My name is Hamish.
This is my online journal.

contact: hamishtenex at gmail.com

Sunday 10 May 2009

Delayface

In other news, I still have completed my psychotherapist appication.

In One Of The Many Places You're Not, I Am.

Saturday 9 May 2009

We Are All Waiting

Ruminating on this: "We Are All Waiting."

And yes, we are all waiting for something.

I had been waiting for something to happen to me. I needed a good reason to quit my job but all I did was sit around and wait for things to get so bad that I would eventually have to retaliate. That's right, I bring the fight to me, bitch.

A few days ago I decided to do what I wanted to do.

But the process is this: I recieve a leaflet with trees on the front. Inside are lots of details on what my psychotherapist education will be like. It relies heavily on peaceful imagery and warns that I shouldn't take the course if I have been diagnosed with mental illness "(e.g. schizophrenia)"... I'm not schizophrenic (or so the voices tell me) but like every great artist I have bouts of terrible depression. I lied about this to get on the course. This was ill advised as it will all reach the surface at some point anyway.

It's going to take a long three years to do this and I have to continue working at the same time anyway because I'm poor, so that big question for me is why the fuck do I want to be a psychotherapistso much anyway?

The obvious answer is that I desire to have a kind of scarey power over other people. This is in fact the truthful answer.

But I can't write that on my application...

Friday 8 May 2009

3 New Messages

The first thing I remeber; bats on her wrist.

It's the first thing I think of. She hides from the camera and I get a really clear shot of bats on her wrist. A tattoo that I bought her when she turned 20. I hope she doesn't regret it now.

Every so often, one or both of us will get drunk in separate spaces, receive or send texts to the other, barely masking plain desires. All the words, regardless of what it is we text, all of them read "I still think about you all the time."

I still think about her all the time. I draw bats on my wrist.

I wonder if the tattoo reminds her of me?

And look now, three new messages:

"I lost my shoe"
"Hamish"
"Are you sleeping?"

Comrade

I'm going to build a wall, Comrade.

On one side, we will have happy people and on the other side we will have the sad. Doesn't that make sense? These people, seemly capable of a smile will doubtless prefer the company of those that can share their joy. As for the sad, well they certainly prefer to be away from such things.