My little sister Maddie (8) truly is of the internet generation.

Caroline (10) was really excited to have eight emails in her inbox, but then she opened them-

Maddy had sent Caroline all eight emails, seven of which said “Hi goof! Bye goof”, except for one that only had “You’re a goof” and an attached picture of a lion. No explanation, just… a lion.

…

I should just get her a tumblr url now and save her the trouble in the future.

oh my god, I am so fucking done with extreme Republicans right now

I’ve had my allotted dose for the year

I’m so ready to go back to the UK

seriously

my dad, aunt and uncle just ruined my birthday/leaving dinner by shouting Fox News/Glenn Beck talking points in my vague direction and talking over me whenever I tried to explain, defend or counter their bullshit

my dad, when he was explaining how I was now an international student to my uncle, tried to make the NHS somehow responsible for the fact that I don’t have indefinite leave to remain in the UK.

NO. IT WAS MY STEPFATHER NOT EXERCISING HIS TREATY RIGHTS AND WORKING FOR TERRIBLE COMPANIES AND POSSIBLY HIDING AWAY MONEY IN OFFSHORE ACCOUNTS TO TAX-DODGE. THERE WERE EIGHT OR NINE PROBLEMS WITH MY VISA APPLICATION, IT WASN’T JUST THE FACT THAT I DIDN’T HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE FOR FIVE YEARS.

MY VISA ISSUES

ARE NOT

A PLATFORM

FOR YOU TO SPREAD YOUR IRRATIONAL HATRED OF THE AFFORDABLE HEALTHCARE ACT

jesus christ

I explained how it was Fergus being a douche (more articulately, of course), but it fell on deaf ears because the NHS ruining my chances of living abroad was what my aunt and uncle wantedto hear, so it didn’t matter what I said. I tried to debate everything civilly, I tried to agree to disagree - and they told me to my face that they wouldn’t accept my opinions.

My flight back to the UK is at 9 pm tomorrow, and I’ll be back with my girl in the next 48 hours. Thank fuck.

there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…

“Yeah, I’m just a tad Aryan Brotherhood”

… Goddammit, this weekend is going to be frustrating.

Going to the ranch with my brother and his friends - they are mostly awesome people, but this guy, whoever the fuck he is, hates “sand-niggers and niggers” and is planning on getting a brotherhood tattoo over his chest.

No point in trying to salvage him, to be honest. Doesn’t seem to have two braincells to rub together and also seems to be a complete twat. And did I mention that he’s homophobic and has also been boxing for four years?

Ugh. Gotta grit my teeth and bear it - I had no idea that he was coming.

Ughhhhhhhh.

Will hopefully get some writing done while I’m up there - we’ll see.

Well, the local charity shop has to be happy with the amount of books, clothes, pillows and random items that I’m now apparently donating.

My stuff now fits into two suitcases, a weekend carry bag and a broken suitcase (which should hold my bedding). A lot of it is clothes. Most of my personal items are gone or going to California. I even had to throw away my Back to the Future poster. Looks like my room at UEA is going to be a personality-less void, since all of my postcards and posters and decorations are gone.
Was only able to keep my screenwriting/general writing books and a Graham Greene book in my suitcase. My Graham Greene omnibus (collection of all of his published novels) couldn’t fit, so it’s in the box going to America - was upset about that.
Entire process took a good three hours of me repeatedly saying “box”, “suitcase”, “will that seriously not fit?”, “throw it away, I guess” and “charity shop”. Sat down at 9, am just about to leave at 12. Fucking fuck.
My flight is being rearranged for anywhere between the 17th and the 19th of September, since I don’t have my visa back yet.
YAY, MORE TIME IN TEXAS. GREAT.
Goddammit, this sucks.

Apparently my dad called me a ‘cat pig’ when I was 7.

And I was obsessed with setting traps.

DEC141997

we will have to do this = LIsen we will have we need to lisen. we will need to lisen cosle. we weill put a net up.

evewewill.

PLAN

YES

allIhave to do is get tray make him bait get a rope then tie it to agun then when the robber comes plue the rope (make sure thegun is pointingathim?)

GOOD JOB!

Flawless.

I’m sorry about your cousin. :( Though it’s very good to remember him like you are. Did you climb trees together as kids? :)

Yep! There was this enormous magnolia tree next to his house and we’d spend hours in it, climbing and talking.

Not really an awesome photo, but it is a fucking huge tree. We basically treated it like a clubhouse.

Thanks for asking <3

25/5/2007

Today is the 5th anniversary of my cousin’s death in Iraq. He was a Marine, and he was a total boss.

Miss you, cousin. I’m gonna find the tallest tree I can and climb it, and I’m due to go see Men in Black III with a friend of mine later. It’s weird to think that at 21, I’ve already outlived you. Damn.

that devastating moment when you realise that your little brother is a thousand times cooler than you will ever be

University lets out, and you go on omegle / tumblr / reddit obsessively to make up for lost time

University lets out and he smokes a cigar whilst wakeboarding

…

Goddammit.

… I am somewhat convinced that my dad didn’t believe me when I told him about my visa situation

it was kind of weird

also, I kind of sort of lied about having applied to a London uni. :|

Either way, he took things… okay. He was bizarrely not-upset about it, which makes me wonder if he thinks I just want to chill out in the UK for the summer or… something. He hadn’t bought my ticket yet though, which is a plus, but still.

Hnnnng.

Stress. :/

(I went to a local poetry event and somewhat embarrassed a nine year old boy after speaking to his father {who was running the night} because I encouraged him to read out a poem of his own the next time it was held. He looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. Then I got drunk and wrote this.)

does he have something to burst from

tight, tight, tight, tight

long after the last of the sun’s swallowing sandbars shrink away from the tables and salt shakers

could he?

could he be his own, on his own

tight, tight, tight, tight

waiting, writing, waiting,

tight,

outside of the cigarette smoke and the apologetic obscenities,

all too aware of your presence

part of something bigger

part of something last, part of something out of place and awkward and shy by the register at the counter, all freckles and bashfulness,

too aware of your father’s bragging,

too unaware of the admiration of others,

genuine,

hazed,

blurred, out of place,

out of place.

How could you ever write words the way he does without being compared

to the way he does?

Without cursing and distracting and veering sharply away from expectations regardless of your birthrite?

You’re welcome, with your short, sharp sneezes, with your freckles and young voice

without the way your jaw drops

He knows what a eulogy is because he asked

He isn’t sure if his father lives more or less away from his cup of tea,

more or less in the spotlight and the dark red backdrop of glaring windows,

more or less in the view of fifty people, decades older than he is, an unreachable age, unfathomable in being nine, almost ten, but not, not quite

not quite,

not ever

not ever.

I could never be the lawyer that my father is, so who am I to ask you to be the poet your father is?