John-Paul Pryor

Black Hole Diary ( edited version )

I am so tired of everything.

I was sick today in the street and a woman came over and put her arms around me. It was almost sort of like being a baby again. I told her that I sometimes sang in a church choir. I felt like I had to. I wanted to feel good. She said that she was on her way to an old Hindu Temple to pray for all the sick people. She said that the temple was just outside the gates. I think she wanted to take me with her. It sounded like a beautiful place.

High Gate.

I have started to think that maybe we are all part of the same dream.

There was a show on the screen last night that said people’s bodies could stay young and firm and pretty for much longer now. The red-haired presenter is beautiful. Everyone loves her. I think the whole world must love her. It’s almost kind of hard to believe that she is actually real. I can see something in her eyes. I sort of recognise something in her from the snake poem.

I think she secretly hates to be on the screen.

I cut deeper and deeper all the time but I still can’t get it out.

Wesley doesn’t seem to care about my legs or my arms or any of my missing bits. He looks kind of weird himself at the moment because he scalded himself with coffee. His left arm looks like raw meat with a kind of slippery sheen. I lick it and I think it sort of hurts him but sometimes it’s hard to tell. I guess we are kind of going out with each other now. He stays with me nearly all of the time. I think he has probably been on heroin since he was born. His body just doesn’t seem to need anything else. He has
a really cute little bear that I cuddle when he goes to sleep.

There is a weird yellow insect in my room at the moment. I always think it’s gone and then I see it again. I pretend in my head that it’s my dad and he’s come back to watch over me. I don’t really believe it but it makes me feel much better.

Invisible Alice once whispered to me that her mum was a screen star. I never really believed her. I never liked her. She told me to stay away from her brother after I cut him. I liked to cut him. I think she hated me because no one had to pay for me to be at the school. I think she hated me for being clever. I think she hated me for being pretty.

It felt good to be so close to him.

There was something really ugly about her if the sun shone on her face for too long.

I know that I have to squeeze it through the pores to find it and deal with it. I spent last night scratching away at the scabs. When I fell asleep last night I dreamed that I had died. It was like drifting slowly across ice.

I used to like ice-skating.


I spent most of today watching the swans and it was sort of as though things became clearer in my head. When I got back to the hole I started to cut some skin off one of my eyelids. It’s weird because there is a sort of sticky film over my eye now and an itchiness that is sweetly annoying. It’s like the feeling you get chewing on silver foil. It’s strange not being able to close it fully.

Two black swans floating back and forth across time with the ebb and flow of the tide, their wings spread wide to catch all the tiny falling shards of sorrow…

I can’t sleep at all.

Wesley took me to a club last night and we saw a fight break out in the street: some guy in a suit threw another guy over the front of a wheelride. There was quite a lot of blood coming from his nose. I thought it was funny. I liked the music.

I like to dance.

Francois was really stoned when we got home and talking about the experiments they used to do before I was born. He said that there are probably still people and animalsbeing joined together in some parts of the world. I think that sometimes he gets really over-excited. I think he could just as easily talk to the walls. I told him that I didn’t think anybody would ever want to join any of us together.

I hope I dream when I die.

I was just sitting under the tree in the park today when this tall woman in sunglasses spat at me. It was my fourteenth birthday. I feel really upset about it. It reminded me so much of mum and of what happened to her and of the men and of everything else and I just don’t want to think about any of that at all because it makes me feel like I have to cut until it really hurts.

I had a dream this afternoon about a circling wheel of fire.

Savannah invited some of her friends over to the hole for my birthday. I can’t remember much about the party but in the morning there was blood and sticky stuff all over the carpet. I think somebody must have been raped. I spent most of the night hiding in my room. I was scared but I hugged the little bear so tightly that I felt okay.

I wish I had an older sister.

The creaker downstairs is dead. It’s weird because some blue men came and pulled him out on a stretcher. I thought that no one like that ever came near the holes. He was covered in black pigeon shit. It really made me think about what I’m doing here. I think that maybe if I go the temple I can get it all cleaned up. The temple is near a famous old-world bridge that everyone used to call the suicide bridge. I suppose that every bridge is pretty much a suicide bridge.

Their soft, black feathers floating upon the waves…

… rising.

Mum used to buy me rainbow droplets when I was really small. I saw them today in a shop window. I bought a bag but I couldn’t eat them. The taste made me feel sick.

The scabs on my collarbones have turned black.

The thing in my dream split open last night and a sort of river of shit and semen poured out of it. Its face was so ugly and it was crawling all over me. I couldn’t scream because the red-haired screen presenter had her hand scratching around inside the back of my mouth. She reached inside and squeezed my heart really hard and said to me that it that it has to happen this way.

This is the real world.

John-Paul Pryor

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