not coincedence.

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Minnamin, Gut mag alkan, Pern dirstan

‘My darling, God makes hungry, the Devil thirsty’

but it only meant something to Nabokov, because he had made the words up, as if you could invent a language out of thin air.

The waters back on in the squat now, and the junkies havent tried to steal any more copper since, so fingers crossed thats the end of that.

Still consumed with lust for Genghis Khan (i guess i just want him to annihilate me), I try to use the Amazon voucher that Drachal gave me to buy the Encyclopedia of Mongolia and a Rosetta Stone ‘Learn to speak Mongolian’ pack. But the encyclopedia is out of print, and Mongolian is maybe a bit too marginal for most laguage packs.

In Mongolia the Sealwoman misses the ocean, like a furry fish out of water

I m lost here in London, Babel, Babylondon, and I fantasise about finding the solution in the British Museum, as if the cuneiform slabs and Elgin marbles, jade armour and the Rosetta Stone have a clue to unlock my dispossession

Today, the House of Lords vote on the criminalisation of squatting. They re making me into a criminal for wanting to organise my own life. I remember my sobs as I watched the parliamentary debate from the gallery last time, I m not putting myself through that again, so I avoid
(I always avoid)

I met a boy the other day, Tayo, a Nigerian, a telecommunications student. Have you ever been with a black boy before he asks, So I tell him about living in Marseille when I was18, meeting Daoud by the Vieux Port, how he sang about Madagascar as we watched the waves.

He got me to tell him my three names – why did I do that??? I dont even know myself sometimes
Its like I ve given him the words of the spell over me. I havent even written my 3 names in this diary.
betelgeuse betelgeuse betelgeuse

rosy apple, lemon tart, heres the name of my sweetheart….

Coincedences. One summer day when I was wearing boots without any socks, a pair of socks fell from the sky for me, because I willed it, manifest. The story, in all honesty,

demands an entire diary entry of its own, nay, a whole bloody book, because thats when I saw something divine, and realised everything was golng to be ok

Silver boy, again, stood me up. On his birthday. I had a copy of The Silver Arm to give him (Jim Fitzpatricks amazingly illustrated book about Nuada and the Tuatha Dé), and a bottle of champagne. I still havent drank the champagne. I see no reason to celebrate unrequited love.

i like butter, i like toast, he s still the one I love the most….

Salman Rushdie and the beautifully blasphemous Satanic Verses. Racing towards Redemption day, in the middle of a hot London riot, on page 468 there is a small tear stain next to the ‘small redeeming victory for love’…..