"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>the rat in your brain rules the world from the comfort of your living room; tell me, are we leaving soon?

>saucey-jocey, courtney, and i strapped on our heels and swirled our bodies on the frenzied dancefloor at the Sugar Reef niteclub, just around the corner from piccadilly circus.


the blur and the boys.


same eye colour. exact.


put your bare shoulder into it.


walk through our fricken shot, will ya?

took the bus home a few hour before dawn, feet up on the double-decker’s seats. surrounded but all alone.

this morning, i set out to find Postman’s Park (featured in the play/movie closer).


in commemoration of heroic self sacrifice, the tiles record the names of people who died saving the lives of others.

“i want you to tell me your name.”

“thank you. my name is jane.”

“your real name.”

“thank you. my real name is jane.”

“careful.”

“thank you. still jane.”

“I’ve got another 500 quid here. why don’t i just give you all this money, and you tell me what your real name is.”

“i promise. thank you. my real name is plain, jane jones.”

“I may be rich but i’m not stupid.”

“what a shame doc, i love ’em rich and stupid.”


a split in the tiles.


i have never saved myself.

after the park, i wandered, and somehow retraced my steps from 6 months ago, remembering everything.

temple bar, the last original gate to the city of london.

st.paul’s.

the king’s wardrobe

shakespeare’s basement

the narrow elizabethan streets

temple church

fleet street

trafalgar square

to my right, before i hit trafalgar square, i saw a large orange sign.

focused in.

the easyinternet café. the one i visited 6 months ago. the morning i left joe in paris.

i looked at it for only a millisecond as i walked by. but i wanted to hurl bricks through its windows. burn it until everyone on the street tasted the ash in the air.

i came home and called jan.

voice mail.

last night i had the world clinging to body. now i feel it searing off my skin.

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One response

  1. Pingback: Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off | The Spadina Monologues

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