Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Painful memories

I'm always haunted by a variety of painful memories... These memories are from my experiences with other people and situations... I try to avoid these when I think (being a recluse, you think all the fucking time 'coz you've got no fucking choice), but they often cross my mind and they often make me feel nauseous.... These memories are either of me doing something stupid, or certain people that I disliked or related with my psychosis.

I often walk by my old school, and I can't help but feel pain... I can't help but remember all the cunt teachers and all the faceless, boring cunt students. These people had no idea of who I really was and they laughed me off with this image of me... Whenever I used to walk by Norton College to get to Graves Park, I'd feel better... But now I've gone inside it again to do A-level Spanish, and it is really painful.... I often walked through those corridors alone and I felt angry against the whole world... This was the place where I developed misanthropic tendencies, and it's also where I developed a stronger character... I hate going in there.

Monday, 28 September 2009

Desert island discs

This list is constantly changing, but it's completely different to what it was last time... So here you have my selection of desert island discs... It follows the BBC program's template.


8 Pieces of music

Gyorgy Ligeti - Clocks and Clouds
Bela Bartok - String Quartet No. 4
Igor Stravinsky - Symphony of Wind Instruments
Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band - Neon Meat Dream of a Octafish
The Fall - The Classical
Kayo Dot - The Antique
Ornette Coleman - Lonely
Miles Davis - Flamenco Sketches


Fictions - Jorge Luis Borges

Luxury Item

Typewriter with lifetime's supply of paper.

Friday, 25 September 2009

Top 10 books

I have posted this list of books elsewhere on the net, but I haven't written little descriptions detailing what I like about the book. This list is measured by how much enjoyment I extracted from the book, and by the experience each one provided for me. After the previous post exploring the books I've hated the most, I'll now dedicate a post to the books I've loved the most. :)



Vladimir Nabokov
An educated, erudite man develops a passion for a young twelve-year-old girl. After the death of the girl's mother, who Humbert marries just so that he can get closer to Lolita, he embarks with her on a car journey across U. S. A. The book is richly suffused with a variety of word-play, and its disturbing subject matter is incredibly well-expressed. It is one of the most gripping novels I've ever read, despite its lurid themes.

La Vida Breve

Juan Carlos Onetti
Brause is a man who is bored with his life and partner, so he tries to create a new world which suits his needs and desires. He starts this by moving to the apartment next door, where he starts a relationship with a new woman. He works as an advertiser, and he keeps a fictional creation with him. The novel alternates between these fictional creations and his real life until he submerges himself into this fiction, ultimately blurring reality and fiction. He submerges himself into the mythic place called 'Santa María', which Onetti would use for most of his subsequent novels. The title - 'a brief life' - refers to a Proustian moment the protagonist experiences where everything seems to be 'brief', prompting him on a quest of enlightenment. Onetti was a pioneer who would provide a tremendous influence on a whole generation of Latin-American writers who all admitted a great debt to him. His significance has unfortunately waned in Latin-America in recent years and he remains criminally unacknowledged in the rest of the world.


The Unlimited Dream Company

J. G. Ballard

The Unlimited Dream Company is Ballard's most overtly surreal novel. It follows Blake, who steals an aircraft and crashes it into the Thames of the town Shepperton. After he seemingly dies within the crash, he surfaces and the whole town is transformed into an exotic paradise where vultures break free and he gains special powers which permit him to do incredible things: he can fly, heal sick people and, most bizarrely, grow a whole assortment of flora and fauna by spreading his semen around. In the climax, the entire town learn to fly. As always in Ballard novels, the protagonist accustoms himself to the constraining and overbearing environments and he decides to stay within the constraints. This is a novel where Ballard lets his spectacularly inventive imagination run wild.

The New York Trilogy

Paul Auster

These are three stunning novellas which had an overwhelming impact on me. Auster is an incredibly absorbing writer, and this book is his zenith. The three novellas use detective/thriller conventions to explore investigations into the art of storytelling, metaphysical issues and chance events. I've never read a book as quickly as this one: scintillating.


Pedro Páramo

Juan Rulfo

After a deathbed wish from his mother, Juan Preciado enters the town of Comala to find his father Pedro Páramo only to find that he is in a ghost-town. Then all the past history of the town and Pedro Páramo is revealed. Rulfo, like Onetti, was an inventive pioneer whose work has a strong affinity with William Faulkner. Read my recent review of this book in a recent post.

Crime and Punishment

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Raskolnikov is a former student who lives in a small room, alienated from the rest of the world. He commits a random murder against a moneylender on the grounds that he is superior to her. He is then pursed by a police investigator, affecting his conscience. The levels of tension in this novel are incredible, and it is a book that marks a strong impression on the reader for the rest of his life.


Julio Cortázar

Cortázar's first book is my favourite work by him. This collection of eight short stories are masterpieces, each one is perfect. Only publishing his first book in his forties, his truly distinctive voice is mastered here. Most of these short stories start out in realistic settings, but fantastic elements are implemented and the characters accept these as if they were normal, everyday things. The writing style is so beautiful that it defies description, and the stories themselves are unsettling and incredibly surprising.

The Trial

Franz Kafka

Joseph K. awakes one morning to find that he has been arrested, but no reason is given for this arrest. He is permitted to be free, but must attend court. There is a sense of mystery that pervades in the novel, as K. continues to obtain answers, but continues to be oppressed. This book is another powerful experience!


Jorge Luis Borges

Borges' best work is contained in here... These are massively intelligent short stories compressed into a few pages. The stories are often fictional essays about imaginary subjects ('Pierre Menade, Autor del Quijote'), infinity ('La Biblioteca de Babel') or complex stories about worlds within worlds ('Las Ruinas Circulares'.... They are equally awe-striking in further readings.

The Sound and the Fury

William Faulkner
The disintegration of the Compson family is revealed in four fractured narratives. The first chapter is from Benjy who is a mentally retarded 33-year-old whose entire life is revealed, jumping from several phases. This is because he is incapable of making temporal distinctions. A jump in time is indicated by the change from italics to roman italian text. The second chapter is narrated by Quentin on the last day of his life as he commits suicide. The grammar and structure deteriorates as his state of mind does. The third chapter is narrated by Jason, a very unpleasant character and the less likable of the three characters. The fourth chapter is in third-person and ends with Dilsey, the black maid, going to church. The fourth chapter elucidates any unclear parts one stumbles on previously in the novel, and sows all the loose parts together. It then requires a second reading, and after that you will want to read it a third time...

Runners-up: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce; Rayuela by Julio Cortázar; Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon; Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner; Empire of the Sun by J. G. Ballard; High-Rise by J. G. Ballard; El Aleph by Jorge Luis Borges; The Outsider by Albert Camus.

Wednesday, 23 September 2009

Books I've given up on

Usually I like to persevere with a book no matter how daunting it may seem. I find terrible to put a book down and leave it aside. This has occasionally happened with me due to several reasons. This post is devoted to the times I did put a book down.


The Catcher in the Rye - J. D. Salinger

All this novel did was renovate language by letting the 'dirty' colloquial words get in print. But did it have any substance or merit? No. Did it have an intriguing storyline and interesting themes? No. Should it be considered a classic? Fuck no! This novel has an impact on young teenagers who don't know any better. It is quite possibly the worst novel I've encountered.... It may have seemed 'shocking' or 'outre' in the '50s, and it may read well to current-day teenagers, but its literary value now smells of lavender.

Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

I am not very fond of 19th century novels... I can't stand reading about balls and the tedious details of love relationships... This in itself doesn't necessarily have to be bad, but it is when it keeps going on and on - and this one does so for 800-odd pages... 19th century literature was, for the most part, a form of entertainment rather than a form of addressing existential issues and what-not; novels were today's soap operas and today's mobile phones. The most astounding novelists of this era deviate from that template to explore other concerns: Dostoyevsky, Gogol, Balzac etc. etc. etc. These novelists stand the test of time because their themes are timeless. Anna Karenina is more renowned for its context, the certain conditions in which it was written and the writer himself. I've been told that there are rewards from this book if you persevere, but I just couldn't take it any more! It certainly put me off from reading War and Peace!

Ulysses - James Joyce

The first 100 pages were relatively readable, but then it goes out of control.... There are several allusions to everything, but if you're not so well-read these will inevitably go over your head... I'm interested in experimentation when it goes to good use, not when it falls to the expense of subject matter... Still, mammoth novels which try to encompass everything under the sun are very appealing to me (I read Gravity's Rainbow from cover to cover)... I borrowed Ulysses from the library for just a couple of weeks... It certainly is a novel that is designed to last for a lifetime... I have subsequently bought my own copy, but I can't guarantee that I will ever read it completely nor claim to understand it as legions of poncy intellectuals seem to do.

The House of the Solitary Maggot - James Purdy

James Purdy was a great discovery I found via internet, so I was overjoyed when I found a copy of this at the shop Rare and Racy... I really enjoyed a collection of short stories by Purdy entitled Dream Palace, but this...... ughr. It is both perplexing and boring at the same time....

Sons and Lovers - D. H. Lawrence

I was attracted to Lawrence by his reputation for having been one of the first novels to deal with taboos... But when we look at his work now there's nothing remotely subversive about it. Sons and Lovers didn't get me in the slightest bit interested in the relationships that appear in the book nor did I have interest in the book... it was so boring that I had to stop.

Monday, 21 September 2009


Ever since been a young boy, my mind has functioned in a way that has always differentiated me from the rest... I am obsessive... I am so obsessive in my interior world - my thoughts, dreams and desires - that it affects the decisions I take in the outer world and affects the way other people perceive me... My mind is controlled by a vast array of obsessions... They are related to art, certain fantasies, decisions, thoughts, sex, etc....

An obsessive person is often someone who will go through great lengths to accomplish something impossible. Perhaps I do this to a lesser extent and at a much smaller scale, but I find the movies of Werner Herzog so fascinating because they portray crazed obsessives in doomed and futile quests... This is especially true in his collaborations with Klaus Kinsky... These films are great examples of attempting to accomplish impossible dreams, and examples of pushing oneself to the limit.

I go through phases where the major obsession of my life goes changing. Around the age of 8, my main obsession was football. I would write out entire imaginary football leagues with the existing Chilean clubs and, for the most part, invented my own country with imaginary football teams and imaginary football players... I would often relate these games to a friend of mine, and I even designed a whole team for him where he was the central forward... The team was called Union San Valentín (this had gone to the back of my mind for several years and forgot about it, but Valentín mentioned it to me in my last visit to Chile)... The team that kept winning in this imaginary football league, however, was Pili-winis United and I, naturally, was the centre-forward... I remember when I was 8 years old I went for a visit to England and we went for a train ride that lasted 90 minutes... I imagined an entire football match during the entire journey!

During my childhood in Chile, my life revolved a great deal around obsessions... My activities were always motivated by a constant quest to carry something out... The fact that I had bright blonde hair and a quintessentially British name immediately placed me aside from the rest... It taught me to live inside my interior world.... I faced the same dilemma when coming to Britain... It ultimately left me in a state without knowing what to do, rendering me as boring... It was only recently (3 or 4 years ago.... or maybe 2 years ago) that I must stay true to my childhood obsessions and self-construct my own world in accordance to my own fantasies that lurk in the depths of the inside of me... I must, therefore, shun activities which are either Philistine (going out and getting pissed, shopping, texting, innocuous conversations etc. etc.) or intellectual (debates, ideologies, rational discussions etc.).

I would like to explore these themes of childhood obsessions clashing with a lack of identity in a novel entitled See-Saw... Here a mental breakdown is enacted by a haunting array of childhood memories/obsessions described in third person...

A few weeks ago I reached my sexual summit! It was indeed highly obsessive... I can get highly obsessive about women, and it was during this week that I couldn't think of anything other than women.... It was really unhealthy, too... Not only did I watch and wank to porn every fucking day, but whenever I walked across the street I would compare certain women and I would fantasize about them.... This obsession took over my mind over the end of summer, but since beginning college my mind has generally revolved over a single woman rather than the gender in general... The girl that used to go out of her way to go to my bus stop - I have seen her in college... I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I think of her, and she is now the only woman I can think about... I will write about her in detail in the next State of mind post.... I keep saving up courage to talk to her, but I can never fully do it... About two weeks ago I had a nightmare with the girl I encountered in the psychiatric ward in Chesterfield (read the post 'Idiosyncratic People) and the night after that I had a dream with this girl....

In a sense, I think that my interest in music, literature, film and art is a mere continuation of my inner obsessions and a way of putting them into practice... Without meaning to sound poncy in any way, I think that art is a way of bringing out my obsessions/fantasies to life in order to prevent negative (?) madness from flourishing as much as possible.

When you're obsessive, you get racing thoughts.... Thoughts bombard you from all directions and you must, therefore, stop for a second and control it... You have to filter your obsessions and organise your inner life in order to for articulation to occur...

Obsessions often culminate in psychosis... These are 'negative' tendencies that often surface out into the open and have no control over.... But should we really completely turn our back on a whole scope of rich possibilities?

Friday, 18 September 2009

Review #4

The reason for why I have left my blog aside for so long is that I hoped to review this book, Pedro Páramo, straight away during the beginning of the month. Prior to reviewing it I wanted to read it again, but it took me some time to do so because of college workload. I just finished re-reading it now, so I hereby declare myself ready to write for my blog again.


Pedro Páramo - Juan Rulfo

The two most monumental reading experiences of my life are the same as Garcia Marquez's: Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka and Pedro Páramo. These are the only books I have read at a single sitting. The day I read Páramo was one of the best in my life; I was ravished, enthralled and captured, and I couldn't put it down. I was pleased that reading the book again was just as captivating and elucidates initial complications one previously encounters. The reason for why I decided to review this book now is that a major motion picture adaptation starring Gael Garcia Bernal will be released soon.

Juan Preciado goes into the the town of Comala in a quest to find his father, Pedro Páramo, after a deathbed wish from his mother. When he enters this mystic place, he discovers that he has entered a ghost town, where life no longer exists. The fact that there is no life blurs any discernible grip the reader has on the narrative, and things get much more complex from then on.

Pedro Páramo is a narcissist who is obsessed by a woman named Susana San Juan. He builds a ranch in Comala, and establishes a great fortune. He marries Dolores Preciado, takes advantage of her, and sends her back to live with her sister. As his ranch gains great fortune, this is done at the expense of others who are left in a state of misery. Conflicts arise with a whole set of revolutionaries and a lawyer, exacerbating the state of his position. The death of Susana leads him towards his demise and his vow that Comala "will die of hunger."

In a certain sense, the town comala is the novel. When Juan Preciado enters it, he dies. He becomes part of the people comprising the town. The narrative consequently revolves around the preoccupations and past memories of the people. They are all intermingled and slotted together to form a portrait of this old, rural village. This type of village is a blueprint for the Macondo of Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.

Because all the characters are dead, they have no sense of time. They don't live in a present nor do they live in a past. This allows Rulfo to leave behind any linear, chronological order. Many narratives from different times are interweaved to create a larger picture of the village Comala. Time is fractured to the extent that there is no discernible continuity.

The ultimate motive and message Rulfo is trying to present is the tragic death of old mexican culture of the late 19th century and early 20th century. There is a sense of tragedy, desolation and loss that was in a sense heightened by the civil war that brought an end to this era. This sense of desolation is what Rulfo previously developed in his collection of short stories, The Burning Plain.

'Páramo' means 'wasteland', and the fact that the main protagonist is named after this is symbolic of the desperation and desolation that pervades in the novel. Pedro Páramo is Comala, and the story centres around the character and place.

The novel is amongst the most innovative of all time. It had an incalculable influence on all the writers of the literary Latin-American boom. It set a standard of structuring novels in different, non linear ways, and its mix of reality and fantasy has since been endlessly emulated in the form of magic realism.

Pedro Páramo is a small glimpse into something large. Only 130 pages in length, it opens up a whole range of possibilities to the reader. There is a sense of something big going. Its structure may seem impenetrable, and you will often read certain passages confused as to who's who and what's what, but it is an extremely accomplished insight into a decline of a culture and a fascinating portrait of malice and madness.

Wednesday, 2 September 2009

The remoted edges #5

Like the previous Remote Edges post, I have sought the best photographs from a limited resource. The weather hasn't been all that good over the last two months, so I've only been able to go out on a couple of occasions.

This month, I shall post photographs from the 'entrance' to the woods situated around the place separating Dronfield from Sheffield... I recall that Jenny remarked "I can't believe no one goes there" about Firth Wood... Well, more people go there than the area I'm covering in this and subsequent posts... So it's more of a privilege to see it, then. :)

Walking through here reminds me of my shitty, awful poem 'The Infinite Plain'... Indeed, it was inspired by it.

Finally, here we have the beginning of the woods... We shall go in there in the next Remote Edges post... :)


I urge people to leave comments on the last State of Mind post.... It would make me very happy - be it positive or negative.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

My state of mind #5

As stated in my previous 'State of Mind' post, the beginning of August started with me having the house to myself. I pretty much describe what occured then in that post. When they arrived, surprisingly, I was calm and not in the slightest bit perturbed by their appearance. But over the course of time, I come to the realisation that their lives depress me... They are so complacent and reluctant to discover themselves... This in itself isn't necessarily bad, but it is when it affects me and gets in my way.

During the beginning of the month, I accidentally spilt a bit of water on my laptop and it wouldn't turn on - Remnants of a Dead Laptop. :) I made a bet with my dad: if it turned on, then he'd win a DVD of his choice, but if it didn't I would (I kept saying it wouldn't turn on). Fortunately, it did turn on, although I didn't get to own a copy of Robert Bresson's A Man Escaped. :) Now, though, the W won't work (I have to copy and paste it) and I have to hit the CAPS LOCKS very hard until it responds.

My occupational therapist arranged for me to work at the Oxfam bookshop so that I could acquire some work experience and gain a reference for when I want to apply for a job. I didn't mind sorting the books out too much, but going on the till was really painful. I'm really, really dumb at simple things, so I struggled to press the right buttons, infuriating the customers. There was a girl who bought a Bartok CD (with Lutoslawski!!!!!), and I didn't say anything. :( Could I have started a relationship here? Who knows.... Also, while I was sorting the books, we had to go through the crime/thriller section to check if they contained any books that didn't belong there and should go to the general fiction section... I came across Paul Auster's The New York Trilogy... Now, on the surface this may seem like it does belong under a crime, but the book is a fucking deconstruction of the genre, and I couldn't convince the guy that it should go under general fiction... The following week, though, I sneaked it to that section :)... I didn't go there on the last day because I fucking hate it, and fortunately my therapist didn't pressured me into going there again when I saw her today. :)

During the beginning of the month I finished Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude. I thoght it was immense. I then read another book by him, The Music of Chance, and I couldn't put it down... It differs to Solitude in that it is far more approachable and accessible, with an addictive plot and characterisation... I took it to the woods and read it there - I read it everywhere... :) I've also been dipping in and out Pablo Neruda's collection of poems, Residencia en la Tierra... Dense and wonderful... Consequently, after finishing Auster (which didn't take very long! :)) I have read erotic novels... I read the novella Story of the Eye by Georges Bataille, and it was shocking even to me... It was fucking intense; I read it with my heart pounding, and I got an erection while reading it... My favourite part is when the girl they bully pisses herself while she is in the cupboard, and when the other girl masturbates herself while confessing to a priest! This stuff makes other 'erotic' or 'pornographic' writers - such as, say, Anais Nin or Henry Miller - seem as explicit as a Jane Austen novel! After this I read The Key by Junchiro Tanizaki. It's about a couple who secretly keep journals, and they suspect that they're reading each other's. The husband undresses her during night time and photographs her... I really enjoyed it, and fortunately I didn't find it too difficult... I thought this would be the case as I've been told that Japanease writing is harder as it is written in a new style - a new syntax. But I didn't have to adjust to it - on the contrary, it conformed to my expectations as a western reader. Like Auster's 'Chance', it was really addictive. Unfortunately, after a certain incident (which I will describe later on in this post), my reading has been disrupted and I've found it difficult to recommence... I got into a rhythm before (not just with my reading - everything else, too), but I haven't been able to pick up on it... I started Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49... Unlike his other books, it is far easier to read... But I couldn't penetrate into its world due to a variety of reasons. :( Fortunately, last night I got into it and loved it... I hope to keep reading it now... This novel also contains erotic segments (they did arouse me, but they didn't give me an erection :)), amongst many other things... Pynchon is a master of digressions, and he implements them into his narrative in a very sharp and effective way.

The reason for why I couldn't pick up on my 'rhythm' is that my aunt (my mother's sister) came over to the house for two-odd weeks from Australia, along with my cousin... I really enjoyed having them here, but my rhythm (as I said before) was disrupted. Not only was there noise constantly (my cousin kept watching cartoons full blast), but I found it impossible to submerge myself into my universe and re-obtain what I had going before.

While they were here my parents put on a party to celebrate my mother's 50th birthday and their 25th wedding anniversary... It was ok to begin with (I got to speak with my dad's Chilean friend and a Captain Beefheart fan), but then it dragged on and I kept walking around and couldn't start a conversation with anyone while everyone else talked (this often happens in these sorts of situations...). The worst part of this is that I had an incredibly awkward conversation with my uncle (my mother's brother) - it was like something out of an The Office episode... He basically said something along the lines of "I don't know you very well, but maybe we could start getting to know each other; after what you've been through, you need some support"... and this kept going on and on and on for about 20 minutes. I could have escaped this party by going to the woods for a few days, but the fucking weather was terrible...

While I was within this 'rhythm', I started a short story entitled 'Dream Stairs'... It is my most oneiric work yet (it 100% turns his back, ignores and obliterates traits found in waking life or linear narratives). It was really exciting at the beginning of the month because I started this story and had the titles for 7 other short stories, but after been disrupted I have found it very difficult to get out of the ground again. I hope to return to it again today, so that I can hopefully make progress with it... Another oneiric work I hope to write in the near future is 'The Land of Dreams'... This work will differ from Dream Stairs in that it will revolve around a whole set of characters... It will be inspired from Godard's Alphaville...

On the 20th of August I went to collect my AS results, and they were extremely successful!!!!!!!!! ^_^ ^_^ ^_^ I got an A for English Literature, an A for Film Studies and a B for English Language... The best thing is that I might do an evening Spanish course next year which may obtain me another A and I'll be able to apply to UCL! Then I'd have 3 As... I now know for definite that I want to study Philosophy instead of that Latin American course... If I want to come out with a 'university education' in something, I want it in Philosophy... The down side is that, considering my circumstances (attending another college), the Spanish course will cost £500! In any case, I am very, very happy about my results and they surprised me - I thought they'd be lower!

Throughout the month, I have seen many movies at night time (around 2AM).... As I stated in the previous blog post, watching these films with cheap earphones have affected me ears. :( (They were already in a terrible state before). Around the beginning of the month I saw Bunuel's The Discreet Charm of the Bourgousie and Werner Herzog's My Best Fiend and later in the month saw 3 movies in 3 nights in succession: The Machinist, an episode from a Heimat 2 film and Nosferatu, Phantom Der Nacht. The last one that impressed me the most was the last one... It comes close to equalling 'Aguirre'! Klaus Kinsky is fucking amazing in his role and Isabelle Adjani is beautiful - approximates genius!

I went to the cinema and saw Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds and, as I said in the previous blog post, it was dazzling to me. After seeing the trailer, I was very sceptical... But the dialogue was sheer genius, and finely mediated with outbursts of gory violence... My dad said that when I he came to collect me I was the only person with a giant grin whereas everyone else came out looking befuddled. I loved the ending: "I think this might be my masterpiece." It may not be his masterpiece, but it's his best film since Pulp Fiction.

There was four nights on the trot where I had spectacular dreams... In one of them my Lit teacher attempts to teach a rebellious mathematics lesson (probably inspired by my own experiences with dysfunctional mathematics classes - indeed, I saw several people from those bottom sets there)... I was next to this kid from my own school, and we talked and he seemed to be cordial enough... But when I went to sleep I dreamt that he was horrible to me... A dream within a dream! It's incredible when this happens... I woke up from that dream and found him being nice to me... Another better dream was where I went to a brothel.... Before I go in these women approach me and we kiss and kiss and kiss. I then proceed onto sticking my cock into a cunt in one of them and I ejaculate (I probably had this wet dream as I didn't wank for a couple of days :)). I then go into the brothel and go up the stairs and get locked in this huge, huge labyrinth. I am kept locked up within it for hours and hours - the remainder of the dream. While I'm there I watch a television that says "this brothel has been abandoned and locked up" and I'm terrified... Stairs have also been a predominant and recurring aspect in my dreams... On one of these 4 nights I dreamt that I go up with a girl (holding her hand) into a room where all these ghosts and macabre things attack us and I see several friends from my childhood in Chile.

A couple of days ago I had about a whole week which was horrible... The worst week of my life in years... A succession of days where I literally did nothing... This was in the aftermath of my aunt leaving the house... I couldn't get my rhythm going, and I felt depressed (even though my parents said I was surprisingly cheery :)).

I have come to the conclusion that no-one can help me.... Counsellors, parents, teachers, doctors, therapists, etc..... No matter what they suggest they can't offer a single thing that will help my progress. Their suggestions are what I expect them to say, and they can't alter a single thing in my thoughts...

I hate it when people try to 'understand' me..... Especially if it's my parents... I want people to digest my thoughts and opinions - that's true... But I don't want them to understand what I am as a person.... I want them to understand my art.... Whatever I do, it's always going to be misinterpreted... It's no wonder that people like Aleister Crowley, Frank Zappa... ETC. ETC. ETC.... got misunderstood.

Everyone is in touch with reality - it's credible reality. Reality for me isn't credible.... Everyone's thoughts are structured and dictated by this 'credible reality' to the extent that they can't form a distinctive vision that corresponds with their inner world... But I can...

I always deny the opportunities which are offered to me... I turn my back on friendships when they are about to be formed, and I could've acquired a girlfriend who caught the same bus as me if I'd been a little more outgoing.... Whenever a wonderful opportunity is presented to me, I deny it.... and then it's gone.

My wanking has been getting worse and worse and worse and more and more compulsive.... I wake up every day with an erection, and I wake up with the urge of going on the computer and watching porn... This might have been different if I'd started that conversation with that girl. :(

My health is deteriorating... My hearing is deteriorating, my penis is deteriorating, my eating habits are getting worse, my teeth are deteriorating... etc..... I'd be surprised if I lived past the age of 25! :(