7/25/2001

(4:34 pm GMT)  i scaled a nine-hundred foot mountain.
i walked through the doors of abandoned ruins, littered with mcdonalds cups.
i gave a presentation on oscar wilde in front of an oscar wilde scholar.
i danced at frankenstein’s pub, where they serve hellraisers and loop monster movies.
i refused to buy cigarettes for a ten-year-old girl, who called me a cunt and threw coins at me.
i went to a play called blue / orange.
i saw the hotel where oscar wilde was arrested.
i watched jessica faint onto an underground platform, amid rushing businesspeople.
i held her head so it wouldn’t hit the ground.

i talk and plan and advise and console, run and work and cry and worry and breathe in and out, in and out.

i’m still climbing the mountain.

7/20/2001

(10:45 pm GMT)  i am tired, dehydrated, and sick of being a tourist.  i am weary of being shoved around on buses and trains with sixty other people, getting herded into groups around a tour guide who points at things and yells facts.  i am finished with going off in large groups, taking hours to decide what twelve people can agree on to do.  i don’t want to stand in the rain under my broken umbrella, waiting for someone to come out of the bathroom, waiting for someone to buy postcards and mugs and five t-shirts for a pound.

i want to feel like i live here.  i want to walk and listen and look and think for myself.  i want you to email me (not you).

look, kids.  big ben.  parliament.