It’s Sunday afternoon. I’ve sort-of-kind-of made my bed; I’m sharing it with a vintage tray, a little proletariat tub of milk which I ought to recycle later to deter myself from using it as a flask – because I do have a very pretty little china – I think – mug. I’ve shifted my duvet to the side. My inner design-control freak hates herself for it but my inner-homer-simpson could not care less.

Also that illustration I did of Sephiroth is a smirking bedfellow, holding a Vogue cigarette in his hand – he pointed at my phone earlier and I realised I had missed a parcel from Marks and Spencers. I’ve bought myself a night dress, from the Marks and Spencers >> Rosie Huntington-Whiteley collection <<

I have recently bought phone credit which doesn’t sound like much of a luxury but it is – actually – and while being aware of the fact is not fantastic practice for the Art of Manifestation when it comes to manifesting wealth – it is when you try to manifest a sincere awareness of the struggles and divides between people who have different ideas of necessity versus luxury: because you’d like to manifest a future that involves being able to serve others. Which does require empathy and a capacity for genuine – not feigned – appreciation. Also I find beauty in being creative with what I’ve got. I could’ve bought a thing with my credit-money, could’ve bought more cigarettes.

No but – lets get onto how povo I am right now. I’m trying to regrow my hair and strengthen my nails by drinking more milk. I’ve never been much of a milk drinker. I’ve refilled the plastic carton with hot chocolate, powdered milk and warm water because I’m unsure as to how plastic reacts microscopically to boiling water. I mean it doesn’t look like it’s melted but I assume it has. I have a mug.
As an infant I was hospitalised for two weeks – due to what was believed to be a severe allergy to milk. I kept nearly dying and probably did die, because how else do you explain how my eyes went from blue to brown? I appreciate that there are children who can change their DNA – but there is no version of me that would have wanted her eyes to go from blue to brown. (Although I do love brown eyes, I looked better with blue ones.)

Anyway. I’m going to do some illustration and meditate and do lazy Sunday-ish things. Perhaps I will watch some episodes of Inuyasha and then later pop out to see what I can buy with the money I have left in my account. Perhaps I will go to a cafe if I can bring myself to.

This is really digressing: but people keep signing emails off with ‘best wishes’. It’s irritating because I feel as though they’ve never been taught about how meaningful correspondence can be between two people. Use other words. Find a personal lexis to convey how you truly feel. Even if it is just a two sentence email.

“All the best”, “best wishes” – do you know how insincere you sound @sender?

All the best what? Are you even able to comprehend or otherwise gauge what you could possibly be implying when you start throwing around words like “THE BEST” – THE BEST WHAT? If you gave me the impression you were conversationally capable, if I really really cared – I’d ask you as if you were an all knowing genie: “could you tell me what the very best wishes might be?” and if I pitied you I’d pretend not to notice.

I assume you’ve never been taught better – take a word you use so often that it has lost it’s meaning and replace it with a better one. How do you decide upon a better word? Well, different people are inclined towards different methods of building up vocabularies. Stan Lee likes onomatopoeias (words that sound like what they’re trying to describe, noise-words) and I quite like alliteration and extended sentences with commas in between things. Some people like to use very brief sentences and have made an art of being succinct. I’m verbose. It means I lose a potential audience by writing too much.

I think one of Bob Marley’s children said that her work wasn’t for everyone and that’s how I feel about my diaries. Quality audiences over quantitive audiences.

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Just to say – when we look to history, we learn about our predecessors from the very briefest messages and letters that people would annotate to one another. There are people who can analyse a person’s entire personality and mood based on their handwriting – their romantic ligatures, even misspellings. Do I judge your personality based on how you structure emails? A BIT – I’M NOT GOING TO LIE TO YOU.

And being able to write really is a struggle for people with dyslexia – but when you can write something that makes people feel it really doesn’t matter that you struggle with spelling. Have you ever seen scans of Kurt Cobain’s diary?

Here are some scans. It’s beautiful – because he really meant everything he ever said or did.

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I found these on google.

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