I don’t know who the fuck i am. I can’t find peace. I’m erratic, chaotic. Trying to find balance. /\. Trying to make the outside match the inside. But there’s just too much of it. It’s too much to be. Every day there is more of it. More and more and more of it. It would be okay if it was turning into art, but it’s just waste and injury. Destroying my body, my mind, my image. I go out and search and search and search. But what i am looking for is not out there. It is the stillness. That cannot be found.

Eating tacos and crying in the blistering hot sun helped a lot, at least.

Maybe I need a holiday. Maybe I need to renounce Satan and all his pomps. Maybe I need to sit and cry in the hot, hot sun. My entire right leg has been numb all day. I wonder if that’s a matter for concern. There’s no art coming from it because I only know how to make art by making sounds out of my feelings and what I feel does not sound good. Maybe I should write some words. Maybe I should join the church. Why do I feel the need to work these things out in a public forum? In a public place, or on a public page? Maybe I want absolution from strangers, from these many tiny gods. Maybe these are acts of reverence, contrition, writhing for all the ojitos de mis dioses, perdóname por todos mis pecaditos pero con la ayuda de tu gracia ya no pecaré mas santa maria madre de dios ruego por mi en la hora de mi muerte. yo soy muy cursi jajaja. I’m trying to find a list of Satan’s pomps so i can renounce them. Maybe it’s meant to be a blanket renouncement of his pomps, which i’m fine with, but i don’t know if i’d even know it if i was looking at a pomp.

no se quien chingados soy.

This is probably going to be a long one. It should be, anyway. Let’s see. It’s lucky i’m cute because i am so stupid.

a ver.

i don’t know about the week, pero on friday i was feeling lousy and ugly and bloated and so i went for a walk. the walk was fine, but i felt so ugly and yucky and grosss and so i jumped on a random train, the next one pulling into the station. it was a cannon st. i got out and went towards the seahorse. i had one drink there and then i needed to pee, and not feeling confident enough to use the gendered bathroom so i went to work and peed there. i didn’t have my pass with me so it took a little sweet talking to get in.

despues i walked out and let the night take me. every toime a light turned green i crossed the road. it wasn’t too many roads later that i spotted someone pouring an entire bottle of red wine into a half-empty bottle of pepsi max. i shouted “kalimotxo!” and he asked if i’d like to meet 200 people. I followed him to the pavilion while he explained he was at a cultural meetup at the Tate Modern with 200 people that was organized by a guy who owns a bar and that after these cultural meetups people go to the bar he owns to buy drinks. clever. when i had stepped outside to have a cigarette i had a short chat with an older man in spanish, which was exciting for me. su esposa es colombiana pero vive en londres, tiene dos hijas pero ambas viven en california. at the end of the night there was david, oxana, louise, a guy who looked like tom cruise called Val, and me. they wanted more night. i brought them to the seahorse. there was karaoke. i sang where is my mind by the pixies. i killed it. we danced, we sang. i met some other people who brought me to popworld, but things got super weird and confusing. though a nice italian girl called ilaria drew a heart on my face with permanent marker. but yeah, they all fell out with each other or something weird and then they left.

after popworld i purchased a bottle of patron and walked across london bridge. i stood in the very middle of the bridge listening to snow tha product at the top volume of my ob-4 speaker, pouring myself shots. once i carried on down the road past the bus stop i put an order in for a taxicab, but then i met un grupo de hombres colombianos and stopped to chat with them in spanish. they did not speak much english, and of course i only have so much spanish. it was a lot of fun chatting to them. both parties at the limits of our knowledge of the other language, finding new ways to communicate and staring right in the eyes to confirm the meaning was getting across. i spent an hour with them drinking patron en la calle.

after that i woke up in lawn chair in borough market. i didn’t know borough market had lawn chairs until i woke up in one. it was time for breakfast, and so i went to padre for tacos. yo compre tres tacos al pastor and wet upstairs on the bleachers to eat them. they had real mexican limes.the meat is not slow cooked, like al pastor should be, but it was very very tasty. it was at this moment my telephone chose to produce for me a video slideshow of my time in mexico last year. sofia looked so happy, i looked so happy, we were both so happy. i started crying, very very messy crying. very ugly. i learned that if you are crying your eyes out in public that very nice girls will come over and ask if you need anything. girls rule. i explained to each girl that i was just at that moment processing a 3 month ago breakup because of the tacos. i didn’t need anything, thank you lila and biker chic girl. once i’d finished crying i went to la farmacia a comprar some new eyeliner because i had cried all my eyeliner off. walking through borough market reapplying my eyeliner without a mirror i thought actually do need something. a makeup mirror. i stopped by at one of the cheese retailers to consider at length which would be the largest cheese i could fit in my mouth at once. a nice american lady named Jewel filmed me purchasing a very large £7 cheese and trying to fit it in. i nearly choked. my fingers still smell like cheese. it was quite nice cheese. i had a chorizo sandwich from brindisa. i went to the market porter. i defended catholicism to a protestant boyfriend of a catholic girl. a lot of my memories of the day are missing. i was kissed on the lips by an argentinian trans girl at the empanadas stand. eventually i met a nice pair of girls called claire and meg in the market porter and we talked for hours about dogs and life. it was time to go home. i went to the new cross inn. i helped a man understand what being trans means. eventually he tried to support me and help me get home and told me that he was going to be there for me. i did not appreciate it and i asked him to leave me alone, he became forceful and i grabbed him by the hair and pushed him away. i was ejected from the new cross inn. outside there was a very cute couple who brought me for pizza and fish burgers. they were adamant we would see eachother again but we never will. it’s one of the best things about london. you will never see anyone again. you can go out and make hundreds of mistakes, build and burn a thousand bridges, and then tomorrow you will wake up and there will be a thousand more. it’s one of the worst things about london. it’s lonely. it’s why i’ll never leave.

i woke up a few hours later walking, i don’t remember starting to walk. i don’t remember losing my phone. all i had was a loaf of bread, a bag of coffee beans, and an aluminium saucepan. i walked from new cross to blackheath. i took a lot of wrong turnsl it took hours. i am home now, hundreds of pounds poorer and without a phone. i’ve been talking to a nice weirdo from tinder on telegram but i think i shared too much of myself and it is over now. walking home i kept repeating to myself “necesito volver a mexico”. maybe it’s true. i was happy in mexico. yo era feliz.

data is fake

Twenty-twenty-three is kinda slow for a modern year, isn’t it? That’s nice. We should do something. We could have another Meeting. Or a picnic. I’d like to have a picnic. I’d like to get one of those cute picnic baskets they sell at Selfridge’s.

On Thursday night I went out for dinner with becky avery at Naïfs in Peckham. It’s a lovely little restaurant with great food, Ocho tequila and cute, fun staff on an otherwise residential road remarkably close to that alley I spent an evening in smoking crack with two homeless ladies in the inconstant summer of ’21. We went to Fox & Firkin afterward to watch some synthpop which started very well but each act was less convincing than the last and it was no more than 10pm when it was already bedtime. My every day thereafter has been better because I had such a nice time eating ruffage and talking silly with becky avery.

Other than that this week I’ve played the Zelda and watched TV constantly to mollify the relentless chatter of regret and worthlessness. I slept all day Sunday. I had good dreams.

went out on tueday night to my favourite bar in lewisham the fox & firkin. i realized i was comfortable there so i went home and changed into a dress which was my first time wearing a dress with no leggings or sweatpants underneath in london. then i made friends with the staff there and after it closed we went to do karaoke at the new cross inn until 3am. it was a good time.

i find myself suddenly saying aloud “i hate myself” or “i wish i was dead” quite a lot at the moment. i’ve spent much of the week trying to come up with reasons to continue living and failing. i literally have googled “reasons to live” and read some lists, none of them are particularly compelling i think the thing that keeps me going is the the fear of an afterlife.

i got sick on friday and watched all the karate kid movies and played zelda. what happened to the fish girl from breath of the wild? did she survive? i can’t remember. i hope she did, i miss the fish girl.

maybe i’ll think about going to italy. the land of espresso, spaghetti, SEBs and cured meat. maybe that is something to focus on. maybe that is a reason. oh that reminds me i made a little café con leche and have lost it somewhere in my apartment.

i can’t believe i’m still sick. i noticed something respiratory going on with it late last evening. might be worse than i thought when i thought it might be hayfever.

#NATSTATWEEK It’s national stationery week next week. should we go and buy some pencils? perhaps some pens? some midori paper? some binders? some rulers? some cases? some scissors?