The Fringe Festival (pictured) has begun. It's the few weeks of the year my self-concious city bustles with positive energy. This includes the Womad Music Festival which I attended on the weekend with a mate Simon. Very funny guy. After seeing Mad Professor which was very cool, we bumped into Kirsty -whom I broke in with last year. I had a thing for her -and still do. She was a little tipsy, but it still appeared as though she was interested...alas, at the end of the evening she stumbled off with some hipster guys. I mean, they were blowng bubbles. I think I need to make my intentions clearer, but I fear two things: making someone uncomfortable and rejection. I always have -but I used to combat this with substances and I'm having trouble calibratng with sobriety.

I feel there's a perfect analogy between my fear of rejection from girls and grinding a curb. Let me explain;

I don't fear the curb, I fear falling from the curb after confessing my ability/I don't fear the girl, I fear rejection from the girl after confessing my feelings.

I fall or stumble upon the curb when I over analyse what I'm doing/I fail to attract the girl when I over analyse what I'm doing.

The more I attempt (fail or not) the more I calibrate, the better the result... why can't I just listen to logic.

When your days come and go, void of any passionate exchange between you and those you admire, those you love, your reference of who you are begins to unravel, -it comes apart thread by thread. Physically and mentally, I'm more active than I've ever been. My days are filled to the brim. A single bee buzzing around in a hive. I'm proud of what I'm achieving, but I feel so two-dimensional. The honeycomb resonates and it's a distracting reminder. It's my choice, right.

This is no 'rant' -things are well- I tend to jot down what I'm thinking in the moment, and I should probably just get laid soon too.. before I forget how to..

Sick, it's March. My favourite month. I can't remember exactly why, but I had a few fortunate March's when I was young. It's also the month that brings me Womad, my favourite music festival.

Riding. Lifting. Watching. Listening. Drawing. Clicking. Sticking. Cranking. Wanking (Sob/'Fuck'). I highly recommend purchasing
Fabriclive 23: Death in Vegas. You'll love it, I promise.

Perfection's name is Kirsten. She paints. Kill me.