My second missive! A word about the site of my year-long journey into myself. Willsdean is a commuter town thirty miles from London, and full of potato-sack wearing simpletons. I have finished my A Levels and am taking a gap year whilst I await my results.
My plan is to use my burgeoning knowledge of Nietzsche to write the last great American novel. I have a title, I think - "The Poet, The Poet". I got the idea when I saw Iris Murdoch's "The Sea, The Sea" on a shelf - that's easy, I thought - Control-C, Control-V. A title. The plot, character and my major themes are yet to be worked out. I think one theme will be Reality, as I've wanted to write something on that for a while.
I also want to have a character in it to stand in for Harriet, not because I'm in love with her still, just because someone that boring would be interesting to write about. I remember how much I used to hate her, as I jerked furiously to memories of her tits (hidden beneath her Debating Society polo shirt) - annoyed that I should be compelled to waste my seed on my memories of her. Tens of thousands of potential poet Laureates massacred on a tissue, like a literary, jizzy holocaust.
I had first really connected with Harriet when I spotted her across the common room and watched her from a distance. I tend to over-romanticise women's bodies in description, I know, but these tits really were really big. She had a sultry, knowing, temptress-like face, which others describes as "sort of normal, I guess" but which I knew to be like that of Eros herself [himself? check reference].
I want to immortalise her forever in my novel, to show how little she meant to me. Looking over my discussions with her, the little chats we'd have, the soul-pouring over so many topics, I estimate we spoke to each other for around 45 minutes - including the time in Debating Society when we clashed over the return of the Elgin Marbles. But if we were to read out all of Jesus' teachings, it would take only two hours [check reference]. Are we really to say that Harriet and I's soul-mating is pathetic, because it has only half of the potency of the teachings of Jesus? Be not I to judge, lest yee judge before thee.
Wanks: 4. Must turn more of my energies to physical exercise.
