There is a manner in which certain things ask to be written, not so that they may be found, but because to exist in silence, for too long, eventually becomes insufficient. It is not urgency. It is something closer to a necessity that makes no noise, waiting patiently until it discovers the proper form. This archive was born in such a way.
Not as a diary. Not as a blog. Not as something that is updated merely for the sake of appearing alive. It is a place where certain thoughts come to rest, those which do not dissolve, those which return, those which insist with the silent obstinacy of things that truly belong to you...
Saturday. Matrix tonight and I am beginning to understand that my musical life is developing a second personality. Hardcore still gives me the immediate reaction, no discussion, no analysis, just...
Thursday. Tea at five. Four biscuits. Push It playing. Yuri called halfway through biscuit number three and I answered. I would like the historical record to show that this is...
Tuesday. I woke up late enough that breakfast became an abstract concept, found one earring beside the bed and the other one downstairs, drank an unreasonable amount of water and...
Yuri is downstairs. Hikari says if I don’t come down immediately she is coming up here. Erick says 2002 will arrive whether I finish the post or not. Tia is...
Sunday. Tea at five. Four biscuits. Going through the archive. January: Genova. February: parties. March: the thing I still don’t like reading. Spring: school, music, FilaForum, everything becoming bigger. July:...
Saturday. Last party of the year. Edo had been talking about music all afternoon. Hikari spent too long getting ready and will deny this. Tia looked amazing. Erick criticised everybody...
Thursday. The days between Christmas and New Year remain structurally useless. Ate breakfast late. Saw Yuri. Came home. Tea happened at 18:11, which is scandalous. Four biscuits restored some dignity....
Tuesday. Christmas. Church, family, presents, too much food, photographs I will probably hate until approximately 2010. Yuri’s present was perfect. Mine apparently was too, although obviously he could be lying...
Monday. Home again. Christmas Eve chaos. Mom doing twelve things. Me allegedly helping with eight and probably making three worse. Yuri called. Hikari called. Dad called even though I saw...
Sunday. Came to Genova for the weekend and told Dad properly about Yuri. He already knew enough to be irritating. He asked sensible questions, which is worse than teasing because...
Friday. School finished. Boyfriend acquired. Christmas approaching. 2001 has become extremely efficient in its final month. Remember me, Eclipse.
Wednesday. Buying a Christmas present for somebody you’ve been with for exactly two weeks is a psychological trap. Too small looks careless. Too large looks insane. Too romantic looks like...
Why?
Because every thought leaves a trace. If something moved you, disturbed you, softened you, or made you think, leave it here, quietly.