Stories from an age ago

So i noticed my little black book that they gave us in bmt, and i remembered that i used to keep a journal in it.
I suppose in some kind of emulation of my hero of poets Mr Owen, i attempted to log a diary during my time in bmt.
Unfortunately i gave up writing after a while, but was roughly consistent during the first 2 confinement weeks.
In a UNPRECEDENTED step, i shall share those journals here, word for word. gosh how my command of the language had de-proved. the words in parenthesis are my own written at this current point of time

Day 3 26/4/09

(this is really what it looks like. a date with no entry)

Day 4 27/4/09
Everything takes forever here, which is ironic to say the least. Its like gravity being exercised on time. 2 weeks that have never seemed any longer then it does now. Beyond the hours and minutes that confine these 2 weeks. (WHAT AM I SAYING?!) The reasons and purposes that were marginal to begin with are even more diminished. In the coming weeks the machinery will decline, there is no need to use it, with time rust, with rust decline. In all the emptiness that encapsulates the experience, there is no depth to any understanding that is employed. The days are not days anymore, days are merely minutes governed by a piece of metal attached to a long string of rubber.

Day 5 29/04/09
The truth is that the island probably is really beautiful. If it wasn’t for the horror of regimentation that caused me to realise it and forced this writing in the dark, it really is a nice beautiful place, few are the chances that are given to enjoy its beauty. You get all sorts here, and i’m not yet sure if I yet appreciate them, love is draining from my life. i miss yici more than i care to admit. secretly i’m just happy that i have someone to yearn for. It, really, i guess keeps me going

Day 6 29/4/09
-at least i’m getting more sleep than i usually do…at least
–drawn picture of what i imagine the phrase “tip of the iceberg” would be–

there probably are some positives, the food really isn’t that bad. For the most part. The best thing really suppose is that its free along with the loads of things that are open if i ever walk through those doors and i suppose some really interesting first aid stuff. writing really kills the time. its boring but hey its no more than doing more 4 page essays which on an island far away seems more like a far away dream than the chore it was before. I can’t really decide what to do when i finally do get to book out. it seems and endless times from now. endless. army i suppose is a patience exercising, calming stoning and thoroughly fattening experience. Give me an instruction manual, throw in the total monetary incentive and i’ll probably be more of a regimented soldier than i am now. its easy to see how daryl quickly lost his illusions on the army, yes, it is the camp i’ve been waiting for, but it certainly isn’t the experience of a lifetime, nor is it the life changing experience , kind of the same thing i realise. but it is as well lame and fucked up.

more to come.

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