..dear reader..

It was supposed to be well argued piece on Christopher Okigbo that showed how his work manipulated archtypes in cleansing rituals that were preperations for war. I tried to articulate my own Okigbo and Igbo inspried vision of modernist literature as a vehicle for a progress. The liberal ideal is not a myth; a bourgoise excuse for the freedoms given to those to instil and protect social and economic relationships based on theft. The faith, the will for universal betterment is a projection of the body's journey from truama, injury and dislocation through healing to compensation or recovery. But Tahir square was full of chanting while the military hang back and smoked fags. The state as the projection of the people should be allowed to show its capabilites for survival. We walk without legs, except others' parts as our own and rewire our own brains. We can live without dictators.

Didn't go out today, snowed heaps more overnight. No spliffage... It brings back that filthy, human condom feeling, lower than a pet. More at the weekend hopefully, so I can go back to being a spiritual, intelligent poet. Tired but bedroom is freezing, cabin fever, whats the point to busy turning inward, not in a positive sense but into the shit and murk. Is is possible that part of the reason I got hurt again and again is due to a mild form of autism. Is worth inquiring about, some kind of diagnosis would be very useful. Although it will be embarrising, weeping in gratatude at some psychologists feet. Tomorrow I go back to studying, dishes. Need to get my grades up, I get a lot out of it ever if the grades upset me,Family Guy upsets me. Last week I was laughing my head of at it. sono stanka Company at the weekend weather permiting of course, good.

and I am proud. What can I say the lord giveth, he taketh. I would rather he had just left me to it. How am I supposed to feel, something other than an antique night gown and naked fingers. There's been tears but worse than that is illness. Sickened by the sex and violence in Toy Story 3. Thank fuck its snowing. It's not a time where you can get by on your own, no one understands that better than me. But is the gloating necessary, is it a good idea? I am warm though and this junior is sleeping in seperate but nearby room, Any footsteps in the night are his or in another flat.I have his birth certificate and everything. What a luxury that is, I feel like a proper lady when I hold it. Finally I have all the main paperwork for a ticket to toyland. Drama therapy darling...

bloody police.. I never complained about my dad, my sister, or my girlfriend I never wept about baby killing djs in interview rooms or raping judges on tape. I didn't help with ops against drug, people or arms traffiking I didn't have relationships with officers or called them dad I never drew maps of networks on whiteboards never took little children in their rapist's clothes to authorities and held their hands as they were examined. I didn't turn up in stations, drugged, bleeding, weeping or told them where the bodies were buried. I never complained. I was never arrested or resisted I was never cautioned or armed I never confessed or begged to be kept in And they never gave me a duvet and brought in chinese.

three poems published, ta da one about goldie locks, one about authority figures and one about carrying drugs over mountains and being fucked on a big wooden cross. Whats more I'm not homeless, not homeless Its making me me nausous, I behind in the studies but loving it, playing to my strengths not taking it too seriously that a bad grade makes me a worthless human being. Education will also be about other peoples ideas, there is nothing wrong with rejecting that sometimes. My hall is yellow with a purple carpet I have a poster of a new york taxi and green wall hanging thing, a mirror, a lampshade and suddenly I'm in heavan. Ditch the battle for compensation, ignore the travesties of power and injustice I have a veranda and a wee broon sofa for one that cost £35. My god the social worker is the embodiement of some anciet soul devouring demon. Seriously.. all though probably not in the literal baby eating sense. I hope. I do my best but it isn't long befo...

He didn't come through until half past but I could hear him, the rattle of plastic on plastic and the exposed floor boards. Hear his voice raising and falling in pitch as he copied and created in role play. As usual I can't get up when I first wake, the comfort feels to precious to move on from. When he brought buzz, woody and jessie through I was happy to see them all. He looked healthy and happy if maybe a little unsure because my bed was in the living room. Decorating always brings back memories of my parents home improvements in all the houses we lived in. Watching my dads extensive sanding, scrubbing and sweeping in preperation to turn each council house, flat and rural shack into a fitting setting for us who had been exciled from society for being working class and educated. His pain staking cutting in, and choice of colours that usually looked pretty much the same to me. Sometimes he would ask me if I thought something needed another coat or let me make the dec...