Spent much of yesterday contemplating that thing called Life again. I wonder if it’s possible to introvert yourself so much you appear quite mad whilst internally you’re just following leads. More of my internal script is slowly wafting into shape, ideas are forming and I’m becoming aware of character traits and styles. I’m almost ready to write something new. Almost. Downloaded some dodgy music w4r3z. I shall install and make blippy noises. New wheel was lovely going home. Now I just need a new tyre for it. I arrived home to find the LOVELY Stephen Fry waiting for me. Well, Season 1 of “A bit...” at any rate. Which I accidentally forced TJ to watch all of. ""I don’t claim to understand poetry, I’m an English teacher, not a homosexual"" So got nothing done last night except for much sniggering and that kind of malarkey. Bed sensibly early and up sensibly early too. Long tortuous day at work. Many things going wrong, being fixed. Much hanging about with nothing to do. It seemed to go on for ever. Broke bits of freakcity by remote control whilst updating things in gaps in work. Very impressed. Left on time, TJ is out drinking (again) and had better not wake me when he gets in or I’m so divorcing him. Been here 11 months now. New tenancy arrived today.Has flown by. This time last year I was rearranging my head, so far it seems to have all worked for the best. I’ve lost a few people along the way, but they were dead wood really. I have all I need in the people I have around me. I am functioning better as a person and I am no longer requiring the crutch of alcohol to do it. I’ve had to become a bit harder towards others, I can no longer swim through naked emotion and drown it all out with the beers, so I’ve chosen distance instead. For the time being at any rate. I’m still learning how to deal with that one. So all in all, medium. Things are ticking along nicely. But you, dear reader, you know how I hate for things to be ticking along nicely, so I may accidentally upset an applecart or two A startling revelation hit me on the way home. I could be the new Boxx. I thought about becoming parpicunt for a time, but suicide just isn’t my thing, so that’s what will happen. I will shag so much chicken, lose so many friends and become a recluse relegated to the ashtray that is gaydar chat. Hanging about street corners giving handjobs for crack. ""Estate Agents, you can’t live with them, you can’t live with them. Like them or loathe them, you’d be mad not to loathe them"" I choose to be whatever the hell I want to be whenever the hell I want to do it. And as I don’t believe in hell, that leaves me in a quandry. We die many times, you and I, all throughout our lives. The French call the orgasm “le petit mort”, When we lose our virginity a little part of us dies. The first time we experience wonder being destroyed. The first love that dies. The first loss of a loved one. Each little death adds up, we are a sum of all our hopes, dreams and all our disappointments. Until it becomes too painful, too sharp, too bright and loud in the real world and we retreat into our memory. Remembering what we choose, our memories are all that is us. Without them we are nothing. Then death. We go on, but without our memories we are not who we were. Burbly goes my head, whirling thoughts abound in insanity. I can tap it, let the words flow into my blog but they’ll make little cohesive sense. Jumping from subject to subject, trains of thought are a bad metaphor as trains require tracks and frequently we think outside of constraints. My brain runs hot today, but it’s not really my brain that creates the thoughts, it simply stores the memory of them. All the time the wheel turns, never stopping, never ending. Bright sparks flare and illuminate all in stark relief, there for a moment and then gone, the brain clamouring to record as much information as it can from these brief lucid spells. Have you ever touched stone? An old