fans, just the regular 4HL's emerging from the subterranean offices underground or the lofty glass cages in the sky to eat a slop bowl of grains, seeds, and advertised protein. The entire street is deserted, barring the Koreans who still shop at All Saints. He bought one too many Christmas gifts, so he's sat on a Lime bike with a backpack full of hot food from the Thai place. It's being charged by the minute, he better be fast; everything works by the minute in this town.
+Did I tell you that I missed you?+
+January means contracts, a lot of contracts, a lot of looking over legal agreements and optimisim, false or not. Looking at the end of the year in maxims that won't make sense until fully resolved..+
+French House, under rain with the boys from high school. A buddy of mine shows up and says he's getting married. No time ever feels just right, now is the best solution.+
+xx+
+Winter+
+We created another flowchart. Run away or face it all. But to face it, I need more courage. I'm afraid. I can admit I'm very afraid of everything.+
+We made a bet on if it was going to snow tonight, it looks like I'm going to win. I've never lost a bet yet.+
+Sushi with Young Maestro, discussing the evil of the world. We all have the propensity, the year is to embrace all the evil and all the good. All of it. Just dance all of it out in the fire.+
+Watching the fireworks pop and fizzle over the sea in Southend. The sound of the waves crashing against the docks, spraying us with sea foam and the smell of the salt washing over me. So many miles for this moment. So many memories to burn in the trash. So many more to be created in the windowpane. And I know that all that matters is tomorrow, that's why everything else isn't real.+