Soul searching..

Day 11th:
f*ck! What I am trying to prove is that through my intentions I am creating angels, messiahs and prophets. Isn't that better than living an empty life? Isn't that better than settling for what you have? Why do you think you were so drawn to that boring life? You aren't human if you do that.....either am I. Yeah, I never EVER second guess my heart. Everyday is better than the next. I have no addictions and there is nothing I can't do. I want nothing but I try to achieve the impossible. Yeah, I want nothing at all. That's amazing.

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Saturday:
This astonishing four-year scandinavian pilgrimage has been littered with sleeping pills, lots of fun, dehydration, mental breakdown and three-month MacDonald's binges. Now, somewhere over the rainbow, the world belongs to me. For the second time, the full tale of my journey from trauma to personal triumph starts all over again. WHAT THE f*ck.

I can't just stand still like the rest of the people, looking at all the lights, and thinking to themselves that out of those millions of lights, not one of them knows them and we're just f*cking rotting away doing nothing.

The resulting stories of these travels have become the stuff of my folklore. Stuff that happened, you know? Me spinning a hire car in circles on the lawn until the wheels came off. My friends having six-hour haircut marathons. Me disappearing for five days. My mate chucking a chair through a plate-glass window in glee when we all left for breakfast at five in the morning, immediately after I opened up the car door, the whole experience, was really insane in ways that only good friends, bad booze and mixed emotions can make.

I'd come to a point where it wasn't one hundred percent, and I think without going through a bit of trauma, I wouldn't have what I've got now...which is special.

...there's no way you can stop dead. That's an impossibility, actually. So the reason things happened the way they did was because they had to happen that way. I had to go to those places, and I had to go and be myself because I don't know how to do anything else.
Armed with my share of craziness, I treated myself, initiating "the most ridiculously indulgent, decadent three months", which amounted to a takeaway delivery of MacCombos every day until the money ran out.

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UPDATE:!
The other day, I was walking past this cheap furniture store, and I was questioning why, why is the furniture so shit? You can design something of beauty with cheap materials. It's almost like people giving in - it's like, 'Oh, they don't have any money - f*ck 'em! Just give 'em that shit-designed thing there. That'll do for 'em, 'cause they can't buy anything else.'
And that whole philosophy has crept into everything we do now.

But you know, people always say about me that I take the difficult route around everything.

Eh, maybe that's because I'm still looking, I'm still searching, I'm not putting a full stop on the end of it. There is no full stop. There is no end. That's the beauty of it :)
But all this has been achieved at some cost, I have endured enormous tension; I have smashed up hotels, shattered relationships and tried fearsome experiments with northern places.