IRC-Galleria

emmi is shopping in london. i havent seen her for hours. i'm home alone with the cat.

Just behind my work place, if you walk over to BrookeÂ’s Court and on to Leather Lane youÂ’ll find yourself immersed among a small market place full of world cuisine and custom jewellery. A few weeks back I was in the used bookstore next to the Lebanese resturant wavering through the fiction shelf, I managed to find some books by Banana Yoshimoto, and for a few quid you canÂ’t really go wrong.

On the tube this morning I was racing through the last few pages of Kitchen; Moonlight Shadow, desperately trying to finish the book before I got to my stop. I managed to get to page 148 and realised the last page was missing.

My boss is one of kindest people I have ever met. HeÂ’s so nice that if I am ever late I sometimes feel hesitations of guilt. But in my last job I was late everyday for over 2 years. I would get reprimanded every 2 weeks and I would make lame efforts to make it on time. But things like that donÂ’t work out. My bossesÂ’ wife had a baby the other day. They named him Digby Elliot James Mitchem. He also gave me the afternoon off.

I took the tube to Oxford Street., and walked over to Great Portland Street to a sparsely inhabited café that I used to frequent. I bought tomato and basil soup to go and stuffed half a baguette in my jacket pocket.

The weatherÂ’s been pretty mild as of late. ItÂ’s nice.

I went to Borders, upstairs, traced through the rows of books until I found the YÂ’s and found Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto. I leaned against the shelf reading the last page while holding half a cup of soup in one hand and half a baguette still sticking out of my jacket pocket. I think, out of all the short stories by her I think Moonlight Shadow is the best. ItÂ’s hammy, maybe a little gay, but itÂ’s quite alright. Anyway, as I filed the book back into the shelf, a worker from the store asked me to leave. No food or drink allowed in the store.

I went over to Denmark Street to see some friends who were rehearsing at the studio. Now I am sitting a fag-smoking-distance away from Soho Square in the reception of my friendÂ’s work place typing this entry. ItÂ’s a pretty swish media company, its got wireless MacÂ’s lying around with bowls of rainbow coloured candy. I want to have a serveral drinks now but she's probably busy alphabetising miniature cereal boxes.

its too easy to buy six cans of nostalgia for a fiver. an evening of exchanged words and laughs, we fell silent to the hidden instrumental track. after a sigh or two, someone declares one for the road, and slow movements are made to avoid the bottle top ashtrays. the cd changes to saddle creek 50, and how I despise rilo kiley and cursive. in an hour or two the sun will rise and youÂ’re walking around in your underwear sweeping the shards of broken halos under the bed. I think about offering you a sip of my breakfast, but I know you're better than me.

I'm going to teabag the lot of you.

Please buy me socks.

It goes so quiet when the record ends. There's no hidden track, no lofty peak. My eyes ache from being forced to stay open to witness your bare hips and naked feet. If you play the trapeze artist and I'll be the mathematician. If you hold tight, and I will count. I will count the number of paces to the guitar that stands in drop d. I will count the number of books that line the shelf. I will count the number of seconds I can hold my breath. Just as long as you hold tight.

"Hello, I am Imran's pet fish. I dont really have a name, but most mornings I get referred to as 'little bastard'. My water is oxygen depleted and the surrounding air is filled with exhaled smoke; usually the funny kind. I have to put up with his shitty loud music and the room is badly lit. The lava lamp is annoying, the swirly patterns make me dizzy and I end up bumping my nut on the sides of the bowl :( Imran is a bad owner I hope he dies before me, the cunt."

I remember crossing the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede to a grassy cliff-top of Carrick Island. Walking to what seemed the furtherest point, I thought 'wouldn't it be great to have this view everyday'. I told my friends that if I had a house around these parts, I would open a lemonade stand and sell my chilled beverages to girls and during my lunch break I would cross the bridge to find yet another view and I would sit and eat my homemade bread and cheese and I would breathe slowly and deeply.

We drove north to the furthest point of Donegal to the Downings and Fanad peninsula to reach The Strand for the oceanic views. When we parked, I ran to the edge of the cliff and saw the Atlantic ocean crashing beneath me. I told Bob that the ocean had great potential and its mass looked scary. I told him that my favorite colour was blue and it was somewhere out there among the various depths of blues and greens crashing on the shore.

The next day, after a beautiful wedding ceremony in a church in Milford; at the reception I danced with a girl who inherited eyes from the ocean. Her eyes had great potential and amazing depth. I would glance into them for a few seconds at a time to find my favorite colour of blue and I thought 'wouldn't it be great to have this view everyday'.

i saw M Ward play on friday night and i still think he's one of best singer/songwriters, the show was really amazing. on the way home i was walking down my street and i was on the phone to some girl i had met earlier in the week. we were arranging to met up the following day. 100 yards from my place some idiot come out of nowhere branding a huge fucking knife demanding something. i wasnt quite sure what he said and i figured this was going to be pretty bad situation. then out of impulse i grabbed the knife from his hands like a madman and started waving it to his face. shit. i bolted down the street and he gave chase. half way down the street i noticed that my hand was bleeding like crazy. i had sliced it open when i grabbed the knife. this made me really really mad, so i turned around and started chasing him. my new jeans were covered in blood. i was pissed. while this was all going on, my phone was still in my hand and this poor girl could hear everything. she was panicked and helpless. i think she tried to call the cops. i disposed of the knife in the alleyway. the next day i cleaned my hand and it didnt look so bad. i met up with the girl and got mashed, i ended up crashing at her place. when i woke up the next morning, my hand had bled most of night on this poor girls bed, like someone had done a big period on it. just got back from a&e, and they GLUED the wound on my hand shut. i was impressed.