on saturday i lost my pencil case and my notebook. somewhere between oxford circus tube and berwick street. green. my old zip up one. it had a lot of loose gold glitter in it that had been kind of annoying me for a while. also a lot of my favourite pens (stabilo fine liners, worn out felt tips and a big black permanent marker) and coloured pencils. it had a sticker with george bush's face crossed out that mimi made and i bought it in woolworth's when i was at sixth form college four years ago. i made the notebook myself out of scrap paper left over from pictures because i like the ones tom makes so much. it had a polaroid of me stuck face down on it and an envelope on the back. i felt sort of pretentious carrying it around but i also really fucking liked it. i'd written good stuff in it since i made it which was on the 13th of june. i didn't write enough. i never do. but it was supposed to be a beginning. like this is.
: : : : : : : first page was: : : : ::
i found my secrets again.
they used to be lying around for anyone to pick up off the ground; now they are secrets.
on my arm close to my favourite scar here where it's (safe)
it's always coming back. and it's always THIS GOOD
can't remember any more. it was important. begin. again.
and the next page :: :
i leave traces.
to remind myself of it being this ok
(exhibition. another study for a life worth living)
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