Crown Court Madhouse




Roland Michel Tremblay




29 November 2006


Someone who would be following my career as a writer in this day and age might actually become very confused about what I was trying to achieve. Probably because I never tried to achieve anything. Writing for me has always been a sickness I was born with, and whatever job I have, is what Iíll be writing about, and it will also go on to influence whatever fiction I may be writing at that time.


So why a book about the UK Crown Courts then? Simple really, I live in England just 2 minutes away from a Crown Court. After my return from Los Angeles, since none of my books or other ever made any money, I still needed to find a job. The equation was very simple, what is the closest place to my home I could work at, no matter the salary as I am under obligations anyway to give everything to my creditors, and which is not a job for a private corporation where I will need to make money and meet sales targets? That left me with only one choice. A Crown Court. So this book is some sort of anomaly, just a coincidence, however it will have to become my passion, as any full time job becomes our sole reason to exist, and so it will take over my life. I might as well write about it.


It is 2h30 am right now, I have my job interview tomorrow morning. I have never put as much energy into getting a job. I first went to the Court without any assurance they had a position available, I had never done that before in my life. You should have seen me explaining to the security guard that I was looking for a job. I thought he would look at me as if I was a lunatic, going into a pub to ask if I could become a waiter. He was nice, he pointed me into the direction of someone who could help. A guy gave me an application form which contained over 60 pages, for a position that pays as much as a garbage man, and for which they would still expect you to have degrees and relevant experience. I was however not discouraged by this, as I had just filled out a similar application form for the same opened position at the local Magistratesí Courts. I had spent five days filling out that form, and yet it was not enough, as at the Crown Court they have developed discrimination into an art form. I also had to spend time filling out a detailed Declaration of Health where I had to describe all my ailments and confirmation that I gave them permission to have my medical file transferred to them. There was also that famous Financial Declaration file, where unfortunately I had to declare that I was almost bankrupted and on some sort of voluntary programme to repay my creditors (IVA). I thought after that they would never call me for an interview, and even without those declarations included for the Magistratesí Courts position, they have not called me for an interview. So tomorrow my interview is far from being luck, it was dedication. I stormed into the Crown Court, I harassed them for a 60 pages application form, I spent 12 hours straight filling it up, and harassed them again the next day for them to study it and call me for an interview. A week later they called, and now tomorrow I will have that so important interview. And I will get the job, or else I wouldnít be writing this now.


I will get the job for simple reasons, I am over qualified for the post, I even had to give them a dumb down version of my CV to get the job. Also because it was not advertised, and yet they needed me (as per destiny), and so how could I not get the job if I am the only candidate? So I will start working there just before Christmas, in time to enjoy plenty of paid holidays.


And yet there is something dirty about me working there, as if a spy was about to infiltrate their state secrets. Because I will be detailing here everything I will hear and see, and ultimately condemn them for their shortcomings and ways around the law, that great United Kingdom Law, that every single American Popstarz behaving badly on airlines and at Heathrow Airport will end up. They usually get away with almost nothing as punishment, and I intend to verify if we are all equals, or if being rich or famous sort of guarantees you some sort of immunity against the law. We all know that anyway, it doesnít really matter, I guess it is more in the details that I will be the judge of those judges and that system. The role will be reverse for once, as it is the simple minded citizen who will be there recording for posterity how one of the main Criminal Court in England is behaving. I canít wait to denounce them all, I would be very surprise if somehow this would not turn out to be true.


Poor them, they donít know, as usual, who it is theyíre going to hire. As long as I donít have any criminal record, then I am a perfect candidate. Weíre living in clement times, what Iím going to do now is legal, but I doubt it will be for long as we continue our ascension to the ultimate police state that England has already become. We have more cameras and policemen in pro rata than any other country in the world, one of them knocked on my door today! To tell me to be afraid, very afraid of fake electricity and water readers people stealing the elderlyÖ next time they might even force their way in, who knows, it starts like that. Innocent pretext to invite themselves in, and then, first thing you know, youíre accused of being subversive, an anomaly, something undesirable, and you end up at the Crown Court just for having expressed an opinion about the Constitution or the government, and of that, I have plenty. I donít hide to say what I think, but things got so bad in recent years, I finally had to think twice about what I was saying in my books, I considered censoring myself! I didnít, I will live to regret it.


So, letís find out about those serious criminals in England, letís discover who they are, what they have done, what their punishment was, and how this compares to other criminals here and elsewhere in the world. And then Iíll pass judgment. I expect this whole enterprise will take me a year of my life, just like my other books about jobs I had. Mostly because after a year I either get sack or it becomes so unbearable that I have to leave, also because by then I have a full book of the problems involved, and then thereís nothing left to learn.


So I have spent the evening reviewing questions I could be asked with my partner, this was a review of classics questions you are given at interviews, stupid questions which Iím sure could never help anyone for example to spot either an anarchist like me, or a terrorist. It usually goes like: tell us what the biggest flaw in your personality is: I despise you so much, I wish to kill you all right now, would be the right answer. However I would say something more along the lines of: I am too efficient in my job, it annoys my colleagues until they can no longer stand it and they finally decide to form a mutiny coalition to get me sacked after a while. That answer always pleases them deeply, and it is always so untrue! How they let themselves being fooled like this by the defendants, is beyond my comprehension. Theyíre human I suppose, poor them, we have to forgive them for their human nature, badly placed compassion, etc.


The guy interviewing me tomorrow, apparently, is a jack the lad himself. A Scottish chappy with a huge earring in his ear (comparable to those the Bajorans wear in Deep Space Nine). This is supposed to mean that he his subversive, cool, whatever. It is obviously either a joke or a weapon. A joke because that kind of guy wouldnít be working at a Crown Court. A weapon because he must be projecting a cool personality, on the verge of being a criminal, so he can gain the trust of other criminals ending up at the most powerful criminal court in England unless they decide to appeal. So it is a weapon, making the criminals believe they are safe, gain their confidence, and then they talk and talk and talk, until theyíre toast. Brilliant! When those criminals will see me, in my suit, my short hair cut, my tie, theyíll probably puke all over the place, and insult me badly, because they will see in me the establishment, the respect of high society, everything they despise. Little they will know that I am ever more on their side than the one of authority, of any kind. You donít need to look the part to be the most anti-establishment bastard this world has ever seen. Look is deceptive, Iím on their side, that guy is everything but on their side, despite his hair cut, his attitude and his Star Trek earring. You see, I didnít even had the interview yet, and I have already established something critical about how deceptive that Crown Court is. I wonít be fooled by this. I will be so formal at that interview, I will even push it to the limits of being judgmental against him. I will make it clear that I donít feel he is cool, on the contrary, I will show disdain and smugness towards his persona, and this is how I will get the job, because this is what ultimately he is looking for.


How do I know so much about a place that I visited for less than 10 minutes altogether? I have a spy, a Justice of the Peace no less. He has told me everything about everyone already. Not that this is how I will get the job in the end, however I know who I will meet, and I know how to play them at their own game. I will be so pure! It will be disgusting. I am so perfect, they will want to take me under their wings. I will be so brilliant, intelligent, educated, informed, that they will cry for me to accept that job and remain there at least a year (as they will know that I could be Prime Minster one day, so why would I want a job as a simple administrator, earning less than the Polish people cleaning the streets of the borough? Exactly. That is the deception. I should have called that book The Great Deception.


I spent the whole night reading about the justice system in England, all the different courts and the participants, etc. I felt like the Spider Woman, studying the field of her prey before imposing herself into his world, marrying the rich man, killing him and inheriting his fortune after his downfall. Perfect analogy. If you have not seen that film, dig it out now, it is worth it.


I will either be a usher or an administrative officer. I would prefer to be a usher and be in the court room, I might learn more as an administrative officer though, and that is what I ultimately applied for, because this is the application form I had prepared for the Magistratesí Court that I simply copied for the Crown Court. Do you know what a usher is? Never mind, the important thing is that I now know what it is. My only worry, if I was ever going to become a usher, would be to fall asleep right there in front of everyone in the court room. Since I never really sleep, too busy spending the night getting drunk and writing, I will most certainly fall asleep everyday in court. So perhaps it would be better to be an administrative troll. Iíll be a drone either way.


Wow! What a chance I could get tomorrow, to study all the worst criminal cases in England in my region for a whole year! And how these cases were dealt with! I will get this job, it is clearly in the path of my destiny, 2 minutes from home, I couldnít ask for better than that. Every single one of my lunch hours will be spent writing what happened that day, and how the system fail us on a massive scale. It is my new mission in life, it is my sole reason to exist for the next year or so, and if I donít go to bed soon, I might never get the job. It is already 3h30 am, and Iím drunk. I think that being tired and drunk at the interview can only help me. I will at least speak coherently, otherwise my brain is such in overdrive, most people canít even understand what Iím talking about. I speak too fast for most of them, and Iím pretty certain I speak way too fast for anyone working in a Crown Court. Tiredness and alcohol will slow me down, give me time to think, prevent me from thinking too much, and hence my answers will be perfect, exactly what they will expect. And then the spy is in! And this book will get the end it deserves. And now Iím going to play Mah-jong until I fall asleep, as right now I am way too wired to fall asleep. Perhaps I wonít sleep at all before the interview, and I am convinced that it would help me. I need to descend to their level, as it has to be said, these clueless people are and will always be below the master criminals of this world. If they suspected how stupid they were compared to us, they would certainly plaid for maximum penalty, and somehow we always convince them that we are purer than pure and they got it all wrong. Never mind. It is more basic than that. All the intelligent people are in the private sector, not the public sector. Anyone who can make any money in this world, from intelligence and ability, is not in the public sector. Because why would you want to work so hard for the same salary as a garbage man? Exactly, it means you are as intelligent as a garbage can, and probably even less, since garbage men these days are the most intelligent Polish people immigrants suffering from so much discrimination that even though they have a PhD, they are forced, once in England, to clean the streets.


So only Judges will be people worth talking to, and I will make it my mission to get close to them, become their confident, develop great friendships. To them I will have to divulge who I really am, so they can respect me to the point of compromising themselves. I would expect them to be all right though, but weíll see. I will certainly be afraid of them, I spent the whole of last year in Los Angeles, calling all the main CEOs on the planet to ask them questions about what perfect conference to produce. These guys in the U.S. have billion of dollars and I wasnít afraid of them, so a handful of British Judges should be child play for me. Iíll have them around my fingers in no time. Hey, Iím the administrator, Iím the brain behind the power, that much is clear. Without me, nothing in this world goes round, without me, everything in this world crumbles to dust.


After such a speech from me, Iím sure you expect me to fall flat on my face. I certainly expect it myself, so whatís your point? Of course I will, however, if I didnít feel like this right now at the beginning, I wouldnít get into this nightmare. I know I might be proven wrong. I know I will once again go through hell on earth, dear me, I know I will again want to commit suicide. Only need a bitch manager to push me to those limits. But Iíll try my best, Iíll try to stick to my plan, the reason I will be put there for over a year to observe and report, and hopefully this book will be helpful in the end, to someone at least. I hope.


Should I start my marketing right away? It could interest any criminal suddenly discovering that he or she will have to go through that system, or any barrister or solicitor starting in his or her job, or any politician in charge of re-writing the constitution and developing new amends. Whatever. If in the end this is only one book for myself to remember what Iíve put myself through, it will be reason enough to write that damn book.


Ok, interview in six hours. I will let you know what happened.


All right, I now went to the interview. As planned I was sick like a dog, I couldnít even answer the questions about the car accident I had yesterday on the phone with the various people who were calling this morning to sort out everything, I was incapable of thinking. It was not however what I first thought it was, being still drunk and tired, both Stephen and I are sick like dogs today, the flu or something, so I was a real zombie at my interview. No matter how much I tried to smile, I think what showed was my long face where they must have had trouble seeing any sign of life in there.


I met two nice persons, it always starts like that at interviews, and you usually discover later on that they are bastards, but in this case I feel they will remain nice people to work with even after I get the job. Their main point was to tell me my salary, £15,000, and then waited. I said, so? They said, well, donít you want to run away out of here now that you know how little you will get? It was difficult to convince them that I was an anomaly of this materialistic and capitalist world, that money for me meant nothing, and that the less I get, the better I feel, which of course is totally untrue. Then they told me what I would be doing, entering data into the computer all day long. And then they waited for my reaction. I had to convince them that I love inputting data into computers all day, that I was aware it was the most soul destroying thing in the world, but as my last 10 years of modified work experience was showing, entering numbers into computers has been the bulk of my tasks for the last 15 years, and so I was totally competent and didnít mind at all. Could they truly believe that?


They said they were terribly short staffed and needed someone ASAP, when I said I could start the very next day, the woman was so pleased, she almost offered me the job on the spot. The other guy said though that I would start Monday if I got the job. They also stated that their computers predated the venue of the Christ on this planet, and I sure could tell that the software I will be using must have been invented in the 60s, and most people stopped using them for good 30 years ago. When I saw the people I would be working with, I immediately realised they were not short on staff, but were suffering from many employees doing nothing all day. In other words, Iíll be the one doing the work of everyone else. They could hire 20 more people and Iím sure nothing would get done. The other administrators are either house wives who have never worked in their lives before getting those cushy jobs, and probably never realised they had to do any work once at work, jobs they probably got 20 years ago, and now no one can sack them. The other ones are old Indian men who could never have got anywhere because they would have suffered from discrimination, and probably have no idea how lucky they are that they get paid to do fuck all all day. I suspect these men are full of prejudices, and communication with them will be nearly impossible. If they learn Iím gay, theyíll probably declare a war or something.


I made a few discoveries, the building is very old, and inside it does look like a madhouse, a madhouse of bureaucracy. There are papers everywhere in piles and piles over every single desk. I was observing this, thinking, is there any way to find anything in this? How is it possible that none of these papers get lost? Many piles were about to fall off into the bins on the side of every desk, I was convinced that if I were to be tried at that Crown Court, chances are they would lose my papers and no one would be the wiser about what I had done.


Most cases are apparently from the airport, half of them are about illegal drug entry into this country. Others are asylum seekers. All criminal these days are people moving drugs into this country and people moving their body into this country. They all lead to prison.


So I went back home after the interview, confident I would get the job. I was so sick, I went straight to bed. They finally called and offered me the job. I feigned being the happiest man alive, and confirmed I would be there next Monday at 9h30 sharp. I intend to find out if it is true that a job in the public sector, paying absolutely nothing, is the way to happiness and self discovery about oneself. Thank God this job has a double purpose, as I will be writing this book, because I would feel like committing suicide right now. I am in a state of panic, this is more frightening to me, that £15,000 and that madhouse filled with zombies, than it was for me to be shipped to Los Angeles to work in the lionís den. Hopefully it is more due to me being sick than this realisation that I may have made the mistake of my life and career. This is one job I will never be able to include on my CV, or a lot of creative imagination will be required to prove to incredulous interviewers that moving from Management Consultant in the U.S. at high salary, to miserable administrator with no pay at all, was in fact a strike a genius about oneís happiness in life. Weíll find out, wonít we? My hope in all this, after all, is to still have the same amount of money to myself at the end of the month, and for the next five years give as little as possible to my creditors as per the law of England. If I end up giving them nothing, my goal will be accomplished. No need to work simply to contribute to the billion those banks are already making. I was so certain I would get that job, I feel I made it happen.


3 December 2006


It is now 19h25, the night before I start my new job. I am counting the minutes of freedom left before I go to my prison every day, patiently waiting 17h to run out.


At this time I cannot say which would be the worst madhouse between the court or my flat, as it has become so unbearable around here with the dog constantly barking and being overexcited, the parrot shouting at the top of his lungs all the time and flying in my face every single minute of the day. This would be all right without Stephen in the background constantly talking, whinging, attacking me, real verbal abuse of unfair attacks, all because we have no money left and as a result he cannot sleep at night. Just to show how unfair he is, today he accused me many times of not bringing any money in and of being lazy, when I start work tomorrow, so what more can I do? He also complained many times that I donít do house work. I cook every day, do the dishes all by myself every day, I do the washing every other day, I clean the bed and sofa every week, if not twice when one of the six cats or the dog decide to pee on them, and I vacuum the place twice a week, which requires cleaning the vacuum cleaner four times a week because it clogs up. Considering all the house work I do, compared with him who actually does fuck all, it is hard to take that I could be blamed for this so unjustly. When youíre living with some unintelligent and unreasonable person, there is no possible defence, no argument that could help you to prove your innocence, as they have chosen to be blind to the facts, and hearing them does not change their mind in the slightest. Simply because they need a reason to whinge, to complain, to make your life a misery. As they have no reason to do so, they invent some.


In these conditions, I welcome going to work. Not that it will bring me away from him, as we will be working the same hours, and hence I would have been home alone whilst he was at work. I just hope that now that I will be working, he will be happier and no longer blaming me for being a drain on his resources. Iím not expecting a miraculous recovery, until at least I get paid in one month, in the New Year perhaps. I cannot live like this anymore, so either he stops attacking me, or Iíll have to leave this place somehow.


When I remember how peaceful and quiet I was in Los Angeles, alone in my little studio, I cannot believe I forgot about the nightmare this British man can be. I apparently only remembered the good times, I canít think of any since I came back. Heís back now from walking the dog, I have to prepare myself to return to the bed room where I locked myself most of the last three days.


I am in a panic state because of him, more so because starting a new job is no easy matter when you know nothing of what to expect. I have resigned myself one way or another that it is not allowed in this society to be unemployed, without suffering the wrath of everyone around you. They will endeavour to destroy you mentally as much as they can until you can no longer take it, give up and go back to work. I have also come to the conclusion that no matter the job you have, it will always be like a prison you have to go to for at least 45 hours a week, the lunch hour being part of the stress of that job. As it is a necessary evil, I might as well find an easy job, even one that pays next to nothing. I will see tomorrow if I have chosen wisely or not. Thatís the big worry here. It is not because a job pays nothing that it is easier, quite the contrary. It all depends on the people you work with and how unreasonable and ready to attack they are. You only need one bitch with some powers over you or capable of backstabbing you at every corner to ruin it for you. And that office could be full of them. We will be over 20 people working in a very closed environment, all sitting over each other, breathing the same rant air, being crazy by the end of the day.


If you want to know exactly what I mean, just read any of the dozen books I have written about my corporate lives in the last 20 years. I go into much detail, I was hoping somehow I had done that enough and would be spared this nightmare again as nothing else can be learnt from this. But unless I have any kind of breakthrough with any of my other books or film script, or anything else, I am condemned to this zombie and uncreative life of working with the living dead.


I was well aware that my time was limited before starting this new job, and I am proud that in the last week I wrote the first fifty pages of my new work of fiction, Anna Maria stories. I would have liked to write much more in the last three days, but Stephen has killed my project, probably without even realising it, since I am to be blamed for his bursts of anger as much as for everything else that has gone bad on this Earth from before Jesus-Christ was even born.


Now he has sort of gone to bed, and I have few hours left before me to write the end of my second short story, but where would I now find the motivation, the inspiration? I feel more like shooting myself in the head than anything else. If ever that book Anna Maria is my way out of these 9 to 5 jobs and nightmarish small minded people making my life impossible, Iíll have to say that it was written in such constrained conditions, out of complete desperation, that I would be surprised that I was ever able to finish writing it. It is no longer a question of how I can make it better, how can I emulate the style of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but simply a matter of: can I write a few pages tonight to get closer to the end before the end of times fall upon me?


I am so depressed right now, I donít think I will be able to write. I might instead find a PC game and play until 1 in the morning.


4 December 2006


I donít have much time to write on my lunch hour, I wonít even have the time to eat. Unfortunately Stephen was here, and so stress ran very high.


My first morning was all right. I have never seen so many employees who have kept their job for so long. Well, thatís not quite true, however most of them have been there many years. Canít be that bad a job then. Hopefully they are paid more than I am.


I will have too older Indian men around me. It is not the fact that they are Indians which I fear will build a gap between us, but more because they are older men, family men, etc. However, it might turn out that they will be very nice people. The younger ones are hype, cool, and I feel we could become friends, even if they are a bit serious. Most of the women which could be the real problems, backstabbing wise, were absent today, so I donít know about that yet.


I didnít do much this morning, but I sat in two court rooms with jury. One case of illegal drugs entry in the country, and a rape case. A kid who was 11 years old at the time, and raped twice a 4 year old girl. Fuck it, I canít write right now, too stressed, the bird is flying everywhere. Iíll see if I feel like it tonight.


It is now well passed midnight, and finally I sit down hoping to write a few lines? Stephen has been such a handful tonight, what drug is he on? He is so hyper, just like the dog I would need to run him down the park until he could happily fall asleep, so I can finally work.


Well, it is again not now that I will be writing about my first day at the Crown Court. And anyway, it was such a miserable day, in such an atmosphere of misery, with a bunch of nobody that if they all died today, nobody would give a damn, that I donít really want to talk about it. God, if they ever read this one day, they will certainly get the hump and hate me for it. Of course, it is more that I feel miserable myself that Iím saying that. And I feel that writing another diary book about nothing is really not a wise idea. I was born to write rock and roll songs, just like Oasis, however I am limited to simply writing books with some sort of similar passion, and now I realised that Iíve been reduced to talk about stupid jobs that pays nothing. Not exactly what I had in mind when I had this crazy idea that a diary about working in a Crown Court would be nice. Duh, wrong!


Tonight I would have liked to work on Anna Maria, for once I was highly motivated for some reason, but I didnít get the chance. I think tomorrow Iíll throw a sicky and write all day. Just joking. I may go to bed at 3 am though and finish my second short story, only 14 more pages to write.


The old Indian man is patronising, I can see he has many children, and by default I became one as well. At the end of the day, after I wrote down everything he said, to avoid any mistake in the future, he complained that I wrote a novel! So I said, well, thatís the difference between someone whoís professional and who cares about what he does, and some loser you pay nothing, to do a half job. And that is the Crown Court for godís sake, people lives are at stake. I spotted no less than 5 mistakes in what he did today. And at least 5 more in the paperwork we received from the Magistrates Court.


How we can still work with those old systems is also a mystery to me. It is so old, the software we use, I bet anyone could hack into this in no time. Anyway, if the British Government does not wish to invest any money in something so important, they must have their reason.


When I started working there, and only had a vague idea of what I would be doing, I was panicking because I thought I would have to do so many things. One thing in particular that I thought was frightening was to put together daily the list of every case in all 8 courts on a sheet of paper and contacting all these people to make sure they would be there that day. I thought, as Iíve been used to in conferences, that I would have to do it all by myself, on top of uploading all the info and results of all the cases into the computer. That is what would be expected of me in any job in the commercial world. I learnt that there is a whole department in charge of listing, at least 6 or 7 persons in charge of doing just that, including two bosses. I fell off my chair, none of them must be doing any work!


And for the first time in 15 years, I now have to fill out a time sheet. I have to work exactly 7 hours and 12 minutes a day to fulfil my 36 hours a week. Iím gonna have a lot of fun spending three hours a week filling my time sheet! And better do those 12 minutes, or else, Big Brother weíll have me for breakfast.


Iíve met the Manager of the whole place today, he personally came to me to welcome me. That is one bastard, I already saw him spitting on the second Indian old man whoís been there for years, because he was slow at finishing an urgent task. I hope I wonít have him breathing down my neck, because he will see that I wonít be like that submissive old man, being kind and innocent in the face of such an affront. I hope I can keep it all inside.


That rape story really freaked me out. When the defendant came in, and I heard he was accused of rape, I really felt weird. That is a universe I had no knowledge of, the criminal world. And there, they face it everyday, dealing with people who look so rough, you know immediately you shouldnít stand in their way, or they will kill you. This roughness was only matched by all those young solicitors who look very effeminate, even though Iím sure theyíre straight. They all have very thin fingers, they look so weak, you think they would die or just vanish in the smallest wind on their way out of the court. I would not even have sex with them, I would be afraid of breaking their bones.


Which brings me to at least a few people there that are nice to look at, only three in fact, all young and good looking, at least one gay, the Scottish main manager. A bit older though, but definitely gay. I donít think we will be having sex any time soon, and I donít particularly wish it, but I would hope that he would be an ally, at the very least. The second good looking one, very thin, nice built body, very sexy and tight shirts without a t-shirt underneath, I could look at him all day. Desperately straight though. And the little Chinese guy, who knows if he is gay. I donít think so, despite his style in clothes and manners.


Well, I will like them all as co-workers, including the older Indian men (and hopefully the women), as long as they like me. They will either like me, or not at all. Only time will tell. They will only like me if I am loud and if I take a lot of space, joking around and everything, but then this always brings you enemies, or jealous ones fearing from losing their little paradise they had built up for themselves. None of them though seems to have enough personality to feel threatened by my arrival, so weíll see.


A mighty danger might be those ridiculously unintelligent security guards. One in particular is very annoying and always tries to joke around with everyone, when in fact, he is so boring, I could fall asleep in the middle of one of his jokes. And Iím afraid he might get the hump with me. He seems to be either drugged or drunk, and as a consequence, I canít understand anything he says. It is hard enough that those Indian men still havenít learn to speak an English I can understand, after spending something like 50 years in England, and I donít understand half of what they say, but the Scottish manager is also difficult to comprehend. They are obviously a bunch of uneducated people, I havenít been used to working with people eating their words like that. It is a big contrast with those mighty Americans I was working with in Los Angeles, who were all speaking very loud and clearly and rapidly, but who simply could not shut up!


There is also this annoying journalist who works in the office! She was using all the courtís equipment, fax, photocopier, whatever, and all she does is to go from court room to court room, taking notes, and splashing and destroying everyoneís reputation in the newspapers the next day. I felt like shooting her on the spot. In my opinion, all these court cases should be private. A career and oneís credibility is too easily lost in this world. Only the results should be known publicly.


That poor guy accused of rape, he was not even 18. At 11 he apparently raped a 4 year old girl, twice. It lasted 5 minutes each time. Iím sure he would be found guilty, and his life will now be ruined. For something he was probably not even aware was wrong at the time, he was 11! And the girl, she has been so brainwashed now, the words she used were striking: he raped me! His private parts! Those are not the words of 9 year old, and she was 6 when the tape they played was recorded. It was very suspicious. It looked like acting to me, it didnít look natural. However, her story might be true, it is likely to be true. I will not witness the end of this case, since Iím not allowed on my work hours to go into courts and watch, unless it is on my lunch hour or my day off. I will check though if he loses.


I was also taken aback, that as soon as the jury left, the judge wanted to speed up the process to cram a lot in one day. He said that one way or another, this case would be finished by the end of this week. Well, considering that a young teenager will go to prison for years to come over this, how can we be talking about suppressing testimonies, witnesses prepared statements, etc.? It was all a bit discouraging.


There is also the mystery of at least one woman who was sitting on two juries, in two different court rooms. I havenít dreamt that, is this allowed?


6 December 2006


Today I think I have learnt that a job around the corner in admin, is just like a job in conferences in Central London. It kills me as much, and saps all my energy. I was so dead yesterday, I went to bed on arrival for three hours. And then got up, wrote Anna Maria until 3 or 4 am, then was so dead today at work, that tonight I canít entertain the idea of writing anything apart from this journal. I could go to bed now, however this time around I wonít, and hope to go to bed at 10 or 11pm max. Iíve got to get back to some normality.


Thereís a gloom and doom about the people Iím working with, that theyíre underpaid and feel inadequate with their basic education. Especially on the menís side. Women appear, though I couldnít confirm it since I have not spoken to many yet, to accept their status of miserable underpaid bastard more easily. Probably because society does not put as much pressure on women to succeed and to have high salaries. So, my cool young friends there only work in these places for years and years, because most probably they couldnít work anywhere else with no education or experience in anything.


Yesterday there was a meeting with all the employees, a doctor from the hospital came to tell us about tuberculosis and the chances we might catch it since one person of a jury has been identified as a carrier of the disease. I asked two questions, very much in the style of those solicitors that I witnessed in the court rooms. I said: ďAm I correct in assuming that you do not believe any of us caught TB?Ē To which he answered ďcorrectĒ. And then I asked what the symptoms were anyway, and he told us all about it. I believe they were the most perfect questions to ask and Iím pleased I did. It seems to have got the attention of the big top manager of the place, the one I witnessed two days ago being very rude to my Indian friend beside me. The one who will retire within two years.


So the big manager is very nice to me, and has been since the very beginning. It is nice while it lasts, Iím pretty sure Iíll get into trouble soon enough and he will simply forget me. He is very worried about image, he must think there are too many Indians working there, that much is clear, and not only that, they are all of the same subdivision of Indians, not the Muslim one, and so some white blood for him, I feel, is desired, so they fulfil their discrimination requirements of having at least one white person working in the whole crown court, even better if he is not a British White. That also fulfils some discrimination requirements, to have some Other Whites, as I have come to be known as since in England. Other Whites have no particular culture or sense of belonging to anything. If one ever succeeds at anything, it is a fluke, an exception, and will be quickly forgotten. Thatís why I need to succeed beyond the United Kingdom boundaries. I donít belong to any group, or anything, I donít belong even to my own broken country, as I can no longer call myself a Canadian, being from the French part, and I am no longer recognised anyway as a French-Canadian, or Quebecker, I suspect I never will, writing in English now. It bothers me. I am nicer about it tonight as I was in the past in other parts of my long life diary. It has to be said that I never really believed anything I said about the people from Quťbec, it was only frustration speaking. Disgust that they could never recognise me, speak about me, or even speak to me. For a long time I felt that if I ever succeeded, I would ignore them, just as they ignored me for so many years. I know I wonít, again it was all bollocks. Anyway, right now I donít belong anywhere, I am a lost sheep. And yet, I feel more powerful than any of them in my own mind, Iím sure, so in the end perhaps I donít need to belong, I guess I did everything to escape belonging to anything or anyone. We are very much alone in the march of our destiny, good, more the merit to us when we succeed against all odds, without the help of anyone else. I could have it easy, I tell you. So many people could have recognise my talent to write and help me a great deal, which makes me think that many other writers or artists really got it easy. Where would I be now if someone with some sort of powers would have helped me? Well, for one I would have written totally different books, and so none of my poetry would have existed, and this is what I am the most proud of, this is what I will be remembered for, if ever I make it. However, I can only make it with a novel like Anna Maria, no one crack the market with poetry, no one reads poetry. Anyway, Iím not writing poetry, I call it that because nothing else could describe it. But try to convince a poetry publisher of that, or anyone else for that matter. I guess Iím an oddity. I also believe publishers are afraid of me, none of them seems to have any guts, which might explain why literature is so boring in this day and age. More censorship goes on today than ever before in history, and we call ourselves civilised and futuristic. Well, the future looks bleak indeed.


The Court Manager made a point in bringing me the newsletter of the employees working at the DCA nationally. It was all about that we were the worst paid civil servants in the whole country, with at least £1000 less in salary than anyone else. Also that the Treasury planned more money for the DCA for pay rise, and even then the DCA decided to not give anyone pay rises. Why would he make a point of giving that saying: ďhere, please read this so you will be aware of any news within the DCAĒ. Was he trying to justify why my salary was so low, or that perhaps I should join the fight since pretty soon it seems we might go on strike? Dear me, he has no idea I donít give a shit about salary, or else I wouldnít be working there. I would be in the city killing myself working for a conference company and commanding a huge salary figure. I reckon now I could get five times my actual salary as a Management Consultant (£75,000). Maybe Iím dreaming, I could at least have three times my salary quite easily with bonuses, as a Manager or Director or something. Iím pretty sure of that. I could get £45,000 even as a simple conference producer in telecoms, including bonuses. I was supposedly on that in one of my last position in conferences, though I never quite got any bonus at all.


I was reading recently that the city council was now offering better and top notch salaries to attract post graduate people. I bet they discovered that all of their employees had no education to speak of. No wonder it is filled with incompetent losers. Archibald must have been told I was a post-graduate student, and is probably afraid to lose me. Heís probably in a hurry to promote me over the head of these people who worked there for ten years and more. Little he knows that Iím not interested. I look forward discovering with this genuine interest will eventually lead, if anywhere.


I think Jaz, the main Indian man whoís been training me since the beginning has already stitched me up today. He tried to explain something to me, I was all confused because he is incapable of explaining anything correctly, and after that he went straight in the office of the Scottish guy. Not sure what he could have told him. All I know is that before he went in the office, he told me that anyone who would call would know what a consecutive and a concurrent sentence would be, and also what an effective sentence means. He spent 10 minutes trying to explain to me, and he confused me further than what I would have guessed it meant. I bet in the end Iím right and heís wrong, as usual. So God knows if he went in the managerís office complaining that I were stupid and ignorant, and perhaps I should be sacked, however Iím not worried. The man is so dumb, they must know by now! And if they want to believe him, thatís fine by me. Being backstabbed like that though, after three days on the job, is quite a record. Iíll have to keep my eye on him, I never thought he would the backstabbing type.


Iím learning also that the other Indian guy is quite the whinging type. And if somehow I try to get away with no doing the mail in the morning, I bet he will report me within 5 minutes to everyone who would want to hear his complaints. Iím on dangerous grounds, anything I do which could suggest Iím lazy, Iíll be in deep trouble. Five minutes late, Iím pretty sure will be known within the whole Crown Court within seconds. Got to watch my back.


He was the one this morning to spot that I was very tired, and yes I drank a few beers yesterday. He immediately said so out loud, and repeated it twice afterwards as people arrived. Another backstabbing in a huge scale, just because I looked tired. He told everyone that I partied all night, bastard. I bet he doesnít even understand how damaging to my precarious situation he can be. Another one I will have to watch.


Here we go, Iíve been the perfect employee so far, and I have already been stab twice. Way to go! Iíve seen worse though, however I donít know yet the extent to which theyíre to go to destroy me after my beginning there. Weíll see. Human nature is so predictable, and is the same the world over. Jealousy rates amongst the top five problems, and what theyíre ready to do as a consequence, has no limit. Unfairness must come second. If they feel in any way that I get a preferential treatment somehow, even if it is only a perception and not quite true, dear me, they will destroy me.


7 December 2006


Usually I plague people at work with so many personal questions that they back off and tell me right on the spot to mind my own business. In the case of my supervisor, the British man, as he is the only real person from England working directly in my department (the one from Scotland is, well, from Scotland), well, in his case he told me his life story without my asking, within an hour this morning.


I will call him Matthew, or Matt. Apparently he is the person to thank for saving the trees in my area, he is the one who fought with a group of his friends to get the place declared a conservative area. In doing so, he prevented the whole of the Crown Court to expand since for that very reason their proposal was rejected by the council. Some people must know he was at the root of this little problem.


He calls himself an eco-warrior and an expert on trees. First thing he asked me in fact was if I had seen the movies Lord of the Rings. Apparently he was consulted about those big trees walking around the forest on which the Hobbits travel. He was also asked information for many other films. Told me his father used to be a cameraman and his mother a hairdresser at Pinewood Studios and worked on just about every film there was, including Star Wars, etc.


For a second there, I thought I was back in Los Angeles, surrounded by so many people are interlinked to the movie and television industry, unable to wait to tell you how good they are and special and filled with potential. The thing is, weíre in London, and apart from a few queens who did the choreography of a few unknown films filmed in Greece that I have met in Richmond, no one has any link with television or cinema.


What was even more puzzling to me, was, why was he so desperate to revalorise himself like that? Is he trying to prove to me that he is not the loser I could think he is because he probably has no education to speak of and is a simple minded supervisor earning perhaps £2,000 more than me? Or more worrying than anything else, has he done a search on the Internet under my name and found out all about me? I certainly did not mention anywhere at work or even on my CV my published books or my work in television and films. So where did this come from? I would have a lot explaining to do if ever he found out. He didnít tout for info though, so I guess my secret is safe for now.


He says he is a jack the lad, and if he doesnít grow up, his wife will leave him. It was more like a joke. I bet he doesnít even know what being a jack the lad means, as he certainly looks like the quiet type. Been arrested once for fighting in a fish & chips restaurant, and claims to have been kept in prison only for his own security. I can think of better ways to be secured than going to prison, like perhaps a little trip to France for a while or something. Unless of course he was unlucky enough to have attacked some Mafioso. And then, prison would certainly not be safe either. So that is a blatant lie. He was probably arrested for bodily arm on someone else. Since these never come alone, because somehow by the time the police gets you to the station you, within being aware, usually break a few more laws (just resist for a second, or be drunk, and bang, a second criminal offence is added to your case), then perhaps he has a nicely packed little criminal case against him. Most probably in the Magistrates Court, so no one in the office can check it out. So lying is an option in his case. One phone call to that Magistrates Court could let me know, as I found out recently. I am obliged to tell anyone who calls the office, even anonymously, to give them any information they want about any criminal case or anyone, including accusations, sentences, results, etc. No check is necessary, it is public domain. Takes less than a minute. Frightening!


He asked me today if I had any criminal offence under my belt, I said I was so pure, I had never been arrested in my entire life. He also asked with whom I lived, I think they already suspect I could be gay. I said I lived my a flat mate. They were going to get that private info so easily, I can tell you that for nothing. Then it was the game of finding out exactly where I lived. Stephen had warned me the day before to not let them know, because if you throw a sicky, they will be checking you on their way in and out of work. I had no choice but to tell them, as they were so insistent.


So finally he asked if I knew a certain neighbour in my block who went bunkers and almost killed everyone in the building with grenades, fire weapons and other paraphernalia. Well of course, who could have missed over 100 army soldiers in my back garden throwing fuming cans and using taser guns? In fact, I recorded the whole episode on tape, audio only. So, it turns out that this lunatic is one of his best friend, though by the end of the conversation, he simply said, an old friend with whom he was a scout with when he was young. Yeah!


Well, very embarrassing for him, that by trying to find out embarrassing facts from me, he had to admit to be good friend with an heroine addict who had hepatitis, whoís girlfriend died of AIDS, and in the end wanted to commit suicide by having the police shoot him. Simple miscalculation that, even though taser guns had never been used in the UK before, in this case, for the first time ever, they did. And so he is not dead. In fact, he was out of prison two weeks ago and is now apparently in Reading, which certainly reassured Stephen and I.


The only other personal questions I got were from the Chinese guy, the one who really feel like he did mess up his life and is working in a dead end job. He asked me once where I worked before, and I managed to say that I was not working, I was off work for a while before that job. The very next day he came back to ask again, obviously not satisfied with my cryptic answer. So I said that I worked in admin in conference companies, nothing fancy, nothing extraordinary. Hopefully this convinced him that I am no threat to him and I am not there to supplant him with any possible promotion. I just hope it has not gone around the office that I have a Masters degree, though I feel this is exactly what happened, which would explain why the big top manager of the place is interested in me. Big deal! Whatís wrong with these people? Everywhere I worked I was surrounded with people with diplomas, more often PhDs as a matter of fact. I never felt threatened by it. Iím not sure whatís going on in their mind about it, it is something I never experienced myself, to feel inadequate and threatened by the experience or education of others. Might be difficult for me to understand them and prevent their attacks which will surely come eventually. At the moment I can only lay low and convince them that I am a loser. Fuck! How could it be any other way? Who would accept a job at £15,000 a year if it was not the case? Are we not supposed to be ambitious and want to succeed at any cost, never stopping until we get to the top and that we are as rich as Directors or Managing Directors are supposed to be? I hope that even the word conference does not light up any light bulb in his mind, it did in Quťbec back home, and there sure is no reason for it, it is far from being glamorous. Can you imagine if he knew that I was in Los Angeles? My career at the Crown Court would be over instantly, as I would have an army of miserable people trying to get me out for whatever reason.


I may tell them more about me in time, I guess this cannot be helped, when all day people ask you questions. However I donít intend for them to know all about it within my first week. I know nothing could be gained from it, perhaps just an Ego trip, and that is meaningless because it all depends upon the people you compare yourself with. Some garbage man supervisor can feel quite proud to be the supervisor, when in fact, he is still a garbage man.


I am failure myself, I know that. I failed at everything. Thereís nothing really about me that I can be proud of. The way things are going, I will die and they will be able to say about me that I wrote the longest blog ever, and thatís about it. Nothing to write home about. Unless of course, as I am planning, my next novel will revolutionise everything, my dear Anna Maria and her colleague the Duke of Connaught, from Richmond Park. In fact, I live much more in that fictional universe at the moment than in that reality. Must be a good sign. But how many times have I started a book thinking that this one would the one, that overnight I could expect a huge best-seller and enough money to write full time? It never happened. So I can dream. For now I am but a garbage man, and not even a supervisor at that.


10 December 2006


Sunday 15h. Iím finally sitting at my computer after watching the Biography channel all afternoon. First the Dr. Atkins war with the rest of the nutritionists industry, then the Coca-Cola war with Pepsi. It convinced me to go on Atkins diet again eventually, and not to drink Coke or Pepsi ever again. Iíve been drinking water anyway for many years now and Iím glad of this decision.


Now that this is out of the way, letís do an assessment of my first week at the Crown Court. It ended well, with everyone asking me if everything was all right, and the fact that this is Sunday and Iím not having any panic attack at the idea of going back tomorrow morning is a good sign. Hopefully it will last. The Scottish guy is going to Miami for two weeks, my boss, and so thatís it for that. I donít mind him being around, so it is not celebration time.


I made only one significant mistake in my first week, I was a bit too anal about the details. I insisted way too much to my Indian mentor to tell me exactly how everything should be done, worried that their carefully designed system of organising files and folders and data was respected in its entirety with me. I didnít want to repeat the same mistakes over and over again in my work, because I would have been told to do something wrongly in the first place. Even the big Manager heard of this and came to me on Friday to tell me to calm down about this and simply go with the flow. All right then, Iíll be making many mistakes in days to come and they can find that out in time and correct them as they go along. I wonít be asking so many questions from now on, quantity is better than quality, as it has always been the case in any of my previous jobs, a Crown Court not being the exception.


I havenít yet spoke about one disgruntled bitch there who Iím sure has been working there for over 20 years. Sheís OK so far, bitch is too hard a word to describe her at this time, and Iím sure we wonít have problems her and I. But sheís got an annoying voice, a bit like those Americans in the Los Angeles office at my last job, but slightly different. More like an older annoying woman, the type you get on the phone when calling any government agency, and who will do anything in order not to be helpful and eventually gives you a reason to buy a gun and start shooting at anything that moves.


It turns out that Lillian is the anti-French spokesperson amongst the zombies Iím working with. Sheís also the only British woman in my office. I was astonished by the racist comments she shouted out in the office: ďI hate French people, they are all pigs!Ē Can you imagine if I had gone into this office that day and said the same thing about Indian people? ďI hate Pakis, theyíre all pigs!Ē Not only would have I been suspended and sacked on the spot, I would also have a criminal record now. And so I can see that discrimination and racism within a Crown Court in England is acceptable when it comes to the French, as I have not seen anyone be offended by those comments like I did. She said much more against the French, but I canít remember now.


Her sole argument was that she went to France with her kids, and whilst waiting in line to buy an ice cream, a French guy apparently pushed her kid out of the way to go and buy an ice cream. So I said this could have happened anywhere in the world, even in Britain. I asked her if perhaps she was not generalising and judge a whole country and race upon the action of one person. Her answer was that: ďtheyíre pigs!Ē So I gathered it was useless to argue with her. And as I donít intend to be mixed up in a racist war in my second week at work, I intend to avoid the topic together, hoping that her racism will remain inside of her own mind for the time being.


Note that I was quick to point out that I was Canadian, and not French. And believe me, it is not the first time in my career that I found myself apologising for how rude the French people are and to distinguish myself from them in that fashion. However sometimes I can be rude myself, and when this arises, Iím also quick to point out that: ďOh well, Iím French, what do you expect? It is in a culture thing and it means nothing.Ē Go figure.


The only Brits on my office is at war with is wife, she claims he has to grow up or else she will divorce him. They have been married for a year and a half, and I suspect it was for her to remain in the country as she is Australian. So we can wonder about how much she truly loved him in the first place and if this marriage will last other than for her to remain in the UK.


Many times now the Brit said that he needs to grow up, repeating the words of his wife. And when I asked him what it is that he needed to grow up about, the only example he could provide (I guess if it is a heroine addiction problem he wouldnít tell), is that he went for pints of beer down the pub with the Chinese guy a few times without telling her. That one time his mobile phone was off, and she freaked out, went to all the pubs around, found him and hit him in the face. Who needs to grow up then? And stop freaking out when her husband is not home right on time without calling first to ask permission to go down the pub?


I think the Indian guy who is in charge of showing me the drill likes me more and more. The fact that I never had any trouble with the law, that I love Indian food, and perhaps many other details like me saying in the office that he was my mentor, seems to have earned me a soft spot in his heart. Not sure if it will last though, weíll see next week.


At least, one of the main positive thing about this miserable job, is that it has wiped my ass into working on that novel Anna Maria. I finished the second story this Friday night, drinking the vodka and orange juice of Stephen, and fortunately, despite drinking a sizable sample of them, he didnít notice. By the time he goes to bed, usually, heís so drunk, he cannot remember if he drank it or not. I hope tonight to start my third short story and finish it early next week.


Leonardo called from Los Angeles, being so positive about that other novel weíre writing together called Structure, unfortunately he seems to be writing it more in his own mind than on the computer, and hence weíre not advancing at all and I wonder if we will ever finish it. I sent him my short stories and invited him to write more himself, so we together we could finish a whole book faster and produce that best-seller that I have been hoping for all my life. Just hope our different style wonít clash too much, and that he will be able to write at least one short story before the worldís end.


Iíll be having 11 days off over Christmas, hopefully paid as this is the public sector.I will paid only on the last day of the month, and so will have the poorest Christmas period of all time. Thankfully I donít intend to give anyone a gift, so I should be all right. I never had any money to give anyone gifts, so I gave that up years ago and no one seems to mind, they just learnt in time to not give me gifts either. All sorted.


I almost made a mistake at 17h on Friday at work. Received a phone call, it had been someone trying to reach me all this week, and so this time I answered it in the office. I shouted back out loud: ďyou are Catherine from BT?Ē So afterwards I was able to say that I was trying to sort out my broadband connection. It was in fact Catherine from the BBC, and I am invited for an interview fro Development Producer for radio drama on 5th January. I wish I could say Iíll get that job, but the competition must be stiff, with thousands others in the country with more and credible experience all willing to move to London to get that job. There are also two huge tasks to perform, one she sent by email (that I have not received), and the second will come as a CD-Rom next week. It will be difficult to get the time off to go for the interview, but I have to somehow. So doctor appointment on 5 January for me. Weíll give the old BBC another go, for the third time. This time though, it is right on the money. The first time it was for a training job in technical stuff. Boring. The second was to maintain and write on one of their websites, PR pre-packaged marketing gimmick, boring. Twice I was not exactly qualified I would have to say. Third time lucky, I think Iíll do a pitch for my Anna Maria stories at the same time, as they would be great for radio drama things. I think I need to do something special for this interview, as if my whole career depended on it. Maybe I should arrive dressed as in Victorian times, or in a Sherlock Holmes outfit. I would look pretty ridiculous and embarrassed, at least they would know I have a personality and some imagination. Or else, this is another BBC job which will pass me by, and Iím not sure how many of these I can go through before abandoning that idea for good. Radio Drama, this is how Michel Tremblay, the great writer of Montreal, started. With a boring play radio called Train or something. Maybe this is how I will start myself. The difference is that he probably has written little before that, I have written a whole library myself, and yet, my career hasnít even begun.


11 December 2006


This morning I was plagued again with questions from the British guy, he asked me if I was a trekker. Which I had to say I was. He then went on to ask if I had written my own little Star Trek stories, which I have not but I told him I wrote others. It is now clear that he has read my website, I doubt my Pocket PC alone could have suggested that to him. It is one thing to deduct from it that I could be a trekker, quite another to guess that I wrote sci-fi stories. So I guess all my secrets are out. Not sure where that leaves me.


The Chinese guy asked me again, what sort of sports I liked. What is it to him? He is Chinese for godís sake, it is not like he would be interested in British sports? He mentioned that he liked Cricket, like if I believe this, thereís no cricket team in China as far as I know. Did he really think I was going to confirm that I was gay by stating that I was not into any sports? Because this is where this question is leading. So not only the Brit read my website, but the Chinese guy as well, and theyíre both on it to try to get me to talk more about it, which Iím not willing to at this time. Eventually I guess they will confront me with the real questions more directly and I wonít lie.


The old Indian man sort of invited me for a beer on Friday, which I sort of agreed though I have absolutely no money. So I guess Iíll tell him weíll go for one, he will pay, and in the new year weíll go again and I will pay. Could be interesting to hear his story. He really annoyed me this morning, with that other woman from the other office who will be leaving soon. They are both lazy workers who wish to get away with doing as little as possible. Which is fine by me, as it is also my own rule. The problem is when people are trying to do as little as possible by making the new employee to work like a slave and do everything for them. Thatís not acceptable. That woman is patronising and Iím glad sheíll be gone soon. They were both pressing me to answer every single phone call today, the problem is that I am unable to answer any of the questions people ask of me, as I havenít been properly trained either on the computer and about all the codes and their meanings. But now, every time the phone rings, I feel guilt for not answering, and none of them picks it up. The phone can ring over 20 times before finally the callers give up or that they answer it. I guess you canít expect too much from any of those civil servants, theyíre not paid enough to do their job properly, or even, to do their job at all. Something tells me that even if we were to double their salaries, it wouldnít change much. If I were supervisor there, God help me, I would be merciless and these people would have targets to achieve and they would be answering the phone and they would be working. They donít need more staff, they only need the ones already working there to do their job, even at 50% of their capacity would be enough, as at the moment I would guess theyíre working at 20% of their capacity.


I usually feel bad if I have another interview and might perhaps leave my job, but if they get on my nerve any more than that, I guess I wonít feel any regrets at all.


In the meantime I am pleased to report that I have written more than half of the third story for Anna Maria, and the fourth one should be easy as the film script is completely written. It will be a job of trimming it down considerably and incorporating Anna Maria and the Duke of Connaught within the story. I intended this forth story to not be part of Anna Mariaís novel, but since a big block buster just came out with the exact same title, Dťjŗ vu, with Denzel Washington, I doubt anyone in their right mind would want to invest in producing that film script. So it will be part of Anna Maria.


Funny I had many months of freedom where I could have written every single day, but didnít write anything. And within a week of working in a dead end job, I have written almost 100 pages of a novel. I wish I could explain it, other than in my freedom, it was vacations from everything, work and writing. Just complete blank in my mind of doing nothing. And now I am filled with adrenaline and ready to go mad working at the court and writing books. I went to bed at 3 am last night, working on my book, the British as well went to bed at that time, but he drank many beers, took two sleeping tablets and fell asleep on the sofa. A very unproductive indeed, and today he is a zombie at work not doing anything. I am fresh, simply because I didnít drink anything, which is good.


I guess I made a big mistake today. The Brit asked me if I had ever taken drugs. And I admitted having had one joint 20 years ago, and one ecstacy 15 years ago. You should have seen their faces, it was like I had just told them that I was a heroine addict. When I asked him if he had ever taken drugs, he said no, when it is so clear to me that he is probably a drug addict himself. Once again I have proven that I would never do a great politician as I cannot lie when asked a direct question. I guess I should learn my lesson and do like everybody else, lie through my teeth until they fall off. Anyway, I told them they were free to sack me if they were unhappy that I had once taken a Class A drug 15 years ago. Iím glad Iím not going to be hypocrite about this. Never mind that all my books are on my website and I state it all in there, so itís not like I have the choice. They can find out for themselves, if they have the courage to read it all, which I doubt they would.


12 December 2006


I am so discouraged with myself, it is unbelievable. I went to bed at 2 am last night, it has been two nights in a row that I worked on that book Anna Maria. It is great that I have well over 100 pages now, but I am so tired at work, I snapped a few times today and this is just not acceptable.


The very second I arrived, the old Indian guy said: ďYouíre two minutes late.Ē I donít respond well that that kind of pettiness, and I answered back quite rudely: ďSo, you are counting the minutes Iím working here now?Ē I was too tired to think, fortunately, or else I would have ripped into him much more than that. It was enough however to make him feel bad and he said I was taking the job too seriously, and that he was only joking. I said, I know.


However, these mind games are more damaging than simply joking around. They do put pressure on you and the very next day you panic, you rush everything, in order to be on time. I donít want that shite. I arrive when I arrive and I leave when I leave. I donít need colleagues to check up on me in that fashion.


Not only they have to be treated like children with these stupid little rules and timesheets calculating to theminute how long they remained in the office, but on top of it every single weak link small minded person I am working with makes it they long time ambition in life to make sure it is all respected to the letter, when they should be fighting against that bullshit.


And then I snapped again, this time with the boss right behind me, the woman with whom I had the interview. I whinged: ďHow long will it take me to find 84 folders?Ē Considering that there are live and dead folders, and theyíre not kept at the same place, that by date they are kept in 5 different rooms across the building, that there are four types of files which are not kept in the same place, and that on top of it, the files are not likely to be where they should be because they could also be on anyoneís desk or in three other locations where they are waiting to have something done to them, I reckon finding 84 folders could take me forever, and yet, not find half of them. And yet, this is my job, I should accept it and shut up! Who cares if they want me to clean the toilets, I have to say: yes sir, and do it. I dare I snap like this. I should be shot for this.


I freaked out also many times at the Indian man, he has every reason now to speak in my back and backstab me at the first opportunity. And no doubt I was the main topic of conversation as soon as I left the office. I wonít last very long there, I know that now. Especially if I barely sleep at night. Iíve got to sort myself out. And oh, not be two minutes late anymore, as everyone is a spy, and they would love nothing more than catching me off guard, reporting to the bosses that Iíve been two minutes late every day this week. Doesnít matter much if you do those two minutes at the end of the day, all that counts is your time of arrival. This afternoon, I better be a sheep or Iíll have to punish myself. No more writing late at night, letís go to bed.


It doesnít help either that thereís nothing left to eat in the flat for months now, and though I always managed to find something already pass date at the back of the cupboard, for the last three days there is really nothing left. Iím not that bothered because I need to lose weight, but I think it has an impact on my mood. Iíll end up killing someone. Class of case 1, a Marey Case all to myself, which will be kept for years in the archives of the Crown Court. What the heck, Iíll just have to burn the place down, they have one record only of any case, all on paper. If it went on fire, all would be lost and forgotten. I canít think of a better amnesty.


13 December 2006


An hour ago I had a hufe fight with Stephen, I almost destroyed everything in the flat and now I am alone once again in Osterley Park. I went for a walk by the artificial lake, and now I am in the car waiting another three hours before going back, hoping he will by then have drank and drugged himself to death and retire to the bedroom.


The man is so irresponsible, and so dumb, and so incapable of learning from his own mistakes, that I am at my wits end. Today he drove like a madman, as usual, so bad it is that a plain clothe ran after his van and even banged on it so he would stop. When Stephen didnít stop, the man called 999, and so all police cars in Britain have been told to arrest him.


A few phone calls with the police, solicitors and his boss later, he was back home bright and early ready to drink himself to death to forget that once again he will lose his driving licence and his job. It must be the sixth time in the last two years that police stopped him for dangerous driving, we went to court last year to plead his case so he could still remain on the road, and see the results. He has not learnt anything, he is right back to going to court, when only two months ago he was stopped again and he got away with it by crying that he would lose his licence and his job.


So what do you think he did when he came home? He let it all out on me, as if it was me who was acting irresponsibly. I buried myself into a computer game in order to avoid discussion and verbal attacks and verbal abuse, but it didnít work. Before long I had to retreat to the bedroom, where three times he came back to abuse and harass me. I had no other choice to get out, not before, unfortunately, throwing on the floor everything that was on the counter and hitting the parrot with my bag by mistake on my out


What I cannot understand is that it is so clear that he is the one starting all these fights. The drunker he is, the more virulent it becomes. It is also clear that it takes me a long time before responding back and letting it degenerate into a fight, even leaving the room before getting to that point. Despite all this, he still continues to blame me for this and cannot even admit or realise that I have nothing to do with any of those fights, that all by myself I would never start one, never looking for one and have done everything to avoid them


It is puzzling to me that he doesnít realise this, and does not feel guilt afterwards and come to apologise. He is so convinced it is all my fault, that even when he is nice, he forgave me for my bad behaviour. It is beyond the joke. At least if someone could regret and apologise, there is hope that one day it will stop. But when you are being blamed for something youíre not responsible for, even when the person is no longer drunk, then you are in a position where the situation will never be resolved and there is no hope.


When I left Los Angeles, I never asked myself what would be worse. Remaining in L.A. in the job from hell, or go back to England to this boyfriend from hell. If I had asked myself that question, I would still be in Los Angeles today. I simply cannot understand how I forgot about this, about all those times when I had to go and walk in Osterley Park all by myself for hours until the monster calmed down. And what makes it so terribly wrong, is that I have not eaten for days, I donít even have a penny to buy myself a coffee. If I could to the hotel tonight, I would have. I could move out of there tonight without having to go back to Canada, I would. And I would never look back, there would not have been any forgiveness possible. A drunkard and drug addict cannot be reasoned with, at some point, after 12 years, youíve got to put your foot down and let go. Get out of it and never come back. I cannot sincerely see when I could be in a situation to leave, I have nowhere to go, I have no resources, And somehow shelter places for beaten women, in my case, just wonít do. Thankfully he is not beating me up, though in that case it would have been over much faster, I would have had no choice then.


All I ask is that he sees that he pushes me to those limits and that he makes an effort to either control his temper or avoid me altogether when he feels like fighting and blaming me for everything that is wrong in his whole life. He just sent me a message, instead of apologising for having kicked me out of the flat when I have a book to write and work tomorrow morning at the Crown Court, and the washing to finish, he attacked me some more, saying that the least I could do when he is in deep shit would be to be more loving. How can be I be loving hen I live in fear of him exploding at any moment and that anything else is of little consequence to me in that sort of extreme situation.††


This whole situation has made me so weary of relationship, it will be years before I ever get into another one. As soon as I can, I will go and live alone for a very long time.


He sent me another message, why should I read it? It is certainly not an apology. Just as I thought, more insults. I tried to understand his point of view, I tried to see if somehow I was responsible and causing these fights. I looked at what I could change, but I realise now that itís not me. Blaming me for not doing enough to clean the flat when Iím the only one doing all the cleaning on a daily basis says it all. You cannot reach anything else but check mate with that sort of mate. It is hopeless. I really didnít that shite right now in my life!


I still have two hours to burn, should I sleep or read some Sherlock Holmes?


15 December 2006


Finally the end of my second week, and Iím dead tired. I sort of bickered with the old Indian man today at work and I have realised that I need to back off and just concentrate on my job. Right after he invited me for a pint of beer tonight and Stephen feels I shouldnít go, or go for one only. My supervisor would be coming too, and Iím just too afraid the purpose of this is to get to know me better, and hence to get me to admit Iím gay. I donít know yet what Iíll do.


What happened since I last talked? Well, I may have been interested in this union business at the beginning, but I warned off once no one wanted to talk about it. I have discovered since that it is all burning inside them and they are all into union business over their head. The Indian girl in listing claims she will be part of an action to not do more than sheís supposed to do or more hours than sheís supposed to.


Finally I am back home, it is now 1h25 am. I didnít go for a drink, even though I could have learnt a lot from two of my colleagues, and I would now have a lot to say about them. It is just that finally it was not worth it, if all that was at the cost of knowing all there was to know about me. It was a case of if I should blow up my cover or not, and alcohol would have made it all too easy for them to do so. In the end, I know their life is so not worth it, as they appeared so insignificant to me in the first place, it was better that I come home.


I went to Tesco instead, bought myself a bottle of Porto, and revised short story number 3 of my Anna Maria novel. It now has a psychedelic twist about her being France, which Iím not sure if I will keep, Iíll have to read it again once not under the influence of alcohol. Right now, still under the influence, Iím proud of it. I may be writing in English since no French publisher was able to sell any of my books, I still donít turn my back on France and Quťbec, they are what define me. Anna Maria was now some French person in a previous incarnation, and that was just genius. She has played a big role in the Cathars and their downfall, or their success in a parallel universe. Total genius. I look forward writing that short story, perhaps the last one of the book.


By the way, I may have hit the parrot with my bag two days ago, tonight I almost got killed in order to save the dog. Stephen told me she needed a pee, so I got her out. I decided to walk down Naseby Close, un cul de sac, and then a car appeared out of nowhere going very fast. As Bubba was right in the middle of the street, I had no choice but to myself move right into the middle of the street, hoping that I would be more visible than the dog to the driver. I had my hand in front of me, and I yelled STOP! I guess I was successful, the driver stopped, and waited for me to put the collar over the dog, so we could go back home.


I never thought I would be risking my life like that for the dog, I never liked her that much in the first place, even if her beauty and cuteness is growing on me, and has been since my return from Los Angeles. The real question is, would have I risked my life like this if I had not been drunk on Porto tonight? I sincerely donít know. I feel I might not have, the car stopped less than three feet from us after all. I now wished I had been killed, but thatís my actual state of mind, and another story.


And now that I am back in the flat, I got carried away revising the third short story of Anna Maria, which has a negative twist against French-Canadians, the very people who ignored for so long my talent as a writer and to which I hold a grudge. It wake Stephen up. He freaked out again. Funny that I was listening to the exact song I was listening to the day we took an ecstacy, the very one that made me realise I was in love with him. It is a song by the Nine Inch Nails called Hurt, on the Downward Spiral album. Is it the Full Circle then? I am realising tonight that we got back to a the very point where I realised that perhaps I never liked him in the first place, but stupid drugs convinced me otherwise 12 years ago?


The Full Circle was the name of a famous club around Heathrow Airport before my time, a club where many famous people went to, went on to do great things, and then seemed to have simply vanished from the face of this earth. And yet, there is not a month going by without having Stephen mention his damn Full Circle club. So perhaps we have closed the full Circle and it is now time for me to move on? Will it have such a significant meaning to me and my hell of a life here in London? I get it, my Seven Dials story in Anna Maria will have that Full Circle subtitle in it, and somehow it will be about that. Somehow. The Full Circle. I can feel the inspiration coming.


20 December 2006


Today was my first official brooding day at work. I arrived this morning and the old Indian man was in full swing about his whinging, and he crossed the line with his familiarity and his personal attacks. As the Chinese and the Brit woman joined in, and the attacks become more and more personal, I shut down and did my work, answering every single phone call the department got this morning. Familiarity brings contempt, and so perhaps I myself crossed the line at the same time they did, and so I need to get back to some anonymity as I cannot bare being at war when thereís no need to. The other Indian man sort of backstabbed the Brit girl this morning, and she said: ďRight, weíre now at war.Ē And as the Chinese guy invented things I had not said about the Indian guy, I also stating: ďThose are lies, and weíre now at war.Ē So, diplomacy is gone, and so I need to keep quiet without them thinking that I am brooding. Not an easy matter.


This is my third week, and I am already on edge, canít stand it anymore. If I didnít have hope for that job interview in January with the BBC, and if I hadnít written so much on my Anna Maria novel, I would feel so depressed and miserable now, I couldnít even start to describe it. This is a heartless job, again because the people Iím working with canít be trusted and would backstab me at any time. Very difficult in those conditions to remain happy and perky, as they called me on Monday morning. Misery likes company, and so, weíll all be miserable from now on.


Iím in such a state right now, I could work on my novel at lunch time, something I never do. Tonight I need to finish the fourth short story, there will be seven now, and so it will definitely be finished by the end of the month, it has to. And I need to ship it to agents and publishers before going back to work. Not sure how I will achieve this, as I donít have the printer and I will only get paid at the end of the month. This is not a book that will sit on my website for years to come, all my hopes sit on this novel, and so it needs to go to everyone before I start working again in January. After all, it is perhaps not for the publishers that I will rush to finish this, but for the BBC itself, as it would be perfect for Radio Drama, the job Iím going for. Somehow destiny needs to work in this case, as Iím not getting anywhere fast and Iím tired of this.


Christmas lunch on Friday, I truly wonder why we are celebrating it since three quarter of the company is Indian and none of them celebrate Christmas. Iím surprised the Manager, an Indian, gave me a card saying Happy Christmas, as the word Christ appears on the card, and I would have thought, as they do on TV now, that it would be Happy X-Mas from now on, as to get Christ out of Christmas in order to make it more acceptable to everyone of all faiths. Never mind, I donít even believe in Christ or God myself. Letís keep the time off on the pretext of the New Year celebrations, letís get rid of Christmas altogether. Itís fine by me. Time to go back!


21 December 2006


Everything was much better at work after I wrote those few lines. It might have something to do with the Brit woman being on holiday. The first class whinger was still there, but by ignoring him more and more, I found that he leaves me alone. And when he was not there, I was able to enjoy my day and joke around with my colleagues. They might also be cheerful because tomorrow is our last day in the office before Christmas, and thereís the lunch at 12.


Iím very much into my novel right now, and especially the second short story about how my characters can predict the future, the lifestyle of people and how they may react in certain situations based on the analysis of many personalities and characters of people. Well, you would never guess how successfully I demonstrated my abilities today at work, I feel like I am upon a great discovery and a little Sherlock Holmes is born, if I may say so myself.


I told my Manager that he looked just like my cousin now working in London. I asked if he would like him to work there, since Iím sure he would make better money that his job in conferences for the first company I ever worked for in that field. I mentioned that my cousin looked exactly like him, and from that I could guess many things from his own life. And so it began.


I said that his wife was fat and he was pressure into marriage. How in the world could I have guessed this right? Especially when he his so tall, so thin, and so good looking that he could get any girlfriend he wishes and marry anyone he liked. I was right, though, just like Sherlock Holmes, I was very insensitive. It was funnier anyhow. So I asked him why both of them, looking so identical, would have the same taste and have fat girlfriends from outside the country, so immigrants, pressuring them into marriage? In his case, for her to remain in the country, for my cousin, so he can remain in the country? I suggested that they both like fat woman, however he said it was because they were stupid. So I guess they didnít want to end up with fat wives, but somehow did. And so I understand now that it is because theyíre weak at the heart of their soul. They allowed themselves to be manipulated by these fat women, and they did not have the will to say no! I deserve better and I will go and find something better. These men can only be unhappy for the rest of their lives, and it is very sad indeed. I may be living with an unreasonable alcoholic and drug addict, at least he is thin and good looking, even though thereís not much sex to be expected there. Heís nice to look at and he can be nice most of the time. Sad as well I guess, but thereís hope in my case.


22 December 2006


We had a Christmas dinner today, with all the Judges, all white older men, and the other half of the table being mostly Indians and Pakistanis, with a token Chinese, a token British male, a token British woman, and now a taken French-Canadian out of place element, the unsuspected spy who wanted to know more about the Crown Court and what underlay the structure.


I admit that this book is going nowhere, neither my investigation. In the admin office, I donít hear much about whatís going on in the courts. The Judges appeared to me to be filthy rich, travelling constantly to all corners of the world, all with some sort of nice personalities, great intelligence and understanding, and a capacity to lower themselves to the level of the underpaid weak links of the organisation. Many of them appeared to like their status of being hard judges in court making rough decisions. Today two of them were boasting that they refused many bail applications of people still not proven guilty, in prison, who would have liked to be out of there for Christmas. And the Senior Manager in the background stating out loud that every time a judge today rejected a bail application, they cheered. I freaked out a bit at that, and asked out loud: Why would they cheer at that? Stopping short of saying: When weíre dealing with the freedom of citizens who could very well be innocent and often are declared not guilty in courts? She answered because every application is a lot of bureaucracy, and so every clerk and ushers in the building today cheered for every single person who would spend Christmas and the New Year in prison. She herself said as a joke that there were not after justice, but the least work possible for the Crown Court, which reflected my earlier observation in the court room of the Judge trying to speed up a case in order to free everyone involved, at the expense perhaps of proving someone innocence and saving them from 20 years imprisonment or other consequences.


I met the main Judge yesterday, nice chap, also strong image of being rough in his judgments, especially if he is in a bad mood. Now, thatís another great problem, if you own fate depends on the mood of one person. Happy day, not guilty, got up the wrong side of the bed, 20 years. Could this system be any more subjective? And thatís not all, different judge, same possible different outcomes. Your own safety and future should not depend on what judge you get, in which court and on the mood of the Judge. I guess this is certainly an identified problem, and Iím sure judges are very much aware of all this, and must be taking it into consideration when they passed their judgement. I can only hope that they do their job as expected, for what we pay them for. Being objective and free from any personal or outside influence.


Every time a custom officer or other prosecutor calls to find out the results of a case, and that I have to tell them that the jury decided the defendant was not guilty, I can feel the disappointment in their tone, almost as if they would have liked them to be guilty and go to prison for years, this, despite having proven in court that they were not guilty. I donít like it, I donít care if those prosecutors believe or know that these people are guilty or not. I have come across enough cases where all witnesses were policemen, to easily guess that this is all entrapment, and that Britain is certainly a police state, even if no one is yet aware. One case of selling cannabis or having cannabis, I canít remember now, also had a charge fro handling stolen goods, and the stolen item was a police jacket. Now, please, that case should be rejected out right by a judge, as it is clear the police is desperate to entrap its people. How else would a citizen end up handling the so-called stolen chief of police jacket?


Most cases I process are drug related, because of the big international airport being nearby. And so I feel that if the police were to stop being so overzealous over those drug charges, we could instantly unclogged the justice system and save a huge amount of money in court resources and legal aid. Stopping short of legalising drugs, we could at least be much more lenient and look the look the other way more often for cases which appear relatively insignificant, and yet will end up costing thousands of pounds to the tax payers in the end.


I have also noticed that 100% of the cases I have process in my first two weeks were all benefiting from legal aid, which means all these people earn less than £21,000 a year between them and their partner. So, all criminals are poor. Anyone with a joint salary with their other half of over £21,000 a year, appears to stand clear of higher criminal courts. So we know the threshold, if every couple in the country was guaranteed over £21,000 a year, we could witness a dramatic drop in criminal activity and save enough money to provide those couples with £21,000 a year. Processing each criminal through the police and legal system, including prison if necessary, must cost in the end much more than providing every couple with that minimum amount of money every year. Of course, I have done no research about this, I have no statistics at hand, but I suggest this hear and I will let people debate the question. It is clear that the poorer people are, the more they will go on doing criminal deeds, and in the end, sink the budget allocated to the legal system.


I like it when solicitors call and try to get favours, push a case, try to get an early trial or hearing, whatever. It annoys everyone else in the office, and we rarely do anything to help them, but it shows that these solicitors are not just vultures, even though, they are. They certainly stand to profit here from all these cases, they often learn they will represent a prisoner the night before the hearing, and so, how can they defend the defendants in those conditions? Do they even talk to them? Sometimes, definitely not.


Yesterday I had the strangest call from a solicitor desperate to get a case moved from the morning to the afternoon, because his client was into voodoo and must have threatened his solicitor in doing a great job in his case. The lawyer was panicking because he couldnít make it in the morning, and if he was not present to defend his case, he could be the victim of voodoo tactics on the part of his client. What a good idea! I didnít know we could easily influence the legal system this way. So if I ever get arrested, Iíll threatened everyone involved in my case that I will voodoo them to kingdom come if they donít get me out of here presto. The solicitor, obviously an intelligent man, did a huge research upon the subject to find out if he should give this any credence. And he came up with the conclusion that he better do a good job for his defendant and be present on the day. Not sure if he showed up today, I hope so for his sake.


I have dreams! Dreams of finally succeeding as an author, and I worked all night on Anna Maria, once again. I hope to finish that damn fourth short story, whilst being discourages by how long it is and how I can shrink it to my universe of short stories.


Iím listening to Muse right now, great motivation, lotís of energy, especially that I feel I might have inspired them, well, right down my alley in any case. If I ever find out that my website inspired them, I will for sure feel that even then I had a great impact on this world, without any published books in English, without even being known. Could it all be coincidences? How many times have I come across stuff which was just so much what I wrote and that has been on my website for years? In at least one of those instances I must have been some sort of inspiration? Could it really be coincidences? Iím reasonable, I would certainly admit to myself that I had nothing to do with it if it could be so. It is just not possible, it is like they wanted to let me know where it came from, a clear message to say: thank you, weíve read you, you inspired us, and these are all the elements which will convince you that youíre part of this. And so my head is now as large as can be expected. My motivation knows no boundaries. Being stuck today in the crown court is the lowest point I could ever reach, even though Iím hiding these feelings of mine behind the idea that Iím getting inspiration from it somehow, writing a damn blog about it, a blog that Iím not even bothered putting online, since I cannot imagine anyone being interested in that crap, if Iím not interested myself to begin with.


Anna Maria will explode on the literary markets, it will be finally me, there on the spotlight. I can already imagine the success and the consequences. The interviews all around the planet down to the ones in Quťbec, where I come from and where they ignored me all my life! Bastards! Iíll show them! Iíll be a bloody success worldwide, because I never stopped, I continued dreaming, I lived the life I wanted. I went to Paris, to London, to New York, and of all places, Los Angeles. Iíve been around, Iíve seen for myself, Iím no longer of any nation, Iím from Earth, and God knows how I wished I was elsewhere in the universe but here, whatever here is, itíll never be good enough for me. Iíve got high expectations, high standards, Iím not from Mars, Iím from beyond! My parents were Gods, and I am their son ready to conquer the universe! I know no boundaries, I will explode everywhere soon, never felt so sure of it. Just watch me go!


This is how I feel tonight, after drinking a whole bottle of wine. I want to go back and look at those judges in the eye, the same ones who thought they were such higher beings and snubbed me as if I was a piece of crap, when I have all this potential inside of me ready to detonate in their face! Not that they would care, but Iíll fell better about it, because Iím worth it, more than they will ever be. I donít think theyíre fit to be judges, I feel Iím the only one on this planet fit to judge anyone. I feel I have a unique understanding of this universe and its mechanisms, and Iíll judge this planet for them. Iíll destroy that insignificant planet for them, as per my judgment. No hope for humanity, I cannot see anything worthwhile anywhere, anyone who should be saved. Except perhaps Tina.


Tina is an Indian woman who lives right in front of the Crown Court. Sheís a Saint. If I could aspire to be anyone on this planet, it would be her. I cannot even tell you why, or how, I came to this conclusion. Sheís perfect. I donít think she would ever hurt a fly, sheís understanding, she would sacrifice herself for anyone. Sheís also suffering her colleagues without saying anything, bending and agreeing, sacrificing everything for an easy life and to keep them happy. God, she is sweet. I could marry her right now. And something is telling me that I would be the happiest man alive, even though Iím gay. She is what I aspire to be.


Of course, it helps that she likes me, for a start. It is hard to explain why she would, no one else seems to particularly like me in that court. Sheís pure, thereís no two ways about, I canít explain it. Iím sure she can only do good in this world, She could be compared to Mother Teresa. There are not that many people like that on this planet, I certainly do not count myself as one of them. Which is why I am so attracted to them, want to learn more, try to understand what makeís them who they are, why they are saints, and whatís really boiling inside if anything. I will concentrate on her from now on, I will get to know her, I want to learn from her everything there is to learn. I feel that through her I will get a glimpse of what perfection is, what God could possibly be all about. Getting closer to the truth, of understanding this universe. This is what this woman represents to me, and I wonít let it go. I canít remember when it was last time I have met such a specimen of perfectionÖ let me think, canít remember. So sheís it, sheís everything, I will get to know her better, she will become my friend. And I donít want this relationship to be like a mother and son one, as it seems that she has taken me under her protection. It is true that sheíll always be my master, as she should by definition be the master of everyone else on this planet by her purity as a saint, but I need to go beyond, I need to know, I need to find out, I need to learn everything there is to learn about her. And it has nothing to do with her life and whatever happened there. It is the complexities of her mind, how she thinks, how she can be such a saint, accept everything peacefully, how everything is getting processed in her brain. Thatís what I need to find out. No easy task.


It is amazing that she has taken an interest in me, I have no explanation for that. Iím certainly not someone worthy of that kind of attention from someone like her. Do I need saving and is it written on my forehead? God knows. Sheís my Anna Maria, that Indian woman. And yet, sheís purer than my Anna so far. Iíll find out all about her, and model my Anna in future stories based on her personality. Sad Iíve realised this only tonight, as I wonít be back in the office for 11 days now. What a waste of time! I could have invited her to the pub today! However, I would need to admit to her Iím gay before doing so, as she will definitely think I have some ulterior motive. I donít even know if sheís married! I only know sheís living with her sister, as she presented her to me today. Her sister afterwards was outside dumping an old computer, and the Chinese guy had to go to help with that. It was surreal, didnít make any sense, but I wonít go there right now. It is more bits and bobs about the life of a saint dealing with stupidities of life, when their overall role is definitely to save this world somehow, make it more bearable. God, it is so nice to meet sane people in this world once in a while! I never met any in so many yearsÖ


Could I just knock on her door and say that I need to go down the pub with her? To talk? Just to talk. Talk about nothing in particular, until it clicks in my mind that I got what I wanted? Could I really do that? No. Iíll have to wait until the New Year, and then I might be quickly gone, with a brand new job at the BBC, if everything goes to plan. The fact that Iíve written so much already about that job, that miserable job, indicates to me that Iíll be stuck there for many more months, so I can write more about the Crown Courts universe. I donít give a shit, I donít want to write this book. Thatís a project I would gladly give up, if it is to be right in the middle of the BBC universe, and that is more important to oneís destiny than anything else. I need to concentrate here, make it happen somehow. Before February, Iíll be working for the BBC no matter what, thereís no other choice. I donít care about this book, blog, or whatever. Iíll gladly delete it, bury it in my lost files, I need to, BBC means everything to me. Iíll be working for the BBC in 2007, nothing else would make any sense. I didnít come back from Los Angeles for nothing else.


Every morning on my way to work Iím thinking about Los Angeles. I see the trees, the canyons, Mulholland Drive, Santa Barbra, Laguna Beach. London is getting more and more unbearable when it had to be trade for this miserable job at the Crown Court. Iím sorry, you canít get back to that after all that I have experienced in the last year. And as I said before, every single year that came, in my case, was better than the previous one. So what the hell could come up in the next year who could top Los Angeles, Iím asking? Especially in Isleworth? Come on! Nothing. Nothing! And yet, this new year will be better than the previous one, it is written in my destiny, it is in my genes, it is my personality, me all over, all the ones with the same chromosomes. And yet, I know no known personality with similar aptitudes as mine, who looks like me. Will I be the first, I will, believe me. People of my race, the ones who share almost the same chromosome combination as me, whether theyíre Chinese or Black, doesnít matter, theyíre me in order versions, they have potential, they have tenacity, they should succeed. They may fail in the end, but I wonít. Somehow my name will go down in history, and it will be for something I could be proud of. Donít care if Iím dead before it happens, better if it happens while Iím still alive, but Iíll change humanity somehow, Iíll be more powerful than any American President this planet has known. Because these are my standards, this is why Iím alive, and I will accomplish my destiny. All that I have written so far suffice amply. I would not need write another word. And yet, I can feel that it was just the beginning, since I could not feel any impact so far, and Iím still alive. So everything remains to be done, and now I have chosen a very innocent way to reach my goals. Anna Maria. Who could suspect? And how insidious of me, to use that medium to get any sort of message across, my way of thinking, my ideals and everything, than through such innocent little stories? Just the beginning. The first book will be a tease. Much more is to come in the other tomes. Iíll change the world, Iíll leave my mark, one way or another. Thereís no other option in my mind. I may be deluded, but it is simply a need I got from the day I was born. I just follow the path, the destiny, I cannot deviate, I need to look at this world, analyse it, report, invent something better, report again, and die happy in the feeling that Iíve accomplished something worthwhile for my fellow humans. Nothing less would mean a useless existence, just another one of those miscreants. And then, my life would have been wasted, not worth living. This is just not acceptable. I donít even think I could have accomplished the goals I have set myself by being Prime Minister, I think they can only be achieved by being a renown writer, and so I have a lot of work to do, and lotís of thinking, and somehow talent to spit it back in some entertainment medium without being moralist. No easy task, Iím telling you, and yet, Iíll achieve it, cos I have no choice. This is my purpose in life and I wonít shy from it no matter what. And now my next mission is to become a friend of that Indian woman and learn everything I can, because if there is one person on this planet that we could all learn something from, it is her. And I will endeavour to learn everything from her for you, and report back to you on everything I learn, and perhaps this world would be a better place for everyone else, and for generations to come.


Iím quite aware that some people will read this and believe that Iím totally delusional. I would even agree with them once Iím no longer drunk. But Iím drunk now, and thatís what I truly believe. So fuck you all. You wonít save yourself, you wonít save the world, let me try, and I might just succeed, or at least help getting us closer to that goal of making this world bearable to everyone. Iím not asking for much, I just want happiness for everyone on this planet, thatís all. Or else, letís just annihilate this world as it would be a pointless world to live in.


Oh, I know where I met another perfect being. My cat Murmy. Sheís perfection, honour to her race. Sheís also a saint, and so in love with me, and me with her. So gentle, sheís the only thing alive who made me cry so many times before, just for being her. Sheís the only thing I could think about when I was in Los Angeles, sheís probably responsible for my return to London. And yet, she never said a word, she doesnít even meow. Every night she comes and sleeps in my arms. Sheís fragile, weak, sick, and yet, sheís a god and she could save the world somehow. Sheís an example of perfection to others, and yet others are just blind to her. They take her for granted, just like Tina in that Crown Court. They donít realise what theyíve got. They donít learn anything from her, when I would value her opinion over the one of any judge any day. Compassion, understanding, hard working, never any complaint, just love, unconditional love emanating from every pore, just like my Murmy, just like a Saint. Compared to them, I am a worm unworthy of their attention, I am nothing, I deserve death. And so, I will at the very least learn from them, whatever it is that I can learn, and hopefully as a result Iíll be a better human being worthy of existence. I will only think of this world worthy of existence the day weíre all like that Tina or my Murmy.


Now you understand my apocalypse views of this world and why I feel none of us deserve to be alive. Weíve got a lot to learn, most of all me, and until I reach their level of love and perfection, I donít deserve to be alive, and neither you.


3 January 2007


Gosh, where am I now? Iíve got difficulty in telling. The fact that for the last weeks I didnít write anything, despite being off work for over 12 days, is quite something. I was working like a madman in order to get that job at the BBC. Iíve done everything to prove to them that I was special, had a lot of potential, and seriously, if I donít get it, then thereís something wrong with the BBC and I will never in my lifetime work there. Because then it would mean that it is just impossible to work for the BBC despite all the glory and glorioles you could ever imagine to get a job there. To be honest, I made myself sick over that interview, I read everything related to Radio Drama, including dozens of website pages and a book by Yuri Rasosvky. I read everything about the First World War to give some ideas to BBC Radio 3 about what to do next year, and everything about Black Wednesday, if that tells you anything, a radio play about British politics and economy, which I care nothing about, in order to comment that play at the interview on Friday. I feel like committing suicide right now, after all that crap that I have ingurgitated for that interview, so I better get the job, otherwise I will definitely shot myself. Especially after the two miserable days I had at work following the New Year. My God, that old Indian guy, I will kill him, I know that now. Not that it is that unbearable or that I feel threaten by him, but I never ever met such a whiner trying to do so little, and try to get me to do his job for him. Thereís a limit to my patience, and even though Iím quite new at the Crown Court, Iím telling you, Iím that close to jump into the Managerís office and tell him all, how that old man is trying to get away with murder, whilst Iím the one suffering from all his work I inherited in the last few days. It is obvious the man has not done anything in months, it would take me years now to finally achieve what he should have been doing in the last few months. And that would be acceptable to me if he didnít make such a song and dance about how he can now do nothing while I work myself to death doing what he should have done. I have dream of strangling him on the spot, murder him in his sleep, or as he is diabetic, give him the ultimate chocolate which will annihilate his existence. Thatís what Iím thinking about all day long. One more month in that crazy place, and I will kill him, Iím sure of that. Better get that job at the BBC, or there will be blood on the dance floor.


How can someone work so hard for a damn interview, and still miss it? No way, Iíll get that job. Iím so certain of it, I have never be so certain in my entire life. Iíve been prepared, I had four BBC interviews from hell before, I know exactly what to expect, and I tried to prevent it as much as I could. They got from me an extra introductory letter along with my essay about the First World War, and my latest novel filled with short stories who have been writing on the basis that it could be easily turned into radio drama. I feel like thereís no one in the world at the moment who knows as much as I do about radio plays and how theyíre made, and the First World War, as I do. If someone else gets the job, well, that someone else must be quite something, must already have an established name more ringing than mine, or whatever else I could think of, the only other explanation would be that he would be British, whilst Iím only some lost immigrant incapable of speaking White, or WASP. And if it is the last remaining obstacle, then so be it, I wouldnít want to work for an organisation discriminating like that. They need to fill their quotas of aliens, that means Black people and Indians, not French-Canadians, and I cannot fight against that. Iím still white, unfortunately. Iím not recognised as being discriminated against. I could state clearly that Iím gay, but that is also not being discriminated against, as I suspect everyone working at the BBC is gay, or are they?


Anna Maria is the best thing I have ever written in my entire writing career. Anna Maria is the best thing that has been written this year alone in the entire England. If they pass beside it, I still have something to gall upon. The unexpected success of it at one publisher in town. Thatís how I see it. The outcome will be explosive one way or another. I donít care to get that job or not. At the moment that disheartening job gives me the chance and time to write that damn novel, and so one way or another Iíll soon be somewhere more worthwhile than a Crown Court, admin, civil servant, miserable, etc. The whole Manage of the place drives a Renault Clio, that tells it all. Better commit suicide than reaching the top and still be unable to buy anything more than a Renault Clio. Never saw anything more uninspiring in my entire life. No wonder the man is such a lunatic about union business. He wants a bigger car, no doubt. Come on, a successful Indian driving anything else than a Mercedes? Thatís already hard to digest. But a Renault Clio whilst being the top Manager of a whole Crown Court? What sort of society is this which would permit such a crime? He saw me looking at him, leaving with his Renault Clio, and that was it, our entire relationship was altered forever and ever. I know now, I know his desperation. He knows I know I can never expect more than a Renault 5 even at the top, and so thereís absolutely nothing for me to gain in remaining in that position. Itís not like one day I could become a Judge. And God knows I came close to follow that path, studying Law at the University of Ottawa, and thank God I dropped that dead there and there at the time. I will succeed in the path I have chosen, one way or another even if I have to die in the process. I donít care! Life is not worth living otherwise, and so Iíll get that damn BBC job on Friday, as nothing else will do. It is destiny for you. And I know my destiny better than anything else. I have not returned from Los Angeles and freaking out about it every second of the day in that miserable admin job every day for nothing. There must be a reason for it, and though a whole novel about England would already be enough, I fell that my destiny is crying for more. So I can see it clearly that coming back from Los Angeles was not a mistake, but was the best move I could have ever made. Iíll get that job, Iím certain of it as much as I was certain I would get that miserable job as a civil servant exactly one month ago. Thatís how fast my life is moving and events are happening, in my mere existence. I have no time to think, that novel should have been finished by now, and if it is not, it is because of that damn job interview with the BBC. Once that is out of the way, I will finish my masterpiece, even though I virtually had not time to even think about it or write it, and yet, it will be a reality faster than I can realise it, and it will change my entire existence. Thatís all, that is all, and that is all. Just watch me go.


Iím so happy now, cosí of course Iím drunk, very drunk on red wine. Just saw my boyfriend watching Doctor Who, special episode for the New Year, and he looked so perfect, so British, with the most perfect and British episode of the telly, whilst Iím listening to Suzanne Vega, and reviewing my short stories I sent to the BBCÖ I couldnít imagine a more perfect moment. Stephen looks as weird as one of the characters in Torchwood, never thought I could have at home what was so desirable on TV. Mr. Barnsworth is there in my monitor picking all his feathers one by one, just like I would imagine he would do inside the Anna Maria short story I am reviewing right now. Parrots are so affectionate, so impressive, so un-British, they make you want to move to the Amazonian jungle for a few days and observe them in their natural habitat. Must be an extraordinary thing which obviously I will never witness. But having that parrot in the flat, is a reminder that there are things going on outside our universe, somewhere else on the planet. Barnsworth doesnít seem to mind missing all that, wanting to be on me every second of the day. He seems to have truly developed a liking to me, even though I certainly do not deserve it. It is unconditional love. He was born in the UK after all, not in the jungle. So he is more British than I will ever be.


Iím so happy, because I have hope, faith in something more than my actual miserable existence. This Friday will be my liberation. Until then, life is a game, nothing more. I am on a fluffy cloud, and it will be a hard way down if I fail to secure that job at the BBC. It will be darkness, reaching rock bottom on a massive scale. I cannot imagine it will happen, and yet I know it would be the exact thing I would need to finish that Anna Maria book of mind within days. I would be then highly motivated. I would prove the BBC wrong, in not choosing me. Because then Anna Maria would then be the best thing ever to hit the British market since Harry Potter, nothing less. IF they hire me, not sure what will happen with Anna Maria. I would still finish it, and hopefully before I start working for the great BBC, but it could be less motivating. And yet, it will be finished soon one way or another, whatever is happening in my life. It is a necessity, the most important thing I have ever done. I need to clear my head, and concentrate. I donít care, never mind all those others in the UK who succeeded before me, they were not me, they didnít succeed as I will. I will be the new Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, everyone will know of my existence and the existence of Anna Maria. Nothing else will do. It is all, or nothing. I may need to write the second tome before this happens, but it will happen. This is me, my life, my existence, my future, my destiny. There is no other choice, it will happen. I will make it happen.


And there again you have it, after such of speech about undeniable assurance of success, I just had the biggest row you can imagine with Stephen. That even though I spent £1000 on us this month, Iím already minus £40 in my account, which means £70 of charges because that damn British Telecom Bill bounced back, and now that I went under, it is another £35 charge, and so I need to put £110 in there as quickly as possible, or there will be another £35 charge at some point. And so I cannot help Stephen with his car insurance, neither on paying Sky TV. Weíre in deep shit once again, even though weíre both working full time, and that I havenít even yet started to repay my creditors, which I will do next month.


Weíre so skint all the time, thereís no way out. He better find a better job, or I better make so much more money out of Anna Maria, that not only I will repay my £75,000 debt, but also have enough to buy us a huge house in the countryside, like Devon or Cornwall, I donít care, as long as it is still in the United Kingdom but away from Isleworth. Oh shit, any more money than that and Iím moving back to Los Angeles, and I donít give a shit if he follows me or not. I donít give a shit anymore about anything. Iíll move right back to Woodland Hills, but on top of that damn mountain this time. Oh no, somewhere in the canyons would be better, between Topanga Canyon and Malibu Beach, just as Leonardo dreamt it in his premonition dream. Thatís what I damn need after all this extra work I imposed on myself in the last 20 years. And when I think I could have simply watched TV instead, all my life, just like Stephen, what a wasteÖ


Because I have a tendency, standing in front of Anna Maria, to feel that anything I wrote before is meaningless and worthless. And yet, if I had not written it, I would never have been able to come up so easily with Anna Maria, which will make my success. So it was wasted, and yet, essential. As bizarre as it can be, I just have to accept it. Anna Maria will come out and it will be like none of the 25 or 30 other books I have written before, itís like they didnít mean anything, including the six published previous ones. Thatís great, wonderful, to be able to say so. Because the chances that I would ever have been able to accept such a statement is so slim, it required an Anna Maria, perfection, the perfect idea that could sustain me, my existence, and just about any friend and family member I ever had. And I came up with that idea, thatís all that count. And now it will make my fortune, and I know it, Iím certain of it, as I never was before. So thank God I came back to London and left Los Angeles behind. Now it better happen for real.


I havenít slept for days, I was a zombie at work for the last two days, and yet, it is not tonight that I will be going to bed. Fuck that job at the Crown Court, I donít give a shit if they sack me. Come on then! Sack me! It is the least of my worries. Iíve gone through so much, I really donít care. Itís not like in Los Angeles, where I was paid so much more than anyone and I had to prove myself, for what Iím paid now, never mind if they think Iím a slum because I drank myself to death the night before. That story could do a nice radio drama at least, if I cared writing it, which I donít. Even life in that Crown Court would do a nice hour on BBC Radio 4. And it would certainly be more interesting than all that crap out there. No one can accuse me of having a boring life, at the very least. And I found myself defending that crazy existence to my mom last week on the phone. Never mind. Iím dumbing you down.


Suicide is such an attracting thing when you feel that the path ahead of you is an impossible one, such an easy way out, and yet, I have to go through this, I have to make Anna Maria my biggest success ever and save me from these useless jobs forever. I have to, somehow. I have to.


Thank God, being from elsewhere, I can see the poetry here in England, unlike all those miserable British I meet all day, who think so little of their country, I feel they would not mind seeing it destroyed by Osama Bin Laden or their own government. I see the romantic side of it, at the very least, and that will save me, required for my sanity, as I wouldnít want to be anywhere else. But Iím growing impatient for something huge to happen, or else Iíll turn as negative as those Britishers are. It is after all contagious. When you live somewhere where no one in their sanity would chose to live, why the fuck would you want to live there for? Fiction. Anna Maria will change my state of mind, or else, Iím out of here. Iíll return to Los Angeles, this time as an illegal immigrant. Millions of Mexicans succeed at this game every year, Iím no worse than them. If they can achieve that feat, I can too. I didnít come back to suffer like hell, something will happen, or else, Iíll have to admit it was a mistake and get out of here. Friday is the critical day. BBC, here I come, or else, itís over, bye bye Europe forever. Iíll succeed somewhere else. I wonder how China looks likeÖ and if I decide to go there, God almighty, Iíll end up there one way or another, as nothing ever stopped me, and nothing will ever stop me. China is the last stop before I reach Space. After that, Iím out of the solar system. One way or another. As this will become my destiny, as perhaps it always was. You will never meet more deluded than I, and yet, everything I ever wanted I got, so go laugh somewhere else. In my reality, anythingís possible. Iím barely drunk, so fuck you! We obviously donít live in the same universeÖ mine is out of this world. I wonder about the Germans. After two world wars, surely they feel they are living exactly where they need to? Nowhere else do they speak German anyway, soÖ Germany is such a beautiful country, and the people I met there were so nice, hard to imagine that these are the people who wanted to conquer the world twice over. Must have been a fad of their leaders. And I always so wanted to speak German, even though there never was any good reason for it. Maybe thatís where I need to go and live. In the Bavarian Mountains, by one of Ludwigís castles. I know the place, even though I have forgotten tonight whatís it called. Maybe thatís where Iíll end up. My Anna Maria will turn out to be a German woman, I could easily adapt it. Could I write it in German though? Iím afraid, that like in England, it will take me 12 years before Iím comfortable enough with the weird language, to write in thy language. I couldnít wait that long. Maybe I should revert to French, it would be poetic justice, after all that Germany imposed on France. That poor France whoís been the first attacked every time, and the Americans to this day calling them cowards every time they can. Bastards. Perhaps if they had lived so close to the powerful enemy, they would think differently. No chance. They have nothing in their history which is comparable. They only need to show up at the very end of the World Wars to claim they won it for everyone, forgetting that many years had gone by where their President simply stated cowardly: ďAmerica is too proud to go to war.Ē Read your history, those are historic words from an American President, so they could avoid going to war for many more years until they had no choice. Shame on you, and I donít care saying so, cos I have nothing to gain from making friends in America. So I will speak my mind. Shame on you for calling the French people cowards without having read anything about history. Shame on you. Anyway, after George W. Bush, America has lost all its credibility, and even in America they must know that. So I guess, perhaps, they will forgive me.


Oh, I so wish I could listen to the Moody Blues all night, write Anna Maria, and claim Iím sick tomorrow. I think I will. I wonít, but God knows I want. The menial jobbies I have to do are so simple, I could do them whilst drugged to full capacity. And hence, useless to be sick. I think I will test my limits, once again. I think Iíll be sick tomorrow. And take the whole day to work and write till I drop dead. Wouldnít it be worth it, to finish the fifth short story? Only history could tellÖ


5 January 2007


Well, I guess that now I know exactly where my limits are, they are fencing me in an 1 meter square around my chair. I feel so bad right now, it has been one of my worst day, and not even because of the job interview in Central London at the BBC, but because of my day off yesterday. My manager virtually accused me of lying, he clearly stated that if I were sick again anytime soon I would not become permanent, that I have been there only 5 weeks and yet I have already missed a lot more work than many others, and even suggested that if I were sick it might have had something to do with drinking alcohol and not going to bed at night, asked me if he needed to tell me how to behave. One last thing, at this interview after returning to work after a sick day, he said that my excuse was not good enough and that next time it wouldnít do.


It is clear that all his game was simple mind games to get us all in lines, it is also quite clear that he barely had a leg to stand on, one sick day in five weeks? My first one? When I could actually be real sick, and when I actually was? Whatever the reason, he had no right to say all those things he said. Thatís the Scottish guy, and now I know heís a freak, and the cosy job I thought I had, is nothing like a cosy job. I had been the blue eye boy for more than a month, I was the model employee, and so I thought everything was fine. I saw the older Indian man called in the office a few times, and even then I didnít suspect that they were chewing up his ears. I guess I just found out that thereís nothing like an easy job around the corner, no matter your salary, your nightmare always depend upon one thing, how bastard his your direct line manager, and once again Iíve got the one from hell.


Whatís ridiculous, is that I know all of his game was unjustified, all his threats were overboard, he accused me of lying, he said he didnít believe me, he threatened me like if I was a bad element of his team, just because I was sick one day. He acted very unprofessionally, and yet, I was so shaken by the whole experience, I couldnít breathe tonight, I was in some sort of bubble, I was almost suicidal. What saved me is that it is so blatantly obvious that he was wrong and it was a mind game, that this was all a game. Can you imagine next time around though, when I will feel like I have really taken the piss and he will slash into me with his basic psychology of high school, he will destroy me, because I am a sensitive person who always worries about what he does, say, etc. I understand now that this place is not for me, and that if I donít get the job at the BBC, I will have to leave eventually.


The worse is that he could have said that after missing one day, I had already missed more work than many others in the building. They are never there! All of them. Theyíve all been sick for many days if not weeks recently. The fat British woman alone, because she was sick for two weeks, something like 200 accused spent their Christmas and New Year in prison and are still there to this day, when they could have perhaps got a bail out of there. Now, did that bitch go through hell as a result? O way, it was clear that she was sick. She still is, and perhaps even mentally.


Tonight Iím fed up, Iím dead tired, it is the culmination of so much work going into one job interview, days and nights reading, studying, writing, getting ready for that famous 40 minutes in the office of two of the most important women at Radio Drama at the BBC, and god, I feel I gave it my best shot ever. I donít think I could have done it better. I certainly did say stupid things, and this cannot be helped, and I probably showed my ignorance here and there, it couldnít be helped, but I feel I could not have done before. Which is sad that being sick yesterday destroyed all that, which should have been a celebration of this success.


And no I feel so defeated, so low, I have lost all my confidence. I keep thinking now that I was only the first one to be interviewed, and according to the cute little boy from Manchester who got me in and out, they will interview another 9 at least. One of them is bound to make a better impression and have unending knowledge about everything, and a credit list or CV as long as my dick multiply by 100 squared. And then he or she will be chosen, and I will be left to rot on that Crown Court forever and ever, suffering the Scottish Tyrant who seems all too happy to make all our lives a real misery when thereís no need to. Especially when I work so damn hard, always answer the phone, I was already picking up that phone after my first week, and the girl from the other office noticed that, mentioned it, how quickly I picked up everything.


I have fire in my eyes right now, I have unhappy and depression written all over my face. I just hope that by tomorrow I will have forgotten those two traumatic events in my life today, including the job interview. If I donít get the job, I think I will never again apply at the BBC. It would mean that I would never get a job there, and Iím certainly going through another month of working full time just to prepare myself like this for an interview. All my hoped would then be that damn novel I will need to finish and get published somehow, and this is what from now on that I will concentrate on. All my hopes and my long sought freedom will come from those few lines written about Anna Maria, and if not, I sure hope that faith in a better world will be enough to my survival in this world.


I feel better now. Hours have passed, Iím drunk, I can see more clearly. The only I should always see, in this world. And to be honest, when I remember what happened today at that interview, I feel like I was outside this world, outside of myself. I was not the one speaking, as if I was drunk then, and I was definitely not. Sincerely, I feel now, that I see clearly, that no one else will beat me to it, I cannot see how. I will get that job. How really cannot see anyone else having worked so hard at it, with the right credentials, capable of impressing them as much as I was able to in my short time with them. I do not see it. I can already see me telling my bosses at the Crown Court that I have to leave, and their reaction to that. I will be working for the BBC within two months, I know it, I will get to know all these people, I will excel at my job. My god, could they even get to produce Anna Maria? I know they received it, I know they may have read 10 pages of it, and that would have been enough hook them. Anyone better than me, and they would be afraid that guy or that bitch might leave them soon after for better pasture. Iím the best candidate. I was also the first one. Not sure how many they will see. It is a top notch high position according to the kid from Manchester who got me there and back. I will get it. Being the first, they will realise that no one can beat me to their petty answer they were looking for to test me. And of course, theyíve got it all wrong. It is not through those petty answers that they could get an idea about the potential of the person in front of them. And yet this is the game, and Iíve played it so well, I will get that job.


What a building! Right in the middle of the Strand, right in the middle of Aldwich. The kind of architecture that it seems today we have lost all knowledge of and could never repeat again. The nicest offices I have ever seen. I donít care travelling all the way to Central London everyday to work there, no I donít. Underground station Holborn, right on my line, the Piccadilly Line, thatís my name written all over it. And my god, I will make everything better, I know so. Thatís such the perfect job for me, it has my name written all over it. There is no way I wonít get it. Who cares about a Crown Court, and the petty policies of their managers? No one. If I have to stay in that job just to describe that crap, I might as well commit suicide right now, as not only it does not interest me, it wonít interest anyone else on the planet. I even thought yesterday about how I could at least turn my experience into a radio play, or include it in a story about Anna Maria, Iím sorry, nothing came to mind. It is so depressing and ordinary, everything cries out in my destiny that this was just to calm everyone down around me, I needed a job whilst waiting two months for the BBC to finally hire me. My destiny is too great and important to be wasted on stupidities and petty people worried about low mind games and unions. BeurkÖ I just puked all over the place. Could I at least write an interesting radio play about all that crap and these losers, without making it like The Office which has been so successful in the UK and the US alike? I hope so, so all this will not be wasted, apart from those few pages I have written so far. There are interesting characters there, thereís no two ways about it, they are perfect for a play, no doubt, well. It might inspire me something at some point after all. I hope so. They are from such different backgrounds, all of them. And such distinctive voices, all of them. I would not need much imagination to come up with something extraordinary about all of it. The fat British woman is the one I would hire first, sheís so annoying, sheís so entranced with the civil servant job and what it all means, sheís so perfect, I could kiss her.


I was even thinking that perhaps we should hire them all to record their voices to the play I could write, as they are so distinctive and perfect. Maybe it will inspire me something after all, but not now, not on what Iím working on at this time. Weíll see.


Iím pleased the Scottish Boy showed his real colours today, I had no idea of the extent of his personality, which is so intrinsic to the miserable life heís got and make everyone suffer from as a consequence. His voice is so distinctive as well, I heard the exact same one on the last computer game I played, an old Scottish sailor telling stories no one wanted to hear anything about. The Longest Journey, if youíre that interested in finding out. Best graphic adventure game in years to come out of this world. It is my life to live in those adventure games, my only escape, as I find TV does not suffice to make me forget how horrible this world is, and everyone within it. Without those games, I would not hesitate to state that they all need to be shot, so we could hope for some sort of peace in this world, some peace and happiness.


What am I doing? What am I to this world? Sometimes I really think I just deserve to die, never wake up the next day, I certainly wouldnít be missed, and I donít give a shit. I canít stand this world, I canít stand the people in it, I canít stand anything. The virtual worlds Iím creating in parallel, in order to escape, do not suffice. It does not compensate, it does not save me. I had enough. Iím tired. I)ím fucking tired of this pointless existence. If I donít get that job at the BBC, I might just as well commit suicide. I had enough. I donít want to have anything to do with this pointless and insignificant world. Iíve gone through enough already, thereís no point in continuing. I had enough.


If all that I have to hope for is that miserable job at the Crown Court, and finishing that Anna Maria novel, hoping to get it published, then I might as well abandon now. Getting that published is an impossibility, it wonít happen. And if somehow it happens, it wonít sell anything, and Iíll be back to square one. I donít understand why I cling to these stupidities to motivate me to continue to be alive. It makes no sense. I know it wonít go anywhere, what the fuck am I doing?


The only great memories I have remaining from my miserable existence, are all the ones connected with Leonardo whilst I was in Los Angeles. Everywhere weíve been together and everything he told me. And at the time I found him so annoying, and so painful to go with him anywhere, I cannot explain why this amounts to all my best memories of recent years. Why couldnít I appreciate it then? Why did I had to wait until I found myself in dead end jobs, stuck with miserable people? Oh, now I understand. What was I thinking? Please someone shoot me!!! Come on, if being right in the middle of everything, at the heart of Los Angeles, could not move me at all, then there must be something wrong with me which cannot be cured. Thereís no hope for me. I will forever remain un-phased by anything humanity could surmise to try to motive me to exist.


Funny, I just thought of something. Of all that I have written in recent years about all the places I worked at, I always felt bad at the idea of putting it all online for the world to read. Because these people, I cared for them, and they cared for me. And right now, that crown court, I wouldnít give a shit printing all over the world how little I care about any of them. It is obvious that none of them gives a shit about me, and I certainly could not care less for any of their feeling. I guess that tells it all. I would have never thought so, but now I realise it. The only people I really care about in that mad court house, are two Indians, who I feel and I fear suffered most terribly at the hands to these losers. I feel so bad for them, Iím crying right now. I donít understand how they go through life like this, how they can accept all that shit from everyone, when at heart they are such nice people, the only human beings I have met in a while. If I ever get rich one day, Iíll rescue them from their nightmare, and perhaps they will witness some sort of humanity to recompense them before they die.


Some souls are really lost, part of the game, and thereís really nothing I could do to save them, they wouldnít want it anyway. There are true genuine souls in this world struggling to survive, and despite everything, they are still nice and genuine. I admire them very much because they are years if not centuries ahead of me and what I would ever be able to accept and achieve. You can only spot them by mingling with the animals and savages of this world, I could never spot them all, save them all. I canít save any of them, I canít save myself. It makes you wonder and hope that there is a God somewhere which will recompense them at the end, because I fear I canít, and it kills me. Genuine people are rare. Shame on the people who canít even realise they have them on their payroll and learn to cherish them. It is so obvious to me, they must be really blind indeed. Shit, am I now going to thank life for giving me the opportunity to meet such people? They must exist everywhere, Iíve met them everywhere. Pure souls. Like I will never be myself.


Iím trying to convince myself right now that it was a good thing if I took one day off work, so I could finally get the pulse of the nightmare place Iím working in. I may have destroyed my image of the blue eye boy whoís perfect, but at least I now know what Iím dealing with, which is no different, and maybe worse, then everywhere else I have worked in recent years. Just a bunch of human beings incapable of appreciating life and make it better for human kind. Theyíre all on a mission to make it as bad as they can for all of us, make this existence the worst experience one can endure, and theyíre highly successful at it. They were born suckers, I hope they die suckers and get what they deserve. Iím no longer the blue eye boy, I will either become the black eye boy that I am anyway, or Iíll be out of there before it turns nasty. I donít give a shit about any of them, I will destroy them all in the end. That is what they deserve, and thatís what I need to do, denounce them all, identify them, reduce them to nothingness, which they are at any rate. And I hope they will recognise themselves for what they are. Small minded bastards who have a lot to learn about life, and how to make it better even in the details. No hope, Iím afraid, they will never learn.


8 January 2007, 2 am


It is amazing how a little pep talk with your Line Manager can throw you into existential crisis and bring back to you all the horrible memories of Los Angeles when I had to deal with that sort of crap on a daily basis. I liked that Scottish guy, we started on a good foot, and one day off sick destroyed it all. I was unable to do anything this weekend, I wanted to finish the fifth Anna Maria short story, but all I could do was to remain in a state of panic, throw myself into Celebrity Big Brother and organise my files on my computer. All things which does not require thinking. I would never watch Big Brother, but after the week I had, it all essential that I forgot who I was and all that I had done wrong.


So many little come back to me now, like my direct Manager, the British one, telling me that he walked in front of my apartment and saw all the bottles of wine there were for recycling. I canít believe it! Not only he check up on me like this, when most of those bottles had nothing to do with me and it is after all right after the New Year and people have been celebrating, but on top of it he told the Scottish guy about it, which brought about the accusation that I was drinking too much, didnít sleep and hence, I faked a day off and deserved to be sacked. I donít care that it is true, they have no way to know, so what if they were wrong? Throwing accusations like this, is no proper management.


There are dozens of other details of my return after work meeting which tells me blatantly that the Brit Manager took a long knife and inserted it in my back very deeply, and turned it a few times. What? Coming from an obvious drug addict and alcoholic who confesses himself everyday that he drank until 4 in the morning and is a zombie at work all day long? Unbelievable!


And now I go to work in six hours, I have been in a panic state all day. Once again I will have to play those childish games of playing the mute at work, so I can at least provide nothing for them to attack me on, to backstab me about later. I am trying to convince myself that I am jumping to conclusions, that surely this place is not going to be as bad as it was in Los Angeles, I simply cannot believe it. Itís the same everywhere, I can expect the same bullshit, and if I get the job at the BBC, Iím sure Iíll get it too served on a plate.


There is no point for me to write another journal about this, Iíve said it all in all my previous journals in all the jobs I ever had. I donít want to go through it again, I donít want to write about it again. I really need a way out, freedom, at least enjoy going to work everyday, like I did for the first month I worked at the Crown Court.


There is also that I am less than careful and I do attack people as jokes all the time. I canít prevent it, I canít stop myself, and hence I make many enemies, and they donít wait very long before declaring a war. I absolutely need to learn to be hypocrite and shut my big mouth if I get the job at the BBC. I have no excuse this time, it is the last job Iíll ever get, I cannot jump like this forever from job to job hoping it is better elsewhere, it never is. Living in Los Angeles was a dream for me, and yet, so many problems at work made me return to London. I certainly will not endure that crap for a job in a Crown Court, thereís nothing to motivate me to remain there. At least at the BBC, if people spit on me, I will be working at the BBC, and it should be a creative job instead of one designed to bore me to death. Iím going to try tomorrow going at work as if nothing happened, see if I can continue the way I did forgetting how nasty the Scottish guy has been, to the extent that I could not suffer hearing Scottish people on TV this weekend. Iíll give them another chance before I shut up completely like a clam and do my job all day without a word, just like a robot would. He made a storm within an ashtray, I guess I donít have to react just yet to such pettiness, as I donít feel justified just yet, as I feel he was unfair. Iíll try to work harder, I will try to be more than nice and not say anything negative about anything, and I might just save my ass. After all, I have to be realistic, it is unlikely that I will get the job at the BBC. It may sound like I am contradicting myself from my last entry, however tonight I am sober, so the truth comes out. God knows if I will get it, I just know that if I am convinced that I wonít, I wonít get it. So I better get all the confidence in the world.


I should not forget that I knew what I was doing, I was testing them, my boundaries, and now I know exactly what to expect and the sort of Nazi hierarchy at place in the Crown Court. Canít fight against that, Iím afraid, they will always win, you will always either be sacked or have to leave eventually so you can still remain sane. The question is, how long will they last, how long will I last?


8 January 2007, 8 am


I didnít sleep all night, thinking about work. Now they will definitely think Iím taking the piss by not going to bed anymore. And so when my manager asks me today what time I went to bed, I will have to say bright and early (you bastard). And perhaps add: and no, those bottles you saw this morning outside my building for recycling, are not mine. And maybe I should ask him right after if he got his dose of methadone this morning?


10 January 2007


I donít really feel like writing tonight, however I better mention what happened today, since it is a crisis in the making. I donít know how the subject of nuts came into the conversation, but we talked about chocolate, and that sometimes they contain nuts, and that Iím allergic to nuts, that was before Christmas. The subject came up again today and the young British girl could not prevent herself from shouting in the whole office that I didnít eat nuts except the ones of (mumbling)Ö as X said. I couldnít hear the rest, or her exact words, however it was clear she meant the nuts of another man, his balls. She also made it clear that she was reporting what my Line Manager had said in my back. It is not surprising that he would do such a joke about me, since it is not the first time I hear him make such a joke. The top Manager, the Scottish man, is gay. Once his big girly laugh came out of his office and my Line Manager said that once again someone had tickled his balls, to explain the girly laugh.


It is not so much a joke about the fact that I am gay that surprised me, what sent me into shock is that the bastard somehow guessed it, and told the whole office about his speculations, making jokes in my back. And that is my Line Manager. I was so stun by the implications, I remained silent against my will. He immediately told her: Am I glad youíre leaving at the end of the month. And upon seeing how silent I became, she turned around and asked me: I hope I did not offend you with my joke. I answered: most of the time, what you say goes right over my head, I donít understand most of what you say. I was trying there to pretend that I had not heard her, which would have made it easier on me. But then the older Indian man came back to talk about those chocolates, and I sort of freaked out saying, Please, can we talk about something else? So she turned around to me and said: so I have offended you then (how perceptive of her). I said no, and tried to talk about any other subjects after a long and traumatising 5 minutes of total silence. I wished I had laughed it off, as it stands, the only way I could have been offended by the whole thing, was if I was in fact gay. So it was like admitting it. And now they all walk in the office embarrassed, wanting to melt with the floor or the folders which populate our office. I certainly donít want to get any of them into trouble, for such a stupid joke, however I wouldnít be surprised now if I would be called in the office soon to be asked if I want to make a formal complaint against them, by the Scottish boy who is himself gay, though thereís no confirmation of this except his mannerism and jokes from his under link. Iím sure he will take the matter seriously, just as any racist comment in that office full of Indians would be a guaranteed gross misconduct and you would find yourself out the door. Of course, this is the politically correctness world gone mad which you would find in a Crown Court environment. Without it however it could quickly degenerate in a situation like what Stephen has been going through in the car and delivery industries for the past five years. Where he has been abused verbally to such an extent by crowds of employees, I really cannot understand why he has done nothing about it, I supposed it would have lead to an impasse where whether any of them had been sacked, he could never have worked there again. If you are responsible for either a crisis or if because of you someone gets laid off, you can be assured that your future within that organisation is over and everyone will hate you. In this day and age, I guess the solution is to work where such political correctness gone mad is in place, and then we can be surprised like I was when suddenly someone is willing to discriminate openly. It is also possible that she never thought I was gay, and so the joke could only be funny since I would not have felt threatened. As my Line Manager is pretty certain I am, since he put two and two together and knows I live with a man in a one bedroom flat, it was unthinkable that she could stitch him and backstab him the way she did. She does it all day long, backstabbing us all, how can he trust her that way? I bet he has not learnt his lesson yet. He canít help it, he is the traditional common British man who seems to be from ancient times, ancient values, with some appearance of having evolved and be open minded. In fact, soon I predict we will get back to a whole bunch of people thinking just like he does and discrimination against gays will not only be legal, it will once again be encouraged. Not hard to envision this, half of America is still highly homophobe and signs show that it is getting worse, not better. And just look at what is happening with the Arabs and Muslims, it is now virtually all right to be openly racist against these people and discriminate against them. Every time the Prime Minister and other politicians speak right now, it is almost an invitation to hatred so we will keep supporting their wars and other agendas. It clear that both in England and in America, being racist against French people is also acceptable and encouraged. You can read it everywhere, you can hear it everywhere, and there is never any outcry or consequence. All this because French people saw through all the terrorism min game and propaganda and they denounced it, instant enemy of the State. In the United States right now, it is even common to be racist against Canadians because they opposed the war with Iraq. Weíre getting there, a society more racist and more homophobe as ever seen before, with the means to get rid of all of us without anyone knowing about it. After all, the Second World War is only 60 years old, these type of mentalities are still here alive and kicking, and are due for a come back anytime soon. Rights are never acquired or given, they are lent for a certain amount of time where once again they have to be taken away from you, and we have reached that stage right now as a consequence of the terrorist laws. Being openly gay will once again be tantamount to suicide, and hence Iíll be one of the first victim of the New Era we just entered. And it start with innocent homophobic stitch in your back at work, in a Crown Court no less, an establishment dedicated to the respect of the law. And I sure hope somehow they can stop the madness, or elseÖ weíre due for another long fight.


12 January 2007


Friday, finally, Iím back home, hoping to some escape from the hell of a week I had. Stephen is back from work however, in quite a state, all because we have no money to finish the month. All bills are paid however, I made sure of that, but now how are we to feed ourselves, and the zoo? We have no more cat food or dog food. Enough grains for the bird, hopefully enough food for the fish, he got rats tonight for the snakes. No more salad for the tortoises. It is one thing for us to starve, it is another for the animals. It is just not acceptable. Human being can die anywhere anytime, and this is not a crime. But animals? Thereís no excuse, class 1 offence, sent for trials automatically, they have to come first.


We wonít go out tonight, with money we would have, perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. I felt like going out tonight, and yet, my universe is here alone at night completely drunk, with enough cigarettes or tobacco to last me the night. In my phantasmagorical world I created. Nothing can beat that. Unless of course youíre in Ealing, meeting Lindsay Lohan like we did last time we were there. That is worth anything there is in this world. She must have been filming here in Ealing Studios, all night she was interested in me, because I told her I was a writer. My cousin has still got to recover from this experience. Maybe I should call him tonight. I donít know his number. Can I find it? I wonder.


I couldnít find it, my mom told me he was leaving in the next few days to go back to Canada. He decided not to marry his fat girlfriend, his first ever girlfriend, and now God knows what awaits him in Canada. I hope he wonít have to regret it, I know I would, what a big mistake that is. I would not hesitate one second to marry a fat bitch if it meant for me to remain in England.


After hearing Stephen complaining however, I think I might be ready to go back to Canada. Heís tired of being skink. He cannot stop complaining, thank god tonight Iím plugged in into my music, I canít hear anything. I hope it is satisfying for him to complain to the walls, hopefully he thinks I can hear him, thank God I canít. It is only 21h30, will he fall asleep anytime soon? I wonít kill him, even though these are the thoughts I have right now. Unfortunately he is not suicidal. He might eventually die of an overdose, I canít see it happening however since he is now on methadone, provided by the State. He wonít die, Iíll die hearing him complaining. Iíve got to find a way out, get out of his life, get him out of mine, somehow, whilst staying in the UK, in London, somehow. I canít stand him, he canít stand me, coming back to London might turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life, unless some money fall from the sky soon. The lack of money is drinking him completely insane, while I donít give a shit. Money has always been the last of my concern. As long as I had a computer and I had the time to write, thatís all I ever needed.


It has been such a hard week, I truly wonder how I survived it. Five days at work, in a dead end job, with colleagues talking in your back and planning your downfall, and management playing mind games to drive you completely off the wall, is way too much for any sane human being. Not only the Scottish cunt made sure he annihilate my quality of life last week by playing hard with me, he has attended only two days this week, and for the whole time of those two days, he has been in his office for only 30 minutes altogether. So he can go and screw himself, I have lost all respect for him. He can bet that at the first opportunity, Iíll do anything I can to destroy the him. I will never protect him, I will never do him a favour, I will never do anymore than what needs to be done for me to stay out of trouble and get paid at the end. I have absolutely no loyalty, I would just love to tell him that I found another job at within days of him treating me so badly, well, I would love nothing better to see him stuck at the bottom of a well. How do you do this? How can you go from being the most friendly boss which your employees would like to get to know better, worked so damn hard for over a month out of loyalty, to wishing you dead. It certainly must be the worst management skills I have ever seen in my entire life. It is obvious that the guy doesnít have a clue about motivating his troops. Had we been in Iraq, we would have all committed suicide by now and Iraq would have won. I would have felt much better shooting my superior than the enemy, as the enemy in my eyes would be clearly defined, it would be the one playing with my mind, making me lose my sanity for three days over a trifle.


I have no more time to waste with anyone in my life. I donít give a shit about anyone anymore, or any crap. If someone turns around after I took one day off and tell me: take one more day off and you will be sacked, I only wish to tell them to fuck off and that I quit, on the spot. Might sound extreme, but I had enough. It is like Big Brother, how little details after a while is all they need to finally start crying and leave the house, when they knew damn well that it is what they could expect and they prepared themselves psychologically before going in. It tells you a lot about human nature. Weíre all terribly fragile, sensitive, and we donít need much to feel deeply hurt, start crying, whether we are male or female, they all cried so far. Three left on their own accord within 10 days. And yet, when you look at it from the viewers point of view, it was nothing! How dare they be so weak, cry for nothing, and leave so readily at the first little crisis? What are we missing here? What does it mean? It means that details are all that is required, and that little mind games are far more powerful than anyone could have thought. Before we get closer to any sort of happiness or world where people are happy to be alive, we would need to be so gentle with everyone, I donít think we would ever be able to reach that point, as first we would need to understand it, and we donít seem to have the capacity to understand what other feels, and we are way to ready to laugh at them, or destroy them for their weakness. When it is our turn, we sure are no surprise to find that no one is willing to help or understand, quite the contrary. And so we have no choice but to suffer in silence in our bubble universe. And yet, it is all universal, we are all weak, we are all easily shaken or hurt, we all hate this hierarchy at work and these mind games, these management fads and other. We all hate some people, colleagues, and yet we spend more time with them than with our own family. We are we obliging ourselves to do things we donít want to do, with people we can barely stand? It is beyond me. What is also surprising, is how willingly everyone seems eager to make it worse and impossible to breathe and be happy at work. I donít understand. And yet, Iím sure they too suffer and would love to have an easier existence. It is puzzling. I canít stand any of them anymore. Today I didnít say a word, I didnít answer the phone once, I didnít go to the counter when people rang. I did my job. None of them had done anything to upset me, however the was electricity in the air this morning as it was Friday, and both the Brit girl and the old Indian man were on the rampage to hurt each other and it was coming my way. So I had to retire in my bubble to prevent a crisis. I created one by doing what I did, however I didnít explode or shouted at any of them, thank god. I would not have needed much, I tell you. I couldnít have controlled myself. I almost lost it when one of the usher or clerk moaned and moaned about a few things I did wrong, God, I needed all the self controlled in the world not to turn around and tell him that he could fuck off and go back to his own office. He put all those folders in order he said, my God, none of them are in order! That is why in the end I gave up and I put one file over the most likely pile where I felt it belonged to. You would have thought it was the end of the world. And I couldnít stop thinking that those losers who canít even put in order 200 files, would be back within a week to blame me for having put it all in disarray, when they never were in order to begin with! My God! How incompetent can they be? I had enough as well with the old Indian Man who does fuck all all day, dumped all his work on me as quickly as he could, and now I get blamed for his total inaction for the past year or so. Three crisis erupted from the clerkís office this week, all with me very much at the centre of the crisis, when I had absolutely nothing to do with any of their complaints. For a second there, I thought the might powerful Indian woman in there had a vendetta against me, now I think it is that the older Indian man has been so careless and inactive in his job that sheís probably right to be in a panic state. I worked so hard since I started, I feel I have done much in a month and a half than he did in the last year. So much so that today the big top Manager sent a big thank you email to my Line Manager to thank him for all the great work that has been achieved. When the old Indian man asked what about, it turned out that it was all that he had dumped in my laps. And so he said candidly that all the credit was to him and I had nothing to do with it, of course he was sort of joking, but at the moment I can no longer stand him or his twisted sense of humour, I hate the man. My Line Manager followed suit saying that he was too happy to take the compliment for himself, and would certainly not credit any of his staff. And so it turns out that I worked so damn hard, enough that the top Manager noticed, someone who knows nothing about what is going on in the General Office, and none of them, including probably the Scottish man, will know that it is all down to me. And thatís nothing, I answered every single phone call and the phone rings every two minutes. None of them answer the phone. There are ten people in the office at any given time, and none of them answer the phone! If I had not answered the phone at all, I could have triple the amount of work I did, and so I could have been a miracle worker. As it stands, doing a third of what I could really do, I still managed to shine beyond any hope, and yet they will most certainly find a way to get me out that door, one way or another, within weeks, hopefully within days.


The only persons who have a brain in that place, are the nice Indian woman, the Irish woman and the Chinese guy. Only the Chinese guy is not in a position of power. It takes him two hours to get to work in the morning, two hours to go back home. He definitely is the one who should get promoted eventually, over the nice Indian man who is now my friend, and whom I regret to say, I have helped to get eventually promoted. I said in the office that after 8 years working there he should be promoted over clerks who had been there six months, he said he tried four times because one person or two hated him. And now the older Clerk of all, who just retired but who will still be coming two days a week, virtually the only British clerk in there, heard us, and came in and said his name as if she was about to say something and said: never mind. I realised then my mistake, she went out and talked, and the other nice Indian woman as well perhaps, and now the nice Indian man will be the boss for a week at the beginning of February, and perhaps eventually of the whole General Office, as this is how it starts. Two are wrong with this picture. First he is incompetent, I have to admit. Second, the Chinese is so obviously the brightest bulb in the place, and knowledgeable of everything, you would be crazy not to promote him. Finally, I made powerful enemies, and most of my problems started since that very day. I donít even know who my enemies are, but I feel it might be the Scottish man and the other Indian Manager of the Clerks office, the very people who hired me. I guess they regret now, just like I do. Who could have thought that with one stupid little sentence, said when I thought that no one was around, could have so drastic a consequence on my career and the one of another Indian man? He will get promoted, I will eventually get sacked.


Good for him, he has five kids, he is far from retiring, has lived in Russia for some 20 years or something, and is from Pakistan instead of India. Which makes me wonder if perhaps I got myself into the middle of a personal racist war between the Indians and the Pakistanis in the office, and since the Pakistani is so nice to me, and the Indian one such a bastard, I got myself on the wrong side of the war. I personally cannot make the distinction, I couldnít tell them apart, so itís not like if I care about this, whoever is nice to me, Iím nice back, whoever gives me shit cannot hope that I will sit back and ask for more. War is war, and I will fight back one way or another. As for the nice Indian woman I like so much, I think sheís Indian, but I couldnít be certain, and Iím not going to ask.


Thatís it, I know now, I understand. I canít believe it took me so long to get it. My best friend is Pakistani, and not Indian, and now I am the enemy. Iím sure thatís it. I couldnít explain why suddenly I was under such fire after working so damn hard. Pure racism by association. Amazing. This is a first ever. And yet, the man is sort of being promoted, or certainly being groomed to be. As if my innocent sentence suddenly made it clear that they were racist, and Iím talking about the other Indians, not the British, who Iím sure, cannot see a difference between Indians and Pakistanis. Well, I did say in my CV that I was against any sort of discrimination, so in the end if I get sacked because they are racists and I obliged them to stop discriminating, then I guess it would have been worth it. And if ever I start my own conference company, Iíll come back and hire that Chinese guy.


Sometimes it can be so difficult at work, when I think about how miserable a job this is, and how at home I am being treated so badly by Stephen. I look out the window and cannot imagine that I gave up Los Angeles, the reasons are now far from my mind, and once again only the good memories remain. I miss it terribly, I cannot understand what went wrong, why I left which such a smile on my face, just to come back so defeated. I can so easily see my life once again working in Los Angeles, or even in Westminster, and elsewhere. I have never keen on routine, and Iím glad I never really got to suffer that long before moving on and changing just about everything in my life at a momentís notice. Though I canít help but imagine what life could have been if I had remained longer in those positions, and perhaps I am missing something huge about where I could be now. I canít even imagine it.


Iím the first one to say that I will never regret any of my decision, that things happen for a reason, and so far I never had to doubt that, and I fear that I might have to eventually admit that leaving Los Angeles was a terrible mistake. Perhaps this is why I worked so hard on my novel which is entirely British based, I could never have written that in Los Angeles. Also that I want that BBC job so badly, as this is something else I could not and would not have got in Los Angeles, and it would be quite something to get it, certainly the equivalent to working in TV in L.A. Even better, BBC Radio Three and Four, this is like, the top, intellectual, intelligent stuff, what more could you want? Right down my alley. So I cannot say yet that I regret coming back, since I have no idea what life has in store for me. It could turn out that it was the wisest decision of my entire career, and yet if it turns out that I will be another five or ten years without anything significant happening in my life, then I will have to think that perhaps in California things could have turned out differently. However, I have never been keen on thinking like that. If youíre good, if you have talent, it does not really matter where you are, it will happen. That is what I always thought, but perhaps Iím wrong. In the UK, you need talent to succeed. In L.A., you donít. Which means, you have more chance over there. If you have talent, then you double your chance. Right? Who knows. And perhaps I have no talent after all anyway. Perhaps I should just accept my miserable little existence of Civil Servant at my local court and shut up for good. If Anna Maria fails, then thatís it, Iím afraid I will never write another book again, and I will have to accept my total failure. I guess I had a nice ride so far anyway, enough to impress the gallery for the rest of my life if I ever go back to Canada. However it is not my style to boast about all that. No one at work know that I have books published, that I lived in Los Angeles, that I worked in television, and the worst thing is that I donít even fell like telling them, I donít give a fuck about anything anymore. Most of them I would mind finding them under a lorry somewhere, crushed to death. I wouldnít mind at all, only because Iím sure they wouldnít mind finding me under a double deck bus in the first place. Arenít human interactions just lovely?


15 January 2007


I didnít get the BBC job in Radio-Drama. I guess my accomplishments are not as great as I thought, or that more successful people would have killed to get that same job. After all that I have done for this interview, I can barely believe I didnít get it. I have no idea on what count I failed, or if I didnít at all and someone more impressive came along. All I know is that it has changed my whole perspective on life and my actual situation.


Coming back from Los Angeles now is not so wonderful, if all I have to justify this is Anna Maria, perhaps it will be enough, but my God, I will only get to know it in years to come, if ever that book gets published. In the meantime, I should now be highly motivated in finishing it, as it is certainly my only way out of the Mad Court House. And now Iím stuck there forever with no hope in a better life ever. Reason enough to commit suicide, I know that much.


I am so gutted, all my energy has just got snatched away. I donít think I will ever work for the BBC in my lifetime, and so now I think I wonít even try. I feel like hating the BBC for this, that might motivate me to succeed in other ways, not sure. Iím so tired of trying, so tired of working so hard, I really feel like giving up right now.


20 January 2006


Five days have passed since I got to know that I didnít get the job at the BBC, and this week at the Crown Court, it has been very depressing indeed. Nothing happened, they told me at the end of the week how quiet I have been, it was my bid to avoid any trouble by being too familiar and inviting contempt. I have thrown myself into Celebrity Big Brother in order to forget my life, I have not written anything, and my motivation has never been so low. I donít want to be reminded that great projects are being created out there and that there is no way for me to be part of any of them. I feel I have a creative mind, an unusual one, and yet, society has never been able to recognise it and to help me develop it further, to the point where I am wondering if finally I have that creative at all and if all my projects could look completely uninspired. I know it is not true, and yet, I cannot stop wondering. I canít live an uninspired and routine life like my colleagues at work. Iím glad they have children and feel that this is their legacy, at least theyíve got something. I donít have that, I will never have that. My children are my books, and yet, they donít grow, they donít interact with anyone, they might as well be in a cemetery, dead, without ever seeing the light of day. Rejection is a hard thing, and yet, thatís the story of my life.


So this week at work I was a zombie, I was reduced to nothing, and this job was my existence, for a very long time to come. I donít feel like getting another job, I know it would be worse, especially if I have to take the tube or the train to get there. It seems I have failed to find a job where I wouldnít have, like in Big Brother, to suffer and suffocate in a room smaller than my apartment, filled to the brink with a bunch of backstabbers waiting and hoping secretly that I will fall flat on my face. There is nothing I can do to escape that nightmare.


I felt small this week, insignificant, a low rate human being, a third class citizen. It was total despair, that it could very well be what the rest of my existence will be all about. Iím not sure I could accept this, I know this is not good enough. Iím all for that I need to make it happen, I have to work hard and achieve great things all on my own, and that if I have the talent, it cannot fail to happen, however I no longer think that way. I feel it is clear that I will need help along the way, I will need someone or some people to give me a chance to get it out all there, and I am well aware that a miracle would be required for this to happen, and by miracle I mean that it is highly unlikely to ever happen.


Something tells me that there is no way I could work in that Crown Court for a decade like many of my colleagues, and still be, 10 years later, at the exact same point. Iím not certain how long I could bear this before shooting myself in the head. So many things I could be doing right now across the world, so many places and countries I could visit, so many interesting people I could meet, so many books I could read and so many books I could write. This is what has been denied to me with this full time job around the corner. I am missing out on life, on what I feel I should be living and learning, and instead all that I have been given is pettiness and patronising people who treat me like if I was shit not even worth considering.


23 January 2007


I have fallen in the routine of going to work everyday, and as the weekend passes so quickly, I feel Iím working all the time. I must have a lot of free time, however Celebrity Big Brother is eating it all up. One week left, thank god, this damn programme is so addictive. I bet mentioning it at my interview at the BBC cost my new career in Radio Drama. Or perhaps it was that I was going to see a play in Richmond with Billie Piper in it, only because she is in Doctor Who, and I couldnít tell them the title of the play. Mentioning Shameless certainly takes the cake, I wouldnít have hired myself if I heard all that in one interview. This is what I am afraid to find out when I contact them to get feedback on why I was turned down. That your whole career could go down the drain because of such details or petty things. Oh well, if nothing else about me impressed them, then I guess I didnít deserve working there.


There are only four persons in the building at the Crown Court that I donít like. The one I immediately identified as the most dangerous, sheís returning to another Crown Court for good at the end of this week. The second most dangerous one is the old Indian man who is constantly on the attach, whinging all the time, and backstab someone at least once every hour. Thankfully he is so sick, being 63 years old, he spends as much time in hospitals as in the office. Many times now we have come close to have big arguments, and the only thing I have on my side, is that he already has a reputation of getting into trouble. I am not privy to with whom he has had trouble with, I hope it is not of me that he talks when he says: it has been one hour without getting into any argument, I am getting better. It is very embarrassing, because as soon as he arrives, I shut up, and it is obvious. I also ignore most of what he says, all his attacks and digs, thankfully he gets the message and does not insist. I also will go out of my way to ask the other Pakistani, Chinese or anyone else any question before going to him. What is awkward here is that I inherited all his work, and so he is the one I should really be asking the questions to, as often he is the only one to know the answers. I just know that eventually I will have a full blown fight in the office with that guy, and I am afraid about the consequences, which leads to the third most hated and dangerous person in the office, the Scottish big top manager.


Itís a shame really, one full month of liking the man, thinking he could become a friend, and all I needed to find out about his true nature and the sort of management we are being subjected to, was for me to take one day off. And now I cannot look at him in the eye, I cannot speak him anymore, he really gets on my nerves, and I would more often than usual answer the phone as soon as he comes out of his cavern to talk to everyone with his over the top voice which scream: Iím gay! And again I find out that having gay colleagues is far from making anything easier, theyíre all like impetuous children who must have it their own way, they are also emotional, control freaks, independent, stuck up, proud, and prone to reject anyone who is not in their opinion either cool, in, beautiful, etc. And so, I must rate very low on their list. Thereís no hope with the Scottish guy, but he certainly frighten me off to death, as I am unlikely to take another day off work unless Iím dying and that I have showed them that Iím dying by dragging myself to work and coming back home after.


The fourth and last most annoying and dangerous person for me at the Court, is a usher, and hence he is not even working in my department. Again, it is an old man, British, White, and miserable. He seems to have gathered a lot of hatefulness about the world in his existence, no wonder they put him on finding files all day, and replacing them in the dead rooms day after day. They donít want to see him in his office. The problem is that after him, I am the person who is most likely to have to find files and pile them up in every corner until they can be processed, and since I have no time to process them, all I do al day is classifying the sheets of the files I need to find, and then try to find the files. So he hates me, because I make his life painful. Anytime there is something wrong about anything, up he goes in the office of all the Managers and moan until they have to get back to me and freak out at me. He has backstabbed many times now, to the point that I no longer acknowledge his existence. Today he accused me of having lost the keys to one of the dead room, last week it was that I was responsible for mixing up all the files on the shelves when the person responsible for that mess was the old Indian man. And myriad of other things. Today he even started to attack me out loud when I was speaking with the girls, the two temps we hired for two months, whom Iím in charge of training. I ignored him, pretended I didnít hear and went back to my desk. I hope he gets the message. Avoiding these people is all I can do at the moment if I want to avoid confrontations and fights.


Ignoring them is made easier by the fact that Iím always so tired, that everything anyone says comes to me is if I was in a dream, or from very far away. I can easily shut myself up in my cocoon and do my job.


It is also the first time that I am in the public sector, and all they can talk about is working conditions, low salaries, no money, and strikes. There is one at the end of the month, but as I am casual and not in the union, I cannot take part in any strike. The Scottish guy said that when he started there was a 10 weeks strike, and he was the only one who went to work everyday. Well, Iím certainly going to try to avoid this, I need to get into the union as quickly as possible, because I wonít be alone in that hell hole doing everything whilst everyone is comfy at home enjoying the strike. They appear to have many strikes a year, with little results. And who cares anyway? No one. It does not affect anyone within the government whether we do our job or not, it only angers everyone else in the public, including all those defendants who as a consequence will spend many more days if not weeks in prison as a consequence.


Funny how in the private sector, going on strike is something we would never have considered, as we would have been sacked the next day. It is very unfair that all civil servants can have that weapon against their employer, whilst everyone else suffer in silence or move on. At least, theyíre usually better paid.


I also miss having intelligent people around me, I mean with PhDs, knowledge, culture, etc. I had never worked somewhere before where everyone is just a complete slum, and their mind certainly never worked harder than watching TV all day. I never told them yet that I am a published author, and something tells me that it wouldnít impress them anyway, they could end up hating me for it. I better keep quiet until I am permanent. About that, I have now to apply again and fill out all the forms, for the job I already have. I will be in competition with everyone else in the country who has a daughter, like the woman who called yesterday, who wishes to work at the Crown Court. I would like to think that it is a mere formality and that I will get the job, but I donít know, I could very well not get it, and then it would become impossible to continue to work there. The interview is a board, and I donít know who is that board, if they know me, and hence, if they donít like me, I might not get it. Considering that I have applied for a similar position at two other Magistratesí Courts and never even got an interview, I might not actually be successful at getting the job I already have. Iím not alone in that weird predicament. The HR department in Westminster seems so incompetent, they managed to sack the Chinese guy, and now he has to reapply for his job even though he has been working there two years. He has to fill out the forms, and my God, he is up for a surprise, it took me a week originally to fill out those forms. The bundle had 90 pages altogether. It is irony that the most undesirable jobs on the market can become impossible to apply to since you need to write them a novel to even get an interview, which usually you never get. But once you get the job, if you wish, you can doss around all day, and thereís nothing anyone can do about it. I chose to work like mad, and hopefully they will notice. I think they did, but somehow, I feel they will chose to remain blind to it. The two older Indian men are doing nothing all day, that much I know. I have been hired to do their job, whilst they daydream as much as they can get away it.


Maybe the Chinese guy is actually applying for a bigger post, my God, if he moves to another department or other court, weíre fucked. Heís the only one who knows what to do, what heís doing, and who seems to have access to everything. Lose him, and we might as well shut down the Crown Court.


24 January 2007


As predicted the day before, today I had some sort of a row with public danger number 4, the usher. He moaned and moaned against me today like he never did before. He was instructed to find a few files for Standard Fees by one of the clerks, files that I am supposed to find myself but never had the time since I have something like 6000 Graduated Fees waiting for me on my desk, and for each of them I have to find the files. He found a few, and it gave them the chance to freak out and tell everyone in Listing, the General Office, the Clerkís office and the Usherís room, that I was incompetent. He even found a file on my own desk, would you believe? When I had only 5 files on my desk. That was his crowning achievement of the day. I came back from lunch and the bitch who leaves at the end of the week, public danger number 1, who was too delighted in rubbing it in, and telling me after lunch out loud that I was in deep shit. I said, let me guess, the usher has stitched me up. I wasnít happy about it, and I went on to say that he didnít like me, that I had my fill of him, and I slashed into him. I should regret it, but I donít. I no longer care. I need however to survive until the end of the week, after that she will be gone, I will be off for training the two first days of the next week, and then the strike hits us. A lot of water will have passed under the bridge by then.


In the meantime, Stephen is being bullied at work on a daily basis, and comes back home in such fowl moods, that Iím the one suffering the consequences, as he bullies me in return.


25 January 2007


Today I assisted at my first Official Union Business Meeting. I have learnt a few things, that Iím in the wrong job, the wrong type of English Courts, and the wrong location altogether. Thankfully in my case salary is inconsequent, so I donít really care if we are the first paid civil servants in the country, and the worst paid civil servants in all the different type of courts as the Magistrates Courts get a good thousand pound per year than us and a collection of advantages we donít have because they went on strike a lot in the previous year, and our building is so old and falling in disrepair, many of the courts are like freezers and thereís nothing we can do about it. It does look like I can join the union and have a day off on 31st January, however maybe this is not the right time, perhaps I should show up at work as usual and impress the Managers, as well as proving to them that I am no threat by not joining the union. Going to the meeting today was already a step too far, but I needed some content for this damn diary about life in the Mad House. The thing is, there isnít much more to say. The union representative we have is the top Manager of the place, and hence, it is totally useless since we will never dare complain to him. We canít even suss him out, as if he wants us to go and strike or not. I think it is clear that he doesnít want us to strike, and you can see the problem, since he is our representative. So I guess union business at our Crown Court ends with him and now I can understand why we are the worst paid civil servants in the whole country. I almost pop the question today, how incompetent this union must be if communication broke down with the government and they were unable to get us at least what the Magistrates Courts were able to get for themselves, and still be the top worst paid people in England. Another irony is that my salary is so low, I canít afford to join the union, it would be all I need to bankrupt myself. I am not even talking about the unpaid days of strike, Iím only referring at the costs to join a useless union which has shown how ineffective they are. I believe theyíre only weapon is strike, and yet, no one in the government will blink twice about it, especially when I can already predict that almost no one will go on strike on Wednesday, mostly because no one can afford losing the money.


The old Indian man who is so annoying to me during the day, has proven to be one of the most dedicated fighter of the union, and unafraid of the big bosses. He pointed out many things which no one else would have ever said in front of the bosses, and even said that we needed another representative who is not the top Manager. When we got out, I said: My God, you are fearless, the top Manager must hate you. He rebuked me and answered: He does not hate me, he hates you, even your Line Manager hates you. I have to say, I wasnít ready for such a poor taste answer. I couldnít believe the top Manager had an opinion about me, so I didnít really care about that. But that my Line Manager could hate me, I feel it might be true, as they go for beers on Friday nights, and he must have heard many things. Once again hard work my be totally useless, and might not count in such an environment. Because he could he hate me when I have been working my ass off for him? I guess I could have gone for a beer, but then I would have to admit Iím gay, because it is the first question that will pop up, especially since I know that in my back my Line Manager has been telling everyone already that he suspected that I was a queer. It did hurt me that my Manager could hate me, I told the nice Indian woman, and she told me not to worry about it. And in the end, thatís what I did, I removed the thought off my mind, especially that the old Indian man might have simply said lies to be spiteful.


I did say one thing in that meeting today, and I sort of regret it. In all of this, if we go on strike for two weeks, many people in prison will remain there not for two more weeks, but perhaps a few more months, as the backlog becomes so great, no one can get rid of it. And all those people who have not even yet been proven guilty will rot in prison for what could only be perceived by them as forever. No one in that meeting gave a shit about it, they donít either on the day to day job. If doing something means someone out of prison, they donít care, they still wonít do it for another few days at least, if not weeks.


26 January 2007


Last day of the bitch from the other Crown Court today. New guy starts on Monday, and we lost our temp, she will be replaced on Monday by another zombie, I wonít be there to train them, since Iíll be on training the first two days of next week. And when I come back, Iím not sure yet if I can be part of the strike or not, I have sent my application to be in the union tonight only. £8 a month is a bit much, but I will not find myself the only sucker in the office whilst everyone else is at home during strike time. I may have mortgage my future there by joining the union before Iím even permanent, but who cares.


No more alcohol in the house, I had to go fishing in my old bottles of Scottish whiskey, wondering once again if it can still be good after 10 years, when it has already been aged 10 years before. Still going well, I have to say, shame it is such a disgusting drink. But hey, if Scottish whiskey had not been so undrinkable, I wouldnít have it for times of emergency, like tonight.


Celebrity Big Brother is coming to an end this Sunday, and itís about time, since I barely wrote anything since it started. I still need to read again tonight my fifth short story, which brings it to 200 pages. I would hope to find the inspiration to write the sixth one this weekend, the one happening in Sidmouth. Once that one is finished, I will feel I have achieved something, as Iím not too sure about the seventh one, The Box on the Seven Dials. It is a story which has been with me for a very long time, since my come back to London in 1995. I have many versions now in French and English, it almost became a book in French, but I never had the courage to finish it. Probably a good thing, since there could only be one version now, the one incorporating the Duke of Connaught and Anna Maria. Having so much material about a story is not a good thing, it makes the writing process ten times longer, as it becomes a process of adaptation. Maybe I should write it from scratch and come up with better stuff. Soon Iíll be able to send that book to my good Scottish friendís agent, and hope for the best, but Iím not expecting anything from her. Neither from any other agents which I will be sending it to in the coming weeks. I know very well that you can have the best book you have ever written, and yet be unable to get people to read it or to appreciate it. I guess it will end up on my website, and then, letís see if I will have the courage to write tome II.


Letís speak about one of the celebrity in Big Brother, Ian ďHĒ, who for a while was a huge pop star as part of Steps. I wouldnít be surprised if you have never heard of him by the time you read this, as I would imagine that 20 years would have passed by then, in all likelihood Iíll be dead by then as I donít intend to live forever. I never really liked Steps or pop music, however I was in Cannes for a Congress a few years ago, and in one of the hotel a company threw a party, Steps was one of the band singing. I have to admit that I was quite impressed, I never understood this madness for boy bands or such, even though Depeche Mode had been so qualified in the early 80ís, but at least they were not manufactured like Steps has been. What was impressive was the energy of those five kids dancing and singing, it was really powerful. I filmed the show, put it on my website, and was almost arrested the next day, and nearly got me fired from my job. I was that close to have my website shut down for good by some lawyers and agents. So Steps in my case is sort of personal, since I nearly ruined my career over it. Well, time has passed, and now Ian admitted to being gay. Canít believe he waited that long for saying so, he came out just before going into the house. I remember thinking at the time that he must have been gay, as he was so damn good on stage, I donít think I ever seen one of those boy/girl member of one of those bands move was so perfectly, as if it was natural. Thatís talent. Talent which would never have gone anywhere without those manufactured bands. I wonder how many of him there are in the country which will sulk for the rest of their lives. And then, Iím wondering if I will ever myself get anywhere with my writing. I may never be discovered after all. And the worst part of this story is that you never actually really know if you are worth discovering at all, and so all the rejection could very well be entirely justified. Another depressing thought, this lack of confidence, the same one that made Edmond Rostand say, the night on the opening of Cyrano de Bergerac, that he was so sorry for the actors for the biggest flop of their career, when it went on to be a triumph. Then again, you need to write that masterpiece in the first place. Which brings an interesting question, what is a masterpiece when it comes to writing books? Which book could be considered a masterpiece? At the moment I can only think of Anna Karenina of Tolstoy. I read many so-called masterpieces in my lifetime, most were quite interesting, but nothing I would call a masterpiece. Iím quite annoyed by the hoo-hah concerning Albert Camus, his books bored me to death. And yet, when we look at Anna Karenina, it is but a love story like thousands others, so why this book, why that story, why that author? Is it all prefabricated masterpieces decided by convention behind backdoors, sometimes for the wrong reasons? I know very well that all the books in Quťbec that won just about every big awards in the last 40 years, have all been about politics sometimes barely hidden behind a useless love story. There is nothing in Quťbecís literature which I like, and can even bare reading. They have sank any great author we may have had, because it was perhaps not exactly or about politics or Quťbec as a nation. I on the other hand, was never inspired by any of this, I always saw much more globally for that, seeing us as the human race, and no local patriotism would have inspired me anything. And if one day I become a known author, I hope they wonít say that Canadian author, or even French-Canadian author, as I have nothing to do with Canada and I donít want to have anything to do with it. All I saw there was rejection, and so, they should not be able to claim me back if ever I succeed as one of them. I never was, I never will be. I was never a separatist, I like my country the way it is, Iím proud of being Canadian, but sometimes I really cannot stand the image they project. Even the one of such perfection and rightfulness. A lot of those English Canadians are so conservative, it makes me want to puke everywhere. In fact, I think I will dedicate my next short story in Sidmouth to them. Iíll keep them in mind while writing about those rightful citizens of Sidmouth who wants to get a purified world through castration of everybody until no one can breathe or live. I guess one day I will delete that last part, letís hope Iíll die before I can do so, and at that time I wonít care for what I said and the impact it could have. At the moment, nothing I say has any impact whatsoever, and so Iím free to write whatever I want.


Tonight Iíve spoken as if I was about to die. As far as I know I donít have any threatening disease, but I think this job at the Crown Court, and the prospect that this was my new career, has sort of brought back in me the idea that I was mortal and that I would one day die. As if I could not imagine any sort of great future for myself and that I would still be there in 20 years. If I knew that for certain, I would seriously consider suicide right now. How do these people I met there worked there for 20 years, and still live to talk about it, is a mystery to me. They must be the most un-ambitious people I have met, as the money is shit, and the place is like a prison. I meet a few criminals everyday, they come to the counter asking why theyíre not listed, and then I go on to the computer, see that they have robbed people, hit them, two inches from killing them, and then they come to court to ask me questions. I see in the cold light of day those bastards who make everyoneís life such a misery on the outside. Iím trying not to judge, Iím as nice as I can possibly be, understanding and all, but inside I feel really weird. Sometimes I feel the only way to make this world right is to bomb it to kingdom come. Iíve said many things like that in the past, speeches of doom and gloom, you can rest assured that I never truly believed any of it. I am well aware that I was the first one to cry when the twin towers in Ney York fell down, however, I also have to add, that I was also the first one disgusted by how this has been use to manipulate everyone into our ultimate downfall which will certainly lead directly to a worldwide Civil War. And if no one acts upon it, I guess Iíll have to be a t the forefront of it all, assuming I just donít simply fall asleep on my keyboard, as I always felt quite detached from everything happening around me. I always felt like an outsider, probably helped by the fact that I was gay and rejected from early on. I was never part of anything, and so all that remained for me to do was to observe and pass judgment. Iím quite impassionate at times, I can see corruption destroy a country, and yet, I donít really care, because I see it more from the point of view of history, not like in the present moment. And being one without a country or nationality, in London, then I certainly could not care less about what is happening in the US, in Canada, in France or the rest of the world, I cannot even identify with what is happening in Great Britain. I feel I have a unique point of view, hopefully objective, but Iím not so sure about that, as Iím not certain if an objective point of view exists at all in this world. It is already so rare to find people with their own opinions, this planet is filled with parrots, and I feel that my own macaw Mr. Barnsworth is more intelligent than most of them.


What interests me most in Big Brother, is how it reflects the life on the outside much more closely than anyone could think. There are cameras everywhere, we are watched all the time, there is an audience for everything I do or say wherever I am in England. All my words are carefully registered in their minds, and if I step the line, there will be a log of everything I have done and said and it will be used to incriminate me. Racist comments and bullying is a common occurrence, some are better than others at doing it totally legally and without being able to be proven to be doing so, and yet, on TV it explodes and creates an international incident and crisis. My actual Line Manager is a bum, an alcoholic, probably a drug addict, has made some racist comments, even in my back said stuff about my own sexuality and so is guilty of discrimination. And yet, he is the best Manager I ever had. When people go to him to backstab me, he never mentions it to me, he corrects the mistake, I donít even hear of it. How cool is that? I know managers who would have made a big fuss over anything, multiplying meetings, endless talks, until we all cracked and declared an outright war. And how perfect do we need to be as employees when your own boss is a loser? He is a perfect example of someone who got in a higher position just because he was able to remain in a position long enough that he was the only choice left. He knows nothing about what we do, he couldnít help or train anyone, how cool is that? And so he has no ideas of grandeur, he doesnít see himself as perfection, as god overlooking his sheep. Someone so imperfect could not expect perfection from us. Someone like that would never be scheming late at night about new ways to destroy humanity or trying hard to make it much worse for all of us. If anything, there is something to be said about getting rid of all those management books, rules and regulations, and promote no non-sense people who you would never in your right mind, in the first place, promoted. I would like to see him as a Prime Minister, and suddenly I feel that we would all be safe forever. Because what he is worried about is to get out of there at 5, before if he can. To save £7 a month, he never joined the union. But when there is a strike, he joins in, and cancels his subscriptions a week later, so he can go on strike. He makes more mistakes than I have ever known a manager to make, and yet, he admits it, and he doesnít care. He told a right bitch at a Magistrates Court to fuck off, I nearly did the same two days before, as these bitches hang up the phone on us when we need their help, whilst we have to break our back to help them, and yet, as it turns out, the only reason we need their help, is because they havenít done their job in the first place by sending us all the information relevant to all cases. That bitch made such a fuss, she immediately contacted the Top Manager of our Crown Court, trying as best as she could to get my Line Manager to be sacked. I supported him all the way, I told everyone that I almost did the same two days before, and if I could shoot the bitch, I would. And now that Magistrates Court, is on our black list. So if youíre a small criminal in that area, it might be preferable for the time being to move in the neighbouring borough, because we are most likely going to lose your papers, and ultimately that might be a good thing for you, who knows. You might also rot in a prison for a few more months, because Iím certainly not motivated to deal with any cases coming from that Magistrates Court. And you see how stupidly and easily a lot of innocent people out there can become unfortunate victims of human pettiness. And this is like that all across the board. Mind the judge you get, the first one will put you in prison for 20 years, the second one for 10, and the third one will let you walk free. How subjective and unfair is that justice system, Iím asking you? In those conditions I could only trust a computer, and I donít care if that logical machine decides one day to eradicate us all, it would mean that we damn deserve it.


About that Old Indian man at work, enemy public number one in so many ways, and my biggest danger, there is something I have to admit, I like him, I like him a lot. He has many detestable qualities about him, and he could be the one to bring my downfall in the Crown Court, and yet he is like a puppy, a desperate one, and in some ways, he is likable. Next Wednesday I will have some money, hopefully, so I can actually afford a beer on Friday night, and then Iíll go with him and learn whatever it is I could learn from him. The first time it stroke me, was at the Christmas do, he looked distinguished, like someone, unlike the others who look miserable and seem to belong in such terrible positions. He has style, class, and is actually quite funny. In fact, he reminds me of my grand father, and my grand father is gay, so he could be too. I thought I had met him before, I couldnít remember where, but I think it is the gay pub of my home town, the only one. My God, if he turns out to be gay, married with the same woman for 40 years, reminding us every hour, what a scandal! I would have the biggest weapon against him ever. Of course, I would never use it, Iím not like that. I look forward learning more from him and his three children, one of them in Swindon, where Stephen goes every day to deliver things with his van. Dear me, I could easily turn all this into a novel, a masterpiece, mind you, I would probably die out of disgust before the end.


I received an email a few days ago about a film crew who just finished doing a movie called Journey to Calcutta. This is the first project I rejected, and this is also the first project I ever came close to that actually went somewhere. The movie is done. How do I feel now? I felt bad a few days ago, now I donít care. I wouldnít have wanted to be part of a film called Journey to Calcutta, I donít care if it rips all the awards. It is not me, I never went to India. I could have wasted two years on this, and on nothing else, how would I feel today whilst it bombs everywhere? We all follow a carefully calculated path, mine is leading me somewhere, there is no mistake, because there cannot be any mistake. Whatever happens, whatever I will write, will become me, who I am, and hence, starting to second guessing myself can lead nowhere, because then it wouldnít be me I would be talking about, it would be someone else in a different timeline. Where I am now is all that exist, what I will be as a consequence, is all there is, and I cannot be but proud of it, of all my achievements and accomplishments, never mind if they donít go anywhere, we are what we are, and we have to learn to live with it. So fuck Journey to Calcutta. My name will be associated with something entirely different, and even though I have no name or credibility to speak of, I know what I donít want to be and I know what I donít want to do, and I should respect that until the day I die.


27 January 2007


Isnít it annoying, that every time I start a new project, someone else thought of it as well. Sometimes it makes me think they got the idea from me as I put it on my website, and sometimes I feel it goes beyond the coincidence. However there are too many coincidences, and hence, there are just that, coincidences. I had already written four short stories buy the time I found out about the series called Spooks by the BBC, featuring an agent of MI5, and another one from the CIA, a blond woman, and there you are, you have my Duke of Connaught and Anna Maria. How annoying is that? Oh, and it is big budget, it is well researched, no doubt by a team of at least 300 people, and so it looks more than professional, whilst I have to write the whole thing by myself, and do my own research in parallel of a full time job as an underpaid civil servant.


Thankfully they stick to MI5, they bring the old terrorists out of the closet, IRA, the Russian Maffia, the Muslims, etc. So it is nothing like what Iím doing, and yet, my main character is the Director General of MI5. I was wondering about that, maybe he should be the head of Scotland Yard, or even nothing at all, as it would not make any difference to my book in the end. He could work for the department of agriculture, and it would not make much difference. And I have been wondering if it was wise to have there the top man of MI5. when I presented my story to the BBC, I thought it was a bit childish to have there a James Bond type of guy, and they must have thought, oh look, that kid is copying our own programmes, Spooks. Now, the question is, do I stop or continue, Stop, Stop, ou, Encore, Encore, to paraphrase an old song of Plastic Bertrand. Well, I guess I will continue for now, it is a bit late in the day to change all that, though Iíll think about it. Perhaps he should be the head of New Scotland Yard instead, but then, the big Sherlock Holmes beacon will shine. Maybe I got into terrorism a bit too much now to step back, I donít know. I guess Iíll discuss that with my future publisher, if I ever find one. I reckon it would take me less than one night to switch from MI5 to anything else. Iím used to making that kind of change on massive scale in record time.


I just watched an impressive episode of Spooks where they simulated a terrorist attack, however the guys at MI5 didnít know it was a test, they thought it was real. Best episode Iíve seen so far. And yet, I question myself, I wouldnít have written anything like it, because it would have been boring on paper. And if it is boring on paper, Iím sorry, I cannot go ahead. TV makes it look so much better, they could get us to swallow just about anything, and it would still be interesting. One great sentence since the beginning, I must have seen at least 8 episodes now, something like: ďgoverning over a country without people, must be a politicians dream.Ē It was a great sentence, because in the end, this Big Brother state, or radical regimes like Hitler or Staline, becomes a bit useless, because if you kill all your citizens, what is it that you have power over in the end? Nothing, and it is all meaningless. And I have been wondering about that, this thirst for power, which makes no sense to me. And it is only after listening to a documentary that I kind of understood, some people really want power, they crave it, and they donít mind killing half the population to get there, as long as there are still a few people you can have power over, and no one else who has power over you, then it is all worth it.


And actually, whilst Iím on the subject, I thought Spooks at the beginning existed as some sort of tool against the actual governments which tend to be a bit more fascist than usual. And now, Iím pretty convinced it is a tool of propaganda to work with the government to frighten everyone. I have a clear subtext in my book against the government, I even make my Duke of Connaught an un-likable anti-hero in order to denounce what the government is all about. I am careful though to keep it short and not bang anyone on the head, because if it becomes obvious, I might turn off my readers. In no way should I become a moralist, like they did recently in some episodes of Stargate SG1. In one of the recent episodes, Colonel Carter found herself in a parallel universe where the President has become a bit more extreme than George W. Bush. And then Carter goes on national television to remind us that we, the people, are in charge of our destiny and can get rid of an administration if we really want to. Great episode, and I need to watch it again. But it is way too obvious. In my last short story I talk about the civil servants, and what the government is doing about it, and how terrible it is. At the end of the day, no one reading the story could tell on which side I really am. Do I feel civil servants are incompetent or not? Is the government treating them badly or not? I donít know, I have no opinion on the subject. And yet, I just brought up the issue, Iím not taking sides. If my character says something, it is not me saying it, it is him or her, carefully integrated into who they really are and capable of thinking or doing. Thatís the whole irony of it, and thatís how I like it. There is a danger though that the readers might not like the Duke of Connaught, and could be a terrible mistake from me. Why do I do it, when I could so easily have baddies instead speaking those words? Well, my characters are flawed, and thatís the way I have written them. I intend for them to learn as they go along and learn from their mistakes, just like normal people, just like the people in the government seems to think at the moment. So itís real, this is not the world of Walt Disney. If people cannot stand an anti-hero as their hero, then maybe they should go and read something else.


I have serious thinking to do about tome II of Anna Maria. Iím wondering which is best, keep the same characters, same locations, same job titles, and continue, or find a totally different line, something new, new characters and locations and plots, same principle though, seven short stories all linked together in one continuous novel. You see, if Anna Maria fails, because of the clairvoyantís idea, and the MI5 idea, then I must have something else to fall back on. If either one picks up, then Iíll concentrate on that instead of the other.


The thing is, if I think of a great idea which has nothing to do with paranormal, then it is a bit superfluous. I could have two different sort of main story lines and then write in the one more appropriate. Like the sixth short story for example, it does not really require the powers of Anna Maria, and I thought I would create bad weather and render her incapable of reading anyone. At the same time, it is too perfect to be anywhere else than in the Anna Maria universe, because it is the town of the Duke of Connaught, as he is high up in the government, people come to him for help, etc. I will see.


29 January 2007, 00h13


I just watched the end of Big Brother, and I feel electrified. Iím also very drunk, on pure whisky from Scotland, hey, it only takes two days to get use to it, and start drinking it straight. As Stephen spend many minutes explaining to me, in order to save our orange juice and our bottled water. Better drink it straight, and thatís where I am now. Training for the next two days, downtown London, Westminster once again, DCA headquarters. According to my Line Manager, this is a propaganda training session, and I need not retain anything that will be said there. Charming. And so tonight I drank half a bottle of whisky, and God help me tomorrow for not falling asleep during their wonderful and pathetic training session. Without Big Brother, I would have finished my novel by now. But without Big Brother, I might have committed suicide this month, as my job is the most boring I ever had in my entire career. Without any sort of escape from this reality, I would be dead now. And finishing a novel, can hardly count towards giving me hope and save me from this nightmare that life is. Iíve come to the conclusion that this book will not save me from this horrendous existence, that it will hardly be noticed, if published at all. Maybe I should end it here, right here, right now, tonight. Thereís no hope for me, and whatever success I might encounter in the long term is certainly not worth it. Right, one glass of Scottish Whisky too many, how can I proceed? How can I kill myself here tonight. I expressly made sure that there would be no knife in the house which could do the job. There isnít enough pills here to do the job either. I donít have a car, it has been lost with the insurance company for the last two months. There is perhaps a bottle of methadone in the house, I wonder if drinking the whole thing would kill me? There is also, supposedly, a gun, somewhere, but I never found it in 12 years, so I guess this is out of the question. Methadone it is, then. Let me check if there is a full bottle. Yes there is, a big one. Funny, at my lowest in Los Angeles, there was still a way out, coming back to England. In England, for the last decade, there was always a way out, my return to Canada. Today Canada no longer exists in my mind, thatís no way out. Back in London and being miserable, I guess thereís only one solution, that famous bottle of methadone. And thereís no other day better than Sunday for that, because by the end of the week that bottle will be emptied, to be replenish next Saturday by Stephen who desperately needs it to survive. Well, his salvation will soon become the end of my existence. Because as soon as I lose faith in Anna Maria, then there is no more reason for me to exist. And tonight I have reached rock bottom, I sincerely donít believe that this is the book that will save me. I have way too much experience at this, every single book I have ever written has been a disaster. I simply cannot imagine Anna Maria saving my soul, Iím dreaming. Iíve got to be realistic here, even Harry Potter would never have seen the light of day if someone at Bloomsbury did not decided to take a risk, on a book which has been refused by every single publisher in England. And this is how thin the frontier is between total and utter failure, and complete success, which will make the author richer than the Queen herself. Luck, in the end, this is all there is. And Iím not lucky, I can tell you that much.


Well, tonight there are only two avenues for me. I am prepared to kill myself, drinking a whole big bottle of methadone, or, put what I have of Anna Maria online on my website, and hope for the best. This is a shit idea. Iím ready to die. Putting Anna Maria online will have no impact whatsoever, at least for a few years, until I see all my ideas, once again, all over the TV, without anyone contacting me to work on it, all stolen, from the first idea to the last one, because no one out there seem capable to have one single original idea. Shame, shame on all of them, for stealing so blindly, me, of all people, who never got anything from all the work I have ever done, all that imagination gone to waste. Now you can understand why I feel this world needs to be eradicated from this universe. It all become clear, isnít it? Iím out of my mind, yes I am, what do you expect, Scottish Whisky. Time to die, it was a horrible existence, no thanks for the nightmare that was. You deserve to die as much as I. Goodbye, Adieu! Forever. Thatís it, the end, The End. Where is the rest of that bottle of whisky? Should I poor a little bit of Methadone in it, at least, to find out what Iím missing? Stephen told me that even a few drops would have quite an impact on me. Iíve got nothing to lose anymore. I have nothing to lose.


If I decide to end it tonight, perhaps you would like to know the drug that has brought it in. The Edradour, Est. 1825. The smallest distillery in Scotland, Single Highland Malt Scotch Whisky. Glenforres-Glenlivet Distillery Co. Ltd. Edradour Distillery, Pitlochry, Scotland. That is the culprit, this is the liquor which will bring my downfall. Right now, I feel, this is the best whisky in the world, and you will note that Iím not using the term Whiskey, which in that world, is quite essential. Whiskey is from Ireland, whisky is Scottish. And right now, Scotland is all that I have left. Iíve been there thrice, briefly, and I have been in Ireland once, briefly. Right, I have to decide, which one do I love best? I canít decide. I think I will have to vote for Scotland, as the place I would like to end up, and die. As north as it is possible to be, I donít mind snow and the cold, Iím sure they need someone speaking French out there, I should move there tomorrow morning. I would, if I were my only master, but since I am not, then perhaps I will just kill myself instead. And this is my last words to humanity: Fuck you! Fuck you all! May you kill each other greatly, and the universe will never have to ever listen to any of you ever again. I am an anarchist after all, the worst kind, as I have no agenda, no idea, no wish to save the world. I am for the complete and utter destruction of humanity, and find out if the universe will still exist after that. As I donít it will. Because this reality is a human invention, it does not exist on its own right. I could have invented it myself, so someone else did. And I have to tell him, or her, or it, that it sucks big time. I could have come up with something much better, and now, as a result, I will end it, I will kill myself. I donít care, I donítí give a shit. I come from the last place on earth anyone in their right mind, would want to come from. I have achieved nothing of any real significance, and yet, I donít give a shit. The miserable existence I have been suffering since the day I was born, was not worth any of that shite. None of it! Nothing! No! Eat it! Swallow it! Puke afterwards, I donít care! This is all bullshit, all of it! You are nothing, I am nothing, weíre all nothing, we all need to die, we all need to disappear. We have never existed. We are a disease, we are but bugs that no one in this universe will even have a thought about. We are a mistake of nature, and if not, than we are worse than parasites, and most probably we are undesirable, just like how we think about body lice. Thatís what we are in this universe, on this planet. A good spray or shampoo would take good care of us, annihilating all of us, as at this point, we are about to kill our host, the Earth. And the Earth deserves better. Poor soul, that in all the solar system, is the only planet who suffered from a bug infestation, and will eventually die as a consequence.


And after this great debate about life and death, Aristotle and Plato, Homer and Virgil, hereís reality for you, tomorrow I start a two day training brainwashing session about how great are Crown Courts in this country, and how we should behave in whatever circumstances. Just give me a gun, and Iíll show you how the crown should behave. Lucky if I am still alive tomorrow morning.


30 January 2007


For the last two days I have been going to Westminster for a training session, just like in the old days. Iím glad I donít have to take the train anymore, it seems more packed than ever before, and I almost had a heart attack when the ticket master asked me for £9 for a travel card. £9? This is double the amount of what it was 10 years ago. Same thing for the Evening Standard, it used to be 25p., now it is 50p. Many other things appear now to have doubled, like the congestion charge for example which was £5 a day, it is now £8 and will be £10 in a monthís time. So, in effect, since my arrival in England, you could almost say that everything has doubled in price, in one decade. This means an inflation of 100%, or 10% a year. I have certainly not seen any increase like that in any salary, and so the people of England are becoming poorer by the day. Now I have two excellent reasons not to work in Central London, first I hate taking the train and be squeezed to death everyday, second, I simply cannot afford it.


Funny how the DCA, Department for Constitutional Affairs, is trying hard to convince us they are helping the civil servants so much, through a myriad of networks and other helpful sub-organisation within the department. Well, I think these have been created out of necessity by employees, because civil servants working for the DCA must be the poorest people in the country. And those are not children out of school waiting to become lawyers or doctors, most of these employees are older people, middle-aged, without the brain to find something better or for whom money is not important and they feel this might be a less stressful life, which could not be further from the truth. I will join anyway the Rainbow Network, the gay organisation within the organisation, and weíll see whatís happening there.


Tomorrow is strike day, not sure what to do about it. Iíll go tomorrow morning as usual, see whatís happening, and then go and do the grocery, I have not eaten anything consistent for at least a month now.


I often think of Los Angeles, remember great memories, feel bad Iím here, especially that it is on TV every day on all channels, but there were too many bad memories as well and I have accepted that I could no longer continue that career in that horrible company. And so I miss Los Angeles, but thereís nothing I can do about it. I had to come back.


I miss an excellent Italian restaurant in the San Fernando Valley, the canyons, Santa Barbra, all the places Leonardo brought me to, I also miss the sun, it is very grim at the moment in London, miserable and all. I also miss the palm trees, it was really like living in a video game, a graphic adventure, as this is the only place really where I used to see palm trees. Even programmes on TV seem to hide the vegetation, so it seems that we could be anywhere else in the United States, I think they are aware that Palm Trees are far from representing most of the American States.


I hope I wonít get into trouble because of the strike tomorrow, it could be what will lose me my job in the end. At the same time, if I am to have that job for many years to come, I may as well try to make it less miserable by striking, we are really underpaid. Funny, I just happened to see the offices of my union on my way to Waterloo, just after Clapham Junction. Must means something, it is a sign. I guess it says that I will be all right.


The day is now over, I am on my way back home. Nice group of people, half of them black, the other half oldish and uneducated, most of them are certainly not racist, and racism is what we talked about all day today. We didnít talk about gays at all, probably because no one who was gay at that meeting would have admitted it in the first place. It is something to be openly gay at work, it is another to shout it on all the roofs and amongst strangers.


I spoke a lot, as usual, and the training woman asked me at lunch which court I was working at. And I said: why, am I in trouble? And she quite bluntly answered: Do you want to be in trouble? And damn right she could get me intotrouble, she is part of human resources, I could easily have her there at my interview. Her and her colleague made it clear that to make sure there is no discrimination, I do not have more chance than any of the other candidates in getting the job I already have, and so now I am really afraid that I might not even get the interview. I didnít for the two other magistrates courts I applied at. So I will do my time, but ultimately I should be planning for my next move, it is clear I wonít be working at the court very long. Most especially because my actual managers have no say in who gets the job.


I also learnt that if I pass the picket line tomorrow, I have to go to work. I have been told to simply not show up, because if you pay to be in a union, and if the union is fighting for your rights, then you should morally support your union and do what it is telling you to do, or else, your money is wasted because they will remain powerless. Those wise words were utter by Tony, a charming black guy who was at the meeting, certainly the brightest mind I have met in the whole court system in England since I started. He is also a span 6, I am span 3, which means he is quite high up in the hierarchy, and I am virtually at the bottom, as I have not met any span 1 before, and span 2 or 3 is the same thing. Surprised the guy would work for the DCA, when he obviously could earn a fortune on the outside, in the private sector. Before that he worked for a job centre, so he must carefully choose to work in the public sector, perhaps he is very intelligent after all, he knows the private sector is hell and unsustainable. And heís got the solution, by being ambitious, e is now quite high up within the DCA, and probably earns £40,000, more than I ever got in England.


Something amazing happened at that microcosm representing the whole of DCA around the region. It is that many of the people there physically looked like others working at my Crown Court. Others had the exact same problems I had, like having only one pen, always losing it, and get myself into trouble by asking for a new pen and having to sort of go through this mental exercise of: what, you have lost your pen again, what have you done with it?


Or temps who donít do anything, it seems quite common, and a myriad of other situations with our managers. I even had my own double there, a white man who tried very hard to get a job at the Court, only succeeded in becoming casual, is also an AO, Administrative Officer, and has now to go through another full scale interview with the board, to get the job he already has. He faces the same as me, and this simply prolongs our probation, because it will be six months plus all the time we would have worked as casual. So it may be another year before I am permanent and safe. Up until then, they can get rid of me quite easily and I have absolutely no rights, which makes paying the union a stupid idea.


My man also had to go through the same problems as me, learning what to say to all those enquiries on the phone and at the counter, no training whatsoever, having to learn this Crest software which is older than any of us and which is so complicated, that it is not possible to get to learn it without a professional trainer, has no one else has got the patience to teach us. He told me of situation which were identical to mine, and so you can see how even though we believe we are unique, we are far from being unique. It explains why statistics can be so accurate, we are all the same and living the exact same experiences. And I feel this thought is depressing. Finding out about this during a meeting about diversity is quite ironic, as there is no diversity in this world. I bet there were a few gay in the closet there and Iím sure theyíre all going through the same stuff as me. A few must also be AOs.


I am now back home, I received a message from a certain Anna in France who said she wanted to speak to me and she wants me to call her back. Is this finally the phone call I have waited for all my life which will deliver me from my salveís life? She said that she wanted to speak to me because of my knowledge of London, so ultimately I guess not, however, a phone call is much more serious than a letter or an email which ultimately I might never receive, since spam is very good these days in preventing me from reading important emails. I will call her in a few minutes, and find out.


31 January 2007


I donít understand how I was ushered in the office so quickly when I was so determined to go on strike. Got up, spoke to Stephen, who called his mom who was my reference to get the job, went to the office to see what was happening, had a word with the top manager, and he simply pushed me in without even listening to what I had to say, as if he thought I was trying to get in despite the people on strike. So I spent the whole day there with little staff, and I was the only one answering the phone. It has been a real nightmare. I wish now I had stay in bed.


At least I had the opportunity to get to know the newbie, who took the place I wanted in the office, and I need to find out tomorrow if there is a reason if I didnít get to sit where the girl who left used to sit. Perhaps I already have plenty of enemies in there, and I donít even realise it. I am also the hardest working one, and that I am sure of. And again, this is not good reason enough to keep me there, I think they will try hard to get rid of me, all that because I said once one sentence in the defence of a Pakistani there, who turns out to be the only Muslim in the whole building, amongst a whole bunch of Indian Sikhs who appear to have taken power of the Crown Court.


The Muslim guy told me today how much he suffers from racism and how they have been ostracising him for many years now. And since the British Government has declared war on the Muslim countries, being racist against them right now is almost the new policy of the DCA. Great training yesterday about equality and diversity, and the very next day I come back to a bloodbath of racism from virtually all the Managers in the Crown Court. And of course, ignorant as I am, not understanding the distinctions between Indians, Pakistanis, Sikhs and Muslims, I only saw one human being being picked on for no apparent reason, and I went to save him, however what is going to happen is that I will sink and will be kicked out in no time, whilst heíll probably still be there in years to come.


I can only come to the conclusion that the only way to survive in this world is to always shut your mouth and do your job, because if you do not shut your mouth, no matter how hard you work, they will get rid of you.


Which brings me to the three newbies, one has been there for three weeks now, but sheís so stupid that she knows as much as the two others who started on Monday. They are extremely slow motion, they are doing nothing all day, and they donít show any sort of potential or energy which could indicate that once they pick up the job, they will be motivated and faster. It is so exasperating, I felt many times like kicking them in the butt today to get them into gear, because what they donít do, I have to do. However, this display of extreme incompetence will help me no end, because beside these morons, surely they will realise how good I am at my job. If only, I know now they will choose to be blind.


I have also learnt today that officially the Scottish guy is gay and has a long time partner. He is also openly gay at work, but of course, openly gay means he mentioned it once years ago, and since then it has been a taboo subject that has never been talked about again. And so I feel I will need to declare myself gay rapidly in order to get back in favours with the Scottish guy, because right now he is most certainly trying to get rid of me, I also feel that it is unlikely that he will still want to save me once he learns that Iím gay as you cannot expect sympathy or help from other gay people, they donít feel that way from my experience, they wonít help you just because youíre gay, quite the contrary, often you will be seen as a threat.


I have also been told that they hate my Line Manager, the one I was praising yesterday or the day before, that he should be Prime Minister because he was the only great Manager I ever had in my entire life. They probably hate him for the very reason I believe he is the greatest manager ever. They must have tried to get rid of him, but I guess after so many years it is not easy. Maybe they just learnt to live with him. Or there is much more going on which I am unaware of, and I might find out more on Friday when Iím going for a beer with them.


So, all in all, I prevented leaving them a bad taste by not showing today, and I got some brownie points for helping in a time of crisis, and I learnt a lot more about whatís going on there. When I left, the Muslim said that he would drop me off home, and I declined because I said I really lived around the corner, now I regret as it is obvious he wanted to tell me more about what he is going through. He is writing down everything they do against him and I guess once he is really stuck in his corner, with nowhere else to go, he will make his stand and who knows, perhaps destroy them all. I hope so for him, as for me, perhaps it is good if I declined, because if they see me plotting with him, I will definitely never become permanent, and what help will I be to him then? Iím not ready yet to go on crusade to save the Muslim of the office, but I can see that one day I might have to, because if he ever needs a witness in any tribunal, I will certainly not let him down, and I donít care losing my job over justice and rights, as I hate bullies, and I hate racism. And in this day and age, how dare they act like that? Especially in a Crown Court environment?


2 February 2007


Tonight was my big night out with people from work. I was supposed to hear all the gossips, who hate who and why, and the side I should fall under to insure my future or annihilate it forever. Unfortunately, I could barely hear anyone down that Thai Pub, and hence I sort of heard them bitch all night about everyone, but I still have no clue about whom they were bitching about.


All I know is that I thought this was a rough pub, and as a gay guy myself, I was quite frighten when I got in. First person I saw was the Manager bitch who hired me, I was quite embarrassed to sit next to her, but not as much as her. It seems she can get friendly with all the gays in the place, but as I am still in the closet, that door is shut to me. I was explicitly told by my mother in law to not tell anyone that I was gay no later than yesterday, she was my reference to get the job there, you see, so I had to respect that. In the meantime, everything is crumbling down to dust around me, and I feel that it would be much safer for me to tell them all that Iím gay. It would instantly get me the favour of the two main managers there, the first one being gay, the second one being a fag hag. And now I think the Chinese guy must also be gay, the bitch white trash woman from another court whoís left now, but was there tonight, hinted at it, and he told her to shut up. So I guess that is it then. And I thought the Chintok was straight, because even though he still retains some sort of self respect, being from Hong Kong, slim and well dressed and all, he still comes to work with dirty shirts and un-popped zits. That says it all, how could he be gay then? So I donít know what to think about him, except that he is good friend with the Indian Manager, and that could only be achievable if you were gay, like the Scottish guy.


I tried, I tried so hard, to get them on my side, it was an utter failure. Even after everyone had left, I remain with the old Indian man, trying to sympathise with him, telling him he was my role model, and he really is since he is not afraid of anything or anyone, but I failed. I guess it might have something to do with the fact that I ignore him all day at work, because he is an old fart, and has no patience, and this could easily become ugly. I realise now that I have the same problem with the other Pakistani guy, he has no patience at all when training me, and it takes all my energy to remain calm under pressure. Whatís wrong with them, I have all the patience in the world when comes the time to train the newbies, I actually enjoy it, and I do understand that they will have forgotten everything I told them 5 minutes later, because this is all human beings are, we are useless at everything. Except me, of course, because I write a novel every time anyone teach me something, so I never forget, and then I become a master at what I do. It explains why the newbies are totally useless, and that you need to tell them what to do every five minutes, without losing patience. And apparently Iím the only one there capable of understanding this. For Godís sake, the two Indian guys lose patience with me when I donít know something I was never told about, can you imagine how they would react if they had to remind me something they had already trained me about? And yet, the newbies never even took notes when they were trained, and as a result, theyíre so lost about the most basic thing, and yet, those bastards donít seem to mind about them and that for some reason. Iím the best employee they ever got, in perhaps five decades, and yet, they lose patience with me. I was expecting fireworks about the newbies and their total lack of understanding, and yet, they are fine just as they are. Fuck off then, I donít give a shit about these fucking people. They can all die in hell as far as Iím concerned.


At least one person has noticed how great I am, the top manager of the place, would you believe. Perhaps because he is the only one without any sort of prejudice to start up with. He made sure today that my application forms for me to become permanent were sent, as today was the deadline, and without him, my forms would never have been sent to London. Not sure if it is because the Scottish Queen didnít want to send them, or if he is too incompetent to send them in the first place, but without the top manager, I know I would no longer be working there within a month. Thatís how serious this is. And all they would have got then, is a bunch of newbies who donít care about the job, doss around all day, and yet, they may still be there in a decade, and may even be manager by then, because everyone else around them would have moved on.


Iím so uptight right now, I could write 20 of my un-famous poems which have only one purpose, to annihilate humanity as revenge for the hell I suffer on a daily basis, in any work environment I have ever come across. 20, that would be a record. I hate them, I hate them all. They are far from being as bitchy against me as they were when I was in Los Angeles, but theyíre the same kind and they all deserve to be shot. And if I was any more instable, I would go there on Monday morning and shoot them all, because this is all I feel they deserve. And then, I would hope the planet would turn better on its axis, but it is an illusion, as everywhere I ever worked it was the same story. It is a problem with human nature, the bad gene is at their core, and thereís nothing we will ever be able to do against it. But hey, this is the same gene which will bring the revolution, the civil war once the government goes too far, and we are reaching that point right now, and the explosion will be huge, I tell you. I wonít be part of it, but it will be huge.


All I care about right now, is that I have been able to download a full adventure of Nancy Drew, the next best thing after Sherlock Holmes, even though sheís so cheesy, Ő could die. But thatís what I need right now, anything to help me escape reality, to help me escape them all. I donít want to have anything to do with humanity, I want to get rich and isolate myself forever. I donít want to ever again have to deal with anyone. I want to be shield from this nightmare. If I am not going to commit suicide to spare me this life, I should at the very least be able to prevent any more interactions with anyone. Everyoneís a bitch on this planet. And I canít stand bitches.


Everyoneís a bitch. Even my Muslim hero was ready to bitch around like no one else. He did a good job of it already, and I prevented him from going further, from getting me on his side, from telling me who the devil was. I donít care, I donít give a shit, Iím way beyond all that crap. I want a world where everyoneís happy, where everyone talks kindness and love about everyone else. I hate pettiness and gossips and all, but I will never find peace anywhere, because none of them wants it. It is war that they seek, and it is war that they find. They only destruction after them, and I donít want any part in it. I wonít go for another drink, I wonít listen again to bitchiness, I will shut my big mouth and do my job. Thatís what Iíll do. Go home, drink myself to death, and forget it all.


5 February 2007


Last night I finished my sixth short story for Anna Maria, I went to bed at 3 am. Sunday is always a good day, because Iím always is such a panic state because of work the next day, it is highly motivating. And yet, I needed all the inspiration in the world yesterday to get into it.


I knew the next day I could easily snap at work, and that I would have to be doubly careful about my temper, but they really did everything they could to get me into such a state! I had a row with the Scottish Queen, who instead of helping me did everything he could to put the blame on my Line Manager. He gave up, as simple as that, on my application forms I had to fill to become permanent, and vaguely told me that there would be another opportunity at a later date.


How was I supposed to react? Was it not a clear attempt to undermine my career within the DCA? When he went out of his way to help the Chinese guy to get an extension until Wednesday to give his application form for the same position I am going for, because the Chinese guy could not even be bothered to fill out one form!


I filled those 90 pages forms to get interviews at two other Magistratesí Courts. I fill them again to get the casual position at Isleworth. I filled them again when the bitch in Marylebone Road sent me the wrong internal forms. And I filled them again when my Line Manager supposedly sent me the correct External ones. And what? They are still the wrong forms! I could have killed someone just at the idea that I would have to fill these damn forms again! But wait, it was even worse, they screwed up, and yet, they would not give me an extension like they did for the Chinese guy.


I was so angry, I freaked out completely in the office of the Scottish guy. I told him that if this was an attempt to get rid of me, it was working perfectly. And tot eh bitch in London I said: why should I be penalised for your own incompetence? And she was trying to get me to gobble that it was in all fairness that I had to fill the right forms and that since I had missed the deadline, I had to forget about it.


In front of such unfairness, favouritism, clear backstabbing, how should I have reacted? Just walked out the door, forget al the consequences, thatís the only answer in front of such an assault. I took my calm, well, I calmed down eventually, the Top Manager sort of intervene from what I gathered, and only because I blatantly accused the Scottish guy to make sure I wouldnít become permanent. He must have been afraid I would officially complain, and then he acted.


The Scottish must also be aware that he had the forms in his email inbox for a whole week before he decided to send them to Human Resources. I reminded my Line Manager the day before the deadline to make sure they would be sent. And on the day, only the new intervention of the Top Manager, who called me aside to ask me if my forms had been sent, that finally the Scottish was ordered to send them. And then, he printed only one form out of three. And the last one, he was omitting the last two pages. The most important ones about if I had any criminal record and permission to check. That could have been enough for my application to be rejected. He must have seen then that it was the wrong application forms, and yet, he didnít say anything. And now it all bounced back as a total fiasco.


I like the way he tried to put the blame on me, after he spectacularly backstabbed his other manager. He accused of me of not telling them that I was casual, which explained why in the first place they sent me the internal forms. But I was ready for that one, I had sent an email where it was explicitly stated, and yet the woman in HR sent me the wrong forms. Only the next day, after I sweated on these forms, did she said it was incorrect, I needed to apply externally. The Scottish guy also said that I was merely like a member of the public doing a bit of work for them, I had no status, which was why I had to fill out the external forms. And said that it was my responsibility to contact HR, get the forms, and send them to them. Not his, that he was in fact being helpful by sending them for me. Well, I contacted HR, they sent me the wrong forms, they told me to contact another number, my Line Manager stopped me and sent me his own wrong forms instead, and so I was left in the dark about where to send those forms.


I canít even tell where incompetence and backstabbing begin or end. I guess it is the fruit of both things. I cannot understand how two managers who worked in the same office for over 8 years and 15 years could not understand which form to use. I cannot understand either how two departments of HR, who their sole purpose is to send the correct application forms and recruit people, all year long, could be so lost at sending the right forms to one of their own employee. And once the whole disaster came to light, I cannot believe how quickly all of them were quick in blaming each other or myself for their own blunder, and how inflexible they were at finding a solution or helping me.


This tells you a lot about the Department of Constitutional Affairs and Crown Courts in England. I felt like a criminal who was awaiting his judgement and sentence, and that because none of them could be bothered to send me the right form, Iíll be going to prison for 20 years. Really frightening, I sincerely hope I will never have to deal with the justice system, as I would be guaranteed unfairness and major screw ups.


And now I have until Thursday to fill these fucking forms again, and we all know it is totally useless. First there is only one position available, the Chinese guy will get it. Second, after my speech to just about every single employee of the Human Resources departments in London, and after my burst into my Managerís office, there is only one possibility about my future in this organisation, down the drain.


Shit, I could have finished my novel this week, instead, Iíll be wasting my time for another three days. And tonight Iím too tired, after the day I had, I need an early night. And what kills me most, is that this story is far from over. When my Line Manager will be back from holiday next week, they will use this as proof of his incompetence in order to try to get rid of him. And yet, they are all accomplices in this disaster, and equally all responsible. If anything, if one of their own Line Managers doesnít know which forms to give out, when his own name is there in the ad for people to contact in needs of information, well it is their own fault. They should train them better, or take that responsibility away from them.


The DCA is in great need of establishing clear procedures and to train their staff about it. Because the DCA is an inflexible organisation at the top, and yet, no one knows anything about anything, and so, no one can respect any of its very rigid procedural system. It is one thing to ask the Moon from its staff, it is another to give them the means in order to make sure they can deliver. Or else, youíre flying blind and youíre inviting disaster.


7 February 2007


I have finally finished filling the last application forms. I sent them to the woman in Marylebone, and I spoke to her today to make sure they were the right forms. She was in a bad mood, and told me that anyway I was unlikely to get the position, since there are at least 1,000 people applying for this miserable position in the Crown Court around the corner. Plus, I have alienated everyone in both HR departments of the DCA. And my Scottish Manager hates me now, I successfully alienated him and his new replacement, the woman in Listing who is moving to become our boss soon.


So I am really discouraged tonight, and I guess there is only one thing I should do, laugh about it, I have no future at the Department of Constitutional Affairs, and so thereís no point fighting anymore. Iíll go to the interview if I get one, and I will simply put it at the back of my mind. They could potentially keep me there for a year as a casual, and so I accept that this will be my deadline before I need to find a new job. It is quite possible that the end of my contract will come at the end of this month, or in three months time, but Iíll have to deal with this when it happens. Iím sure none of them will make any effort to keep me there, my attitude is so bad now, I canít even stand myself. So I guess they have alienated me too. Iím the one who works the hardest in there, but we all know that this counts for nothing. Iím sure they are much happier with Charles, who is always late, leaves 30 minutes before his time, and do nothing all day. At least, he never says anything. He is a casual too, I wouldnít be surprised if he becomes permanent before I do.


I didnít lie anymore on my CV, well, I still gave them the wrong job titles I had in the past, and I havenít told them about my career in television, but I said I had six published books and in my examples I sort of made it clear that I was responsible for these conferences. No need to dumb down my CV, they feel that only someone with the highest qualifications deserves the job, even though it is one of the crapiest you can find on the market. They pay only £14,900 a year, and yet you would think I was applying for a job that pays £70,000 a year. The guy in the pub that I have met, who used to work there, moved to a solicitorís firm, and tripled his salary. If I was not on an IVA programme towards re-imbursing my creditors for my debts, I would never even consider this job. Which reminds me that I have another form to fill tonight about that, and Iím getting really tired about the bureaucracy of this world. And I havenít even gone around to fill out my application form to become a British Citizen, which is another one of my priorities. I need to write to my solicitor about that.


9 February 2007


This was the week from hell, and it all ended up on Friday with the news that I had to declare bankruptcy! Anna Maria, simply put, has bankrupt me. Because that novel is made up of all the great ideas I had over the years for films and television series, and when I took at least three years off in the last few years to write, that is what I was working on. So now there is only one solution to my problem, Anna Maria bankrupted me? It now needs to make me one of the richest on the planet. A successful series of books on the subject would help, but selling the rights to a television series is my real goal. Leonardo the psychic man has already foreseen that John Cleeseman would be my Duke of Connaught, but please! I donít care for Cleeseman. Of course I wouldnít say no. I just fear that the whole sensual chemistry between Anna and Arthur might go out the window, but you never know until you see it on the screen. I should be depressed right now, especially that all I have done in the last few says was to download PC games about Nancy Drew, but Iím listening to Depeche Mode Remixes right now, and thereís nothing Depeche Mode cannot cure in my case. It puts everything back into perspective, it helps me escape this reality. I should be electrified enough to write the last short story of Anna Maria tonight, The Box, even though there could be an eighth one now, Kill the Prime Minister. Not sure yet, Iíll have to come up with a much better story, and that one should come before The Box. So thatís the one I should write tonight. Weíll see.


The fat British woman with the most annoying voice on the planet is moving from the List Office to the General Office. And weíre losing the Chinese Guy who decided that his life wasnít stressful enough. Apparently the List Office is the worst, but I donít believe it. Only one person in the list office really works, the others just pretend. I donít foresee clashing with her, but it could happen. She inherited the Legal Aid transfers, and I believe it was just too much for her. She thinks she can start anew in the General Office, what a fool! After her firsts NTT files, NG and T forms, and countless Grad Fees, she will scream to go back to the List office. I have over 15,000 grad fees on my desk, waiting to be paid, Junior Advocates who charge a fortune for virtually doing nothing, and it sickens me to death.


At the beginning of the week I was thinking that we needed to move the Scottish Man to the list office by force if necessary, because he is a right bastard, and only wishes to prevent anything from happening. IF he can refuse anything, like for example Legal Aid, he will. He wonít only if he cannot find a reason, and by a reason I mean anything, like bird shit on the form would do. He is the king of bureaucracy, because we all know that in the end, even if he can pause it for three months, these people will get Legal Aid. At the end of the week however, I think like he does. I want to say NO to everyone, because Iím tired of it, of seeing how this whole charade has gone too far, and that the most single little act, which is not a crime in the end, ends up clogging up the whole system and costing the taxpayers billions of pounds every year.


A poor man was fucked today on the phone, could not get a job at the airport because of his criminal record. Death threat it read on his file. And all he did was probably tell a fucker I will kill you where you stand, probably something he heard on Star Trek, right from the mouth of a Klingon, and he never believed it for a minute, neither the victim Iím sure, and then this case had gone to the Crown Court, via the Magistrateís Court, and is now going into the Court of Appeals. At least half a million pound will have been spent on that petty case at the end of it, destroying a few lives in the process. No more great career at the airport, thatís for sure! Youíre fucked mate, you shouldnít have been watching Star Trek. For that matter, I have made so many death threats myself in al those books I have written, I am ready for the Old Bailey. My case will certainly cost the taxpayers a million pounds. Because it will definitely reach the Supreme Court, if there is still such a thing. Bomb letters. Iíve read about those yesterday. It inspires me already.


There you are, It is now 1h31 am on a Friday night in February, Letter Bombs inspired me two pages of the now official seventh short story of Anna Maria, about Kill that Prime Minister. I guess I have to get dirty. However Iím trashed. Completely drunk on Port, and I only wrote two pages, which translates into 5 pages in published terms. I hope I can continue that story tomorrow, and finish it sometime this week. I still have the mega last story to write, God knows when I will write that one now. Iím not even sure yet of what will happen in the one Iím writing now. I guess Iíll find out as I write it, just like I did for the Sidmouth one. Turned out okay, but I canít stop thinking it would have turned out better if I had planned it a bit more. But sitting down here one night and writing a whole short story about Anna Maria, is what I hope to be able to achieve in the future, and that means improvising as I go along. I want it to be like if I could sit down here tonight, and come up with a great single for the charts. Five minutes, thatís all, one night required to come up with a success. Thatís what Anna Maria will be about in the future, the subsequent tomes. I just came up with a big fight between Anna and the Duke, and I feel great, because thatís whatís happening in my life on a daily basis, with Stephen, and it seems normal to me that Anna and Arthur would have the same problems. The Duke is Stephen now, anyway, and I guess I am Anna, even though Anna is Leonardo in Los Angeles. So who am I in there? The narrator I guess, since both characters are my lover and secret lover.


12 February 2007


Iíve been sick like a dog all weekend, and yet I managed to write the seventh short story about the Library from the future. And suddenly I couldnít sleep because I was too sick, and could write anymore because I couldnít concentrate, so I read about what happened to the celebrities who were in Big Brother. I was shocked, so shocked in fact that I believe I have no more choice now but to censure myself all around. They are all being investigated by the British Police, and if I can believe the alarmist newspapers, something like five of them are facing racist charges and could go to prison up to seven years. Even Dirk Benedict is being investigating for saying that the Indians were taking over England. And Jermaine Jackson, for reporting the words of another about the girls being White Trash. What does that tells me? That I have a few of my poems who could quickly get me into prison, and that the new character I have just introduced in Anna Maria, my Indian superwoman, who hates the Duke of Connaught, might become suddenly white, just like Michael Jackson. Because if I have my hero fighting an Indian, then it will be misconstrued as racism. If sheís white, it will simply be a personality clash. I could also turn all their fights into a one way argument, the Indian protective of Anna, attacking the Duke, and he ignores her. Big decision, but I need to make it quick. The thing is, I need some multiculturalism, and the Scottish boy wonít do, because he is still white. On that topic, I wanted my anti-hero to be anti Devolution, and almost show that he wants to keep Ireland at any cost. Surely there are some almighty powerful people within the British government who thinks like that, or else the problems in Ireland would have been solved decades ago. And so it would be logical that my Duke would be of that sort. But now, no way, Iíll delete all that, I guess in the end I will have to turn him into a nice teddy bear, or Iíll risk alienating everyone.


19 February 2007


Tomorrow at work will mark a new era for my little adventure in the Crown Court. They know Iím gay, two of them so far, and I take it that it will take less than a minute tomorrow morning to go all around the 8 criminal courts.


I went for a beer again last Friday, the first time with my Line Manager, I thought it was important to get the gossip from him, and my gosh, I certainly got that. The price to pay was to answer their first question which was burning their lips: are you gay! How could have I denied it? My best friend on my application form didnít fool anyone, the one bedroom flat Iím living in with my best friend didnít fool anyone, and apparently Iíve been giving myself away in the office, acting like a queen on some occasions. Denying it any further would have been stupid, but a grey area came up, I did marry to remain here, and if I get real enemies in there, they have a first class weapon against me. I know I can justify this quite easily, 15 years ago in England immigration laws for gays were simply from the dark ages, but would I ever even get the chance to explain myself when they come to export me back to Canada? In those days applying successfully for a visa whilst living with your partner was a ten years process for which we all knew the answer would be no in the end, and for ten years you and your partner was stuck in the country because they had your passport. Unacceptable, impossible, they were asking me to break the law, and I sure did. Perhaps one and the only illegal thing I have ever did, and yes, it will haunt me forever. The fact that all the laws have changed since then in my favour, proves that I was right to break the law, because it was an unjust and unfair law. And you cannot ask from any citizen to respect laws that are unfair and unjust. This is my argument to justify not respecting the laws when it comes to Terrorist Acts and so forth. God, Iím really asking to go to prison, am I?


So, for the price I paid, I got to know that my Line Manager has a serious addiction to Cocaine, and one day was forced to admit it to the Scottish Guy and the other Indian Manager from the Clerks. Since then they appear to have done nothing against him, might have something to do with the fact that the Scottish Boy had a serious addiction with hash and marihuana, and even was the drug provider to my Line Manager. He apparently stopped now for health reasons, but somehow I donít believe it, and cocaine must also be a little problem my Manager is dealing with. My Line Manager tried to convince me that he had been clean for a long time, and when he stated six weeks, both the Chinese Guy and I burst into laughing, and for a second there I thought we would never stop. The famous day we were on strike, my Line Manager was lying dead somewhere, drugged to full capacity on cocaine. He took so much of it in the last few years, he said he has or had a hole in between his two nostrils. Heek! This is monster stuff, quite an horror story.


I never had a manager before who would admit so openly to be a hard drug addict. I asked him why he told me, and he said he trusted me. I wonder why, I certainly never gave him any hint that I could be trusted. Simply put, everyone knows, and it is useless to deny it, just like my big secret now in the open.


It is hard to remember everything from that night, I drank so much, I puked for half an hour upon my return. Just like two weeks ago when I went out with them. I guess Iím not supporting alcohol as well as I used to. Since my return to England, it has been a night here and there, but rarely more than once a week, or even once every two weeks. A few pints make me puke all over the place now. I remember thought that aids was mentioned, something like my boyfriend had aids, and I remember denying it feebly, when I should have overacted about that, and shouted that neither my boyfriend nor I had aids. If anything, aids now appears to be related to hard drugs only, and not HIV, and so my Line Manager is much more at risk than I ever was. I should have turned the table on him and asked him if he had aids, and when was the last time he had a check up.


Well, now I understand what he means when he talks about his wonderful fat and ugly wife, and how he needs to grow up to save his marriage, a marriage that he would gladly cancel if he could, and he was not shy either on telling me that he would never be faithful to her, and good for him, as he is very good looking, and she forced him into that wedding, first because sheís fat and wil never get another chance, second because sheís Australian and needed a visa, turning this marriage into a prison sentence. There should be laws against that (I said to myself, with irony).


Iím not really worried about going back to work as a gay man, if anything they should have known on day one. It might cost me the friendship of a few people there, including my Muslim friend, my only ally so far in that court. Letís see how this little detail, the one that Iím homosexual, will affect him. Iíll tell you afterwards how great it is to be Muslim or not, or how modern he is. I wonít fail to ask him what he will do if one of his six kids turns out to be gay, I need to know, and I need to guide him. If the population is at least 10% gay, then 5 kids might very well have given him one. 50% chances that it is so. Might be the end of the world for him, one lost one amongst the pack, and most likely the one to be the most successful of them all, either as a consequence of the hell he will bring upon himself or herself, or simply because gay people seem to be more intelligent and clued up in this world. This is a verifiable fact, so please, do your research.


Why have I not told them I was gay until now? Good question. I supposed I sort of played a game with them. I told them nothing about me, I had to play it down because I was way too qualified for this job, even though I know now that I will never be qualified enough, out of the 1000 who applied for my job. Apparently the Top Manager of the place said that my CV, the one of the Chinese guy and another girl who used to work there were the best CVs they have received. And so this confirmed what I thought, Iím too qualified, and this is why I never got any answers from all those types of job I applied for in the past. Anyway, if I was not going to tell them anything about me, then the gay thing was also out of the question. Also because my mother in law ordered me not to say anything, and she works there one day a week, and was my referee to get that job there, even though they have not contacted her. So even the Court forego contacting your references, interesting. Who knows, I could be some sort of anarchist planning the downfall of the whole Justice system in England, by, I donít know, writing a book upon the subject from my own experience? You wouldnít want that kind of anarchist in your ranks, would you? Anyway, none of my referees would have warned them about that unlikely possibility, or else, they wouldnít be on my list of referees, stuuupid.


Wonderful, both my Managers are drug addicts, both of them even have drugs with the intent to supply, and did to employees of the Crown Court. Because my Line Manager has admitted having sold drugs to the new recruit we have, Charles, the cute and not so pure British kid working for us now. Iíve got them over a barrel. Not sure what I could do with that kind of information, except for telling it here in this book. Everyday we are dealing with drug addicts as defendants in our courts, most of them with the intent to supply, and the ones processing them, and sending them to prison for years to come, are guilty of the exact same crime. So I guess youíre only off the hook for as long as you donít get caught. And that the problem is so generalised, that the hypocrite system weíre living in sends to prison people for crimes they are themselves guilty of. And it becomes a game of cat and mouse in order to avoid being caught. You might as well legalise the damn thing then, since it is obvious that everyone is guilty of it, drugs, and so we could save billions of pounds and unclog the justice and prison systems overnight by legalising it. However, it is not my duty to speak about legalising drug, Iím only concerned as far as my own boyfriend is an addict, so I am indirectly concerned. I will wait for my boyfriend to be arrested and going to prison to freak out about it, for now, it is a game of cat and mouse.


22 February 2007


I am literally sinking under the grad fees. I have now seven huge binders on my desk of claims to pay, for which I will have to find the folders, check if they have already been paid, and if not enter them into the computer. Each file now has something like 25 claims on them, and I need to sort all this out for each of them. Every time I sit down to deal with one, the phone starts ringing and no one in the office answers it. There is always someone either in the clerkís office or the Chinese guy preventing me from entering anymore claims, because they donít have the time to deal with them and they donít want piles and piles of folders on their desk. This is a war Iím losing. And now, today, the very man who was responsible for the claims and did nothing about them for months, getting us where we are now, had the audacity of stating I was incompetent and that the situation had never been that bad. The old Indian guy, I could have strangled him today.


There is one woman in the City who calls me every two days to ask me about a few claims, and she always asks for one in particular, and every time I try to be helpful and the answer I get is that there are discrepancies and that weíre dealing with it. It was obvious this was not going to do for long, and today she called, and every single claim she mentioned I was able to find the file for once, and see that she was right. There were a bunch of claims that were 3, 4 and 5 months old. I was only able to find the files because I order the files to be audited, over the head of my Line Manager who explicitly said no because he thought it was a waste of time. So many people are looking for files everyday that they cannot find, so many hours were being wasted, I took it upon me to get organised. Now I can always find a file instantly, and that is what I call a sudden improvement. Especially that today I found so many old claims. Of course it didnít go well with that woman, especially when she asked again for that full of discrepancies file that we were supposedly dealing with, which Iím sure, we were not. She had enough, she freaked out and called the top manager of the court. The cascade effect was instant, many crisis meetings were organised, and now everyone feels that grad fees are a priority. And in all of this, I obviously take the blame, because Iím in charge of Grad Fees, which is ridiculous when you think about it. I know next to nothing about grad fees, I canít make any decision about any of them, they never pass because they are filled with errors, and I cannot find out why they donít pass or how to correct it. Finally, when a claim is rejected, discontinued or cancelled, which is all the time, no one takes the bother to tell the counsels, and no one takes the bother to write down in the fill why. And so, I feel so powerless! Between trying to help the counsels, the solicitors, get rid of these grad fees for which I can do nothing, and canít even enter them into the computer because no one had the time to process any of them. And then when the shit hits the fan, they all point at me: well, youíre in charge of grad fees, what have you been doing? Which can only bring one emotion in my heart, a desire to kill. So I didnít have a good day today.


On top of it, it has been a few days since I worked on Anna Maria. I have been bogged down on downloading stuff and making space on my numerous hard drives. I am really not proud with myself. Tonight I should get back to it, read what I have written so far for the seventh short story and continue it. I know I canít finish it tonight, which is no great motivation, and Iím not sure where it will go. Initially it was called Kill that President, and that seem acceptable. But now it is called Kill that Prime Minister, and England is such a police State and rapidly becoming a Nazi State, that I decided to change the title. Which now makes me want to change the whole story. I also cannot alienate the good people from England, as they will be my readers, and Iím sure they wonít like hearing that their Prime Minister is corrupt, even though it is of course all fiction. I donít know shit about the actual Prime Minister, all I know is that he sleeps with the American President and together they have started a few questionable wars. Big deal, God knows what they know that I donít, assuming this is not just for petrol that these wars are being fought. And yet, I have no data either way, and Iím certainly not going to talk about that directly. Fiction is fiction and should remain entertainment. And should not look outdated by the time it is published, if ever, in about a hundred years after Iím long dead.


I am filled with energy tonight. I am drinking my second extra large can of beer, I remember all those nights in Los Angeles in my little studio, where I used to drink myself to death, watch videos and write all night long, just to be a zombie the next day at work. I miss that, and I never thought I would, as it did seem like a nightmare at the time.


Spoke with my great Scottish author friend recently, I gave her the name of Shirley before, she hates it, so not sure how to call her now. She has kind of discouraged me, I think she wrote two novels and half a biography since I last spoke to her. Sheís like a writing machine, and sheís the most literary person and author I have ever met, she writes like a student from Oxford, as she was. She also has an agent, the very one I intend to contact once I finish Anna Maria. Considering that despite having an agent, none of her books have been published, when I know for sure they are top notch literary stuff, is even more discouraging. With my half bake English, as a second language, what chance do I have? This is an issue I have been putting at the back of my mind for quite a while. What if my English is inadequate? Shirley says not to worry, an editor will take care of it, and rewrite my book. But get an agent or a publisher to accept such a book before that editing has been done, and the only person I know who could edit it, is Shirley. And I guess sheís not prepared to do so unless I pay her, like I did for her to translate my Anarchist. And I have no more money, and not to be expected until I get publish and become famous. So it is a catch 22, and I may still be wasting my time. No wonder I have put that at the back of my mind. I suppose I could always translate Anna Maria into French. But even though it will take me three months to write the book, translating it might take me two years. It is worse than starting from scratch. And so I donít think this is a solution. Also that the target market is so obviously Great Britain, I cannot imagine that French people would be interested in these British stories.


Iím listening to Muse right now, and that is powerful stuff. I wished my books could have the same impact on anyone reading them. I wish I could produce that kind of stuff. Violent, heavy, exploding in your face. Something you could turn to maximum and get transported by. My poetry is the only thing I have which can be as violent and powerful, and yet, you would need to listen to Muse to appreciate it. I did on Sunday, I was almost singing my words. I was dead the next day at work, going to bed at 4 am, but it was worth it. This is how je míťclate, and God knows I need to míťclater.


It is only 19h27, I have already drank two beers, I feel the night will be a long one indeed, and yet, Iím not sure in which area I will be creative tonight, as I know and feel like I will be. I need to. Perhaps I should start a new poetry book, somehow I was quite certain that three poetry books ago I would never write another one, and felt for sure that the last one was to be my last one. I cannot read the future you see, I have no idea if any of it will ever be popular one day, and so I felt it was useless to continue to write them. It is the first time for a long time that I am not writing inspired work, and so I feel a bit lost, cos it is a need to write that kind of stuff after all. And so I think I should start a new book tonight.


Iím now listening to Diana Ross, perhaps I feel closer to death than I initially assumed. I need new music, anything, I canít go any longer listening to the same old crap. What could that new book be about? Usually it should have the same name than the diary that goes with it, but in this case, how could poetry about a Crown Court could be any good? Especially about my last one about Los Angeles, which I thought I could never ever beat in terms of being cool and interesting.


Is it time to talk about my theories that the context, the characters make no difference, it is all I the content? And how fascinating and gripping the story is? Right, a Crown Court. How gripping could that be? Even this present book, this present blog, I feel, should be deleted. I never even once thought, oh, I need to write that book. It was more like when the need was arising.


Right, so what should I do now? Amazing that it is in a few minutes that the decision to start a new book arises, that at that very moment in time you could decide to go for it and start it, and then usually you finish it. But if you donít start it at that specific moment in time, that is a book that will never see the light of day. And God only knows how successful that book could ever be, after youíre dead off course. And so, I guess these are no criteria to decide a book or not, you can only rely on your own motivation and inspiration. That book I would start wouldnít be the greatest thing ever, could never top any of the other ones I have written before, and so now I know why I never made a conscious decision to start it before.


There you are, I wonít be started a new book tonight for three reasons. First I talked with Madjid, over the Net, a good friend of mine with whom I may once more one day work on some 3D animated stuff. And so I have lost my train of thought. Second my computer has gone into slow motion, I would need to re-start it and since Iím already downloading a lot, I donít want to restart it. And third, Iím too drunk, and Iím about to eat a vegetarian Shepherdís Pie. Amazing how a few details can alter the course of history. Fourth, the parrot is out of control and I now have the Murmy (my favourite cat), sleeping on my keyboard. That is all I need to stop motivating me. Perhaps I could have an early night tonight and have a normal Friday tomorrow at work instead of the hectic day I had today where I lost patience so many times, it is getting ridiculous. Iím no longer in the mood for listening to music. No longer in the mood to write. Maybe I should watch a film, it is only 21h56 after all. Maybe I should play a Nancy Drew adventure game, but that would require re-starting the computer, something I donít want to do. Gosh, maybe I should go to sleep.


3 March 2007


There were many things I wanted to write here in the last few days and weeks. I wish I could remember now, I guess it was all bollocks if I canít remember now, but thatís the thing, it wasnít, and yet, I canít remember, so screw that.


All I can remember now from that job from hell, is that I kind of enjoy it, how sad. I have thousands of invoices to process, I can only enter about 30 a day, and thatís it. I find that satisfying, for some weird reason. It took only two complaints coming almost on the same day, to the top Manager, and now everyone is putting pressure on me to enter these grad fees into the system, and somehow it has put so much stress on me, Iíve been more stressed out in that job than I have ever been.


The only other thing I can remember is that many times in the morning, walking to work, I was thinking about Los Angeles, my life there, my great missed opportunity. Reviewing your past on a daily basis, because your present is unbearable, can only mean one thing, youíre old and ready to die, and can only find comfort by remembering the past, since youíre incapable of making the present a time worth living. Well, Iím sorry, but thatís not me. The present will be exciting and worth living, and it is just a question of time until I get to that point. Iím still young, I can still look great if I go on a never ending diet, so what am I waiting for? Finishing that damn Anna Maria novel for one. I thought I was going to write that sort of thing until I die, I cha changed my mind. Iíll finish that book, and there will be another short story now to make it to nine, but after that I need to come up with something totally new and exciting, perhaps same sort of format, I donít know. I need to get into thinking mode asap. If Anna Maria doesnít go anywhere, then I need to get onto something else that will. I am not going to be a writer only recognised once he is dead, and perhaps not even then. Things will happen soon, now, or else Iíll blow up this place. Like my ex-neighbour ready to get the whole place down, with a few grenades, and missed his shot. He is free now, somewhere in Reading with mommy and daddy. Perhaps he didnít have a good enough reason to do it, Iím afraid, I do. I have no grenades though, perhaps I should ask my Line Manager for some, he was best friend with that neighbour who went bunker, surely he could get me a few grenades? Iím only joking, because Iím bored out of my mind. And even that no longer amuses me. Donít I like to pretend that I am the little anarchist, when Iím so far from that concept, it is ridiculous. And yet, I bet Iíll have to suffer for it one day, as if I have written it, then it must mean that I mean it. That alone makes me want to blow up this place. Which of course, I mean not to. This is literature for godís sake, get a grip.


This weekend I need to end that stupid short story about books from the future, get on with another if possible, I know it is not, letís concentrate on finishing the one then, at the very least. I would have already, but my stupid internal hard disk is almost dead, and that rescue mission took me the best part of the weekend.


To be honest, I no longer think tonight that Los Angeles was a missed opportunity. What did I have? But a few film script ideas? Thatís not good enough. An Anna Maria novel finished, that something worth being in Los Angeles for, thatís something I can sell. And even then, being about England and all, and pro-Queen, and pro-Government, then I guess it is in England that it needs to be sold. But it doesnít work like that in London. You never meet anyone of significance here, the people working in films, God knows where they hide. In L.A., you do seem to meet them at every corner. So much so, that I believe that I have more chance in L.A. to get Anna Maria produced, than here in the United Kingdom. Never mind if in the end the whole team working on it will be British.


I guess I just understood something quite important. It is nothing to be expecting to get somewhere, be in the right place and all, and hope to be there at the right time. You still need something to show, and so far Anna Maria is the only thing I have in English, and the only thing worth anything. It is all hard work, and you need to do it before you even think of going there. And Anna Maria isnít enough, Iím afraid. I need at least two more of those concept ideas before going back to Los Angeles. Because I will be returning, I will die there. Well, I donít know. Until I succeed beyond any doubt at least, and then Iíll move back somewhere in England in the countryside, and perhaps also the South of France, writing everyday until the day I die. Thatís the only life for me, Iíll work on making it come true. And Iím sure that wasting my time writing about my boring daily life in a half broken British Crown Court will get me anywhere near the accomplishments of my dreams.


At the same time, this is so relative, subjective, and insignificant, because I donít crave that crap that much. It is yet another way out for me, any of them will do apparently, to lead me to the freedom of writing all day, researching, reading, writing. And now, it seems, my way out is the most extravagant of all, succeeding in Hollywood in order to finally have the life of peace I always wanted. Itís got to be, because I thought getting published would finally bring me the freedom I craved, in order to write all day, and it didnít, after six published books. I received ridiculous amount of money for these published books, and so now the only way out is Los Angeles, where the money is. Iíd like to say that Iím prostituting myself in order to finally write philosophy, but I guess I caught myself unaware, I like Anna Maria, I like that sort of books. Not sure if I could read it a hundred times without getting tired of it, which was my previous standard, and for which only a few of my books qualified for that, but at least it is something I can be proud of having been able to write. And it could make me rich, so great!


The books I have written which I have read many times, and could read many more times, are all my poetry, and my first two books, The Revolution and Towards the Green Fields. And those last two ones, I havenít read for years. And my first poetry book, I find it hard to read now. Only because I read them so many times. I wrote many books I couldnít read more than three times, including these damn diaries. So, it must mean something if I have written things I could read again and again until the end of times. And yet, none of those books could end up being on TV or in Cinema, so I guess there is something to be said about literature, it still means something, it can still be a medium in its own right which can really bring someone somewhere else where music and films would fail. In a way, Iím very pleased I have written those books. Very few authors, no matter how successful they have been, could say they have written something highly inspired, and that they could read it a hundred times and still find great things about them after all that time. Writing a novel or a film script is boring, it is demanding, and you might be proud by the result, in the end, you donít want to hear about it ever again once you finish writing it. And that will be the faith of Anna Maria. I donít even want to correct it before it gets published. I have written it, and thatís it. Reading it again would be too much to ask from me. I will if someone pays me to do so. I wonít do it for pleasure. So basically I just admitted to be writing crap, and yet, it is my best chance yet to make money and free myself for reality, so I can finally write, I suppose, philosophy and theoretical physics and poetry, and other inspired work.


In a way, these books were very experimental, stuff no one else anywhere else throughout history has ever written. Maybe thatís why I thought I would such a celebrated author from the very beginning, I was convinced I had written one of the greatest books ever written after I finished writing Towards the Green Fields, and even more so after The Revolution. The Eclectism (published I might add by some sort of miracle or twist of fate), brought me the same satisfaction. And yet, no one responded, perhaps no one even ever read them. They have been on my website for more than ten years, and yet, no one ever spoke about them in the many emails I received. And so I have to come to the conclusion that I could very well die without anyone ever reading them until the end of time. And I thought that one success would change all that, but after learning about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the fact that anything else he has written apart from Sherlock Holmes is completely forgotten, and was never known, I now understand that these books will never go anywhere. Iím glad that they brought me so much, at the very least. And for me, from now on, the perfect reader, would be the one who know these books by heart, and will come to me one day telling me how they connected with those books. Iím not kidding myself, I might very well die before this day ever come. All right, maybe not know them by heart, but at the very least with a line that says that they connected with those obscure work of art.


I connected so much with those books, I cannot believe no one else could connect with them. I have written enough books in my life to know when something is special, and when something is not. I never changed my mind despite so many years, and so many books written, and so I must be right, these books are special. And for all I care, I can only be proud for having written those books, and if I get rich one day, thatís what Iíll do, write books I, myself, can only like, like reading till the end of time. Special books, inspired books. They donít come often, not sure of the ingredients or how to go about writing them, I just know I could read them forever and never tire of reading them. I need to get back to that, never mind the commercial side of this, the chance to getting published and all that crap. Inspired books are all that counts, I need to write another one. So out of this world, that no one could ever understand it but me. Maybe thatís the problem, perhaps thatís why these books only speak to me. Maybe thatís what Iíll write after Anna Maria. Got to get back to inspire books, something that means something to me. Screw the commercial and publishing world. I bet I wonít even find a publisher for Anna Maria. And I admit freely now, tonight, that I will never top that ever again. Thatís my best attempt for a commercial book, and if it fails, all hopes of ever be an author will fail with it. And then I guess I will be free to write forever whatever I fell like writing, as long as I have a miserable job at a Crown Court to support my miserable existence. I always felt anyway that I was writing for a different audience, the next generation after my death. Now Iím more realistic, Iím writing for myself, no one will ever read these books I have written, and somehow, it is acceptable, I donít care either way. Iíll write what I feel like writing, and thatís it. Itís good therapy, thatís perhaps more important than anything else. That I can sit here one night, be completely drunk and read my poetry until 6 am, thatís a buzz that very few people can afford, it has no price tag attached to it, it is the one thing I have that kept me alive all those years, at the very least I have that.


As to why these books were so good, I was 18-19 or something when I wrote them. Thereís no better age. At that time I still didnít accept the social contract, in fact I still knew nothing about it, all I knew is that I needed to reject it forcefully. After that itís too late. Society gets its big grip on you and you are no longer free to think for yourself. They tried for many years before that, but until you enter the normal working life of everyday and need to take your own responsibility, you can still, and you usually do, reject everything. As this world had got it so wrong, it is the most obvious thing for any teenager. And yet, at that point, you either become a delinquent or you accept the social contract. And if somehow you reject it, youíre fucked. Everyone will come on you with a ton of bricks, until you finally get the message and accept the social contract. I guess I just pretended to accept the social contract, so I spared myself the ton of bricks, and yet, Iím still a rebel, as I could never accept this world, this reality. It is clear to me that none of it makes any sense, and no logic could ever prove otherwise. I could start with the social hierarchy, the way this world is organised, but Iíll quickly jumped to Planet Earth floating in the nothingness, orbiting the Sun, and the rest of the universe, which makes absolutely no sense at all, and must be hiding some higher sort of truth that we may never be privy to. That alone has been my main argument for wishing to die, because someone is playing a trick on me, and life is therefore not worth it, I wonít be a rat in a lab-rat. But then, the social organisation around me, the hypocrisy of it all, that everyoneís playing a game and lying through their teeth, and that everyone knows it, and yet, no one is doing anything about it, is even worse, double reason to commit suicide. And then this heartless existence where I have to work all the hours God sends for so little money that I canít even afford bread and eggs, is tripling the reasons I need to commit suicide. Topple that with an ardent desire to become an author, and that has been denied for 20 years to me, then I have four essential reasons to commit suicide.

In fact, it is a miracle if I have achieved so much despite so little means to achieve any of it. Sheer determination and motivation to see what was beyond the hill permitted all this, determination. You have to be damn determined to get anywhere in life, and if you are determined enough, and no one will stop you, because you will wipe them out of your way on your way there. And so, if any of us will ever get an answer about what this universe is all about, it will be me, no one else, because I seem to be the only one to be so determined and with that puzzling look on my face before all that unbelievable and unlikely reality. Seems more like a computer programme than anything else, written by an ignorant spotty kid in some other universe than an almighty God, to be honest, and yet, weíve tried to make sense of it all, us fools! And thatís The Revolution, thatís what I was writing about then, at 18, I already knew. Unlike others I havenít forgotten, because I have written it down. In the most incomprehensible book perhaps, but I guess at the time it was the only way I had available to express it. And the third part of this books was inspired by the Cosmogony of the Rosicrucian, so I guess they must know something about it, about this world, how it makes no sense. They came up with their own way of seeing the world, but that I also reject. I reject everything, all philosophies, all religions, all sciences, anything anyone ever wrote in order to explain this world. No one has the answer, and Iím afraid, that perhaps, no one could. If that is not a good reason to commit suicide, I wonder what would be. If Iím still alive today, I guess it is because I can handle it, I can live without understanding anything, and I can also easily forget about the great questions of existence whilst I go to work at the Crown Court almost everyday doing some useless admin work about the judgements of low-life criminals who probably think the same way as I do about this world. No ethic, no morality is necessary, this is all conventions. This is the jungle, you get what you want when you want, you fight for what you need, you survive. Because at this point, your basic instincts are all you can trust. Just donít get caught, so I wonít have to process your case. I had enough.


We call teenagers innocent, on the contrary, I believe we are all innocents, and they are clued up, they know thereís something wrong, they act accordingly, it is puzzling to us, we are the fools for being unable to understand them, and to have forgotten our own teenage years. I was far from being innocent then, Iím still no innocent now, but I certainly am more now than I was then, cos I have been brainwashed over many years against my will, and at that time I categorically refused to be brainwashed. I lasted as long as I could, without going to prison, and then I simply gave up. I thought that perhaps through my books I could still be an anarchist, a literary one I might want to add, and I hope I have succeeded at that. I guess all I have succeeded at, was to convince everyone I was an anarchist when I never really was. I might have closed many doors because of it, good, I donít care. These people must be ultimately be the ones I am fighting for, not against, because the poor souls are simply brainwashed and blind, itís not their fault. And perhaps it is still possible to save them, to make them understand that something is horribly wrong with this world, even though I couldnít even begin to explain what or where to begin. I guess weíre all doomed! I suppose that deep down this is what Jean-Jacques Rousseau was trying to say. Obviously he couldnít say it in such simpler terms, but I can, since I have no reputation, credibility or career to worry about.


And when I look in the mirror, I donít like what I see. Another damn good reason to commit suicide. With so many excellent reasons, it is a miracle that Iím still alive. I canít explain it, I came close so many times. And yet, if you do hear that I have committed suicide one day, double check, it could be murder. I havenít said much in my short career, and though sometimes I feel I have not said enough, for others I have already said too much.


I have some time to waste tonight, and so I searched the Internet. At the very least I would like to be more famous than my grandfather Michel Tremblay, the most successful author Quťbec has ever known. It should be easy, because he doesnít appear to have been to be that international, even though he has been translated in 26 languages and is played worldwide (his plays). I bet I can top that easily.


Isnít it extraordinary that a minute before I thought I would die without ever being read, and now I feel I can surpass the greatest writer my nation haws ever produced? Well, such pretence goes a long way to motivate me to write another book, so I guess I should keep it on my side. Thereís nothing pleasurable about writing a book, it is painful, so better find motivations where you can.


And now I can go to bed and sleep soundly, because I found in between many references about me on the net something quite special, on the website of a small publisher in France no less, which unfortunately bears no translation. I guess this describes me perfectly, when Iím drunk:


ę L'Anarchiste Couronnť. Au royaume des agitťs du cyber-bocal, le Quťbťcois Roland Michel Tremblay est roi. Une christ de plume, une calice d'ťnergie auto-productive, un tabernacle de sens du rťseau ! Ľ

ďThe Crowned Anarchist. In the Kingdom of the agitated of the cyber-fish bowl, the Quebecker Roland Michel Tremblay is king. A Christ of a writing hand, a fucking auto-productive energy, a fucking sense of the network!Ē


Now I can die.


22 March 2007


Itís been 20 days since I last wrote here, this is how long it took me to recover all my data after the crash crisis of the millennium. I never before lost everything on three different hard drives all on the same day, including of course a backup of everything I had. I have successfully recovered, I believe, 100% of my data via disaster recovery software, however I have learnt something I thought I knew, one backup is never enough, those twin towers can always both fall within the same hour. You need a third one, preferably kept far away from the first two. I have also learnt that no matter what you do to delete your files and reformat your drives, data can always be recovered. Thatís a frightening thought.


Iím back in business, with two new 500 GB hard disks, and everything else to re-install, but Iím downloading again and I receive my emails. Just one month gone down the drain to get back to this point. Didnít write anything else in any of my books since the big crash. As usual, this was to be expected, it is March after all. March has always been my worst nightmare, terrible things always happened to me in March, and until April is over, Iím not safe.


Everything is breaking down, the car, the phone, the satellite dish, the digibox, the dvd recorder, the computers, everything. As if from the point of view of destiny, to have the most miserable salary ever was not enough, I also need to lose everything else I possess, knowing very well that I donít have the money to replace any of it, or even fix the damn things.


Mr. Barnsworth alone is responsible for a lot of my breakdowns, eating everything away with his powerful beak as if this was fun. It also takes him less than 1 second to fly somewhere and eat a cable with terrible consequences, Iím surprised the damn bird has not been electrocuted yet. He destroyed one of my external hard drive at least and the days of my only working DVD-CD recorder are counted.


What destroyed the TV, the DVD Recorder and the Satellite system and its box, must be cat pee. I went at the back of the TV tonight, I almost had a heart attack. And Stephen wanted another cat for Christmas.


What destroyed the phone, and perhaps my other hard disks, internal and external, I believe could be MI5 or some government agencies spying on me. For the last few months there have been weird trucks outside parked right in front of our door, they are there every morning, and since then our phone makes strange noises and my computer suffers weird glitches. Stephen thought, Iím sure, they might have been for him, I know theyíre for me. I have read some on my poems recently and thought, dear me, they must think Iím a terrorist ready to blow myself up near a government building. The thought sounds ridiculous, but I would be worried in their place, even though for me this is simply art, I donít think half of what I write. Most of it was written anyway before the terrorist attacks started. Sounded innocent then, could bring my downfall now. As I will never act upon any of it, and as they might not want to take the chance, God knows on what else they could get me on. Doesnít help that I work in a Crown Court, criminals everywhere, no terrorists though, those ones end up at the Old Bailey, and Paddington Prison. I only deal with Wormwood Scrubs, and thatís a name for a prison I like so much, it will definitely inspire me something at some point.


At the court I am now permanent. I guess George helped me a lot, coming after me and being so incompetent, the sun is now shining out of my ass. It is easy when someone could easily be a CEO or a Managing Director, and yet remains at the bottom of the food chain, that way you can be a miracle worker, and no one is the wiser. Not being ambitious at all has its advantages, if youíre bright enough to never reach the level you should really be at. Because once you reach that point, you yet again become incompetent and youíre in trouble, they donít like you and you will soon be looking for a way out.


I have also dealt with my financial problems, my creditors, my lawyers, etc. And now there is only one thing which I really need to look into, my British Citizenship. Tomorrow I will get the ball rolling, I need to sort this out before the month is out, because after that everything changes, and it will be nearly impossible for me to become a citizen after 15 years in this country. I first have to pass that test proving I can speak English and know something about Great Britain. I donít mind so much as I believe that most of what I will need to read to prepare me for this test will inspire me a great deal for my book Anna Maria. It is in the most basic things that you find inspiration, that you realise how crazy this world is, and how ridiculous the whole organisation of society is intrinsically wrong. I look forward to reading that stuff, letís see how they see themselves, or how they want us to perceive them, we all know it is crap. Wanting an ideal society, and claiming we are, is far from reality, the one you experience everyday at work and when you go out and meet people.


Somehow tonight I am happy, not sure why. I have three days off, Iím finally back to normal, listening to music, writing again, feel on top of my game, having climb over so many obstacles this month alone. If I can climb that mountain tomorrow about the citizenship, Iíll be one step closer. I didnít want to involve my solicitors, but I think I will. I want to expedite this, I want to make sure I get it. Somehow when you have a solicitor, it works every time. Try to do it yourself and you will most certainly fall flat on your face. It will mean another bill of a thousand pound, but if I can pay it monthly over 10 months, I think it is worth it. I will contact them tomorrow.


I have been back from Los Angeles for nearly 10 months now, but I have failed to go to Central London for most of this time. This week alone I had to go for an interview near Baker Street, and on Wednesday I had a training at the DCA HQ right in Westminster. That sums up just about my life for the last three years. I went to sit on a bench by the Thames, by the Big Ben, just to reminisce about the life I had, the life I abandoned to pursue my dreams to Los Angeles. Powerful place. When I sat there and felt the urge of energy going through me, no wonder anything I wished then came true, it is such a powerful place to be everyday. This is like Clapham Junction, Westminster is where the lives of everyone on this planet converge in London. Better than a well, go there, make your wish, and it cannot fail to happen.


Which brings me to my regrets for having left Los Angeles. I think of it every day, it is getting tiresome. I want that life back, I enjoyed to be alone and making my own decisions, writing the night away with no one to drive me crazy, buying Mexican food on the corner and drinking myself to death nearly every night. It was a great time. Driving around the place, the same places I see everyday on TV, because everything on TV is filmed in Los Angeles, and thatís a killer if you lived there, enjoyed the place, and regret having left it before anything significant happened. At least going back to London was something better than going back home in Canada. In London I still feel like I am in a permanent state of being on holiday. That means that one day I will have to go back home, live there, get a job and hit the real reality. The game here is to never reach that point, always find a way to remain on holiday by living everywhere else but where you were born. Shame really, Canada is probably not such a bad place to live if you were not born there, but for me it is the most depressing place on the planet. Living in Afghanistan for me would be to be on holiday.


My plan is so simple, it is almost disgusting. Iím gonna be rich out of Anna Maria or the next book Iíll write, and then Iíll travel everywhere and write all day long. Such a simple plan, how can it fail? Just about every single television series and films on TV have stolen my ideas, it means there is something to it, surely I should be the one cashing in? Iíve been considering lately censoring myself much further, meaning deleting my websites. Maybe Iím paranoid, delusional, and no one is stealing my ideas, but coincidences are too wild, and why take the chance, especially if I intend to present something fresh, new, revolutionary? I did it because I thought they would hire me out if it, they simply steal and run away with it. There is a full blown film called Dťjŗ Vu out there, with Denzel Washington, I cannot believe this is not coming straight out of my website. The last episode of Medium had parallel universes written all over it, and I am at the point of I feel the need to delete my short stories because others have copied me, but got it out there before me. They always modify just enough that I could not sue anyone, and yet, it prevents me from putting my own stuff out there. Hollywood seems incapable of thinking by itself, and so they steal everything they can and get away with it. Who could, in their right mind, sue them and succeed? No one. And when they go further, when they make it clear they have stolen from me, by using my name and other references about my life and the people in my life, then Iím flattered, it means they didnít want to hide it, they wanted to send me a message that they were inspired by me, and then, why would I want to sue? Iím proud, it makes me feel powerful, even though none of them will ever contact me, bastards. Who needs them anyway? Not me, thatís for sure. I follow one destiny, and it is leading me somewhere, I know, despite the appearance. Youíll see.


And now I think I drank enough to be really depressed, enough to no longer believe in myself. I might as well just die, because Iíll never go anywhere, and being permanent now in this Crown Court is just one more proof that Iím not getting anywhere any time soon. Shit.


28 March 2007


Today Iím going to speak about the Indian woman in charge of the Clerks. Sheís a bitch, however she only indirectly affect me. She likes to multiply the bureaucracy, and if you cross her, she will get you. Sheís been there too long, she creates problems where there are none, and she successfully today doubled my workload. It was an innocent conversation, she asked me to find the link files to all the grad fees I do. The problem is, we cannot even find the files to which the grad fees refer to in the first place, and now to pay one grad fee, I need to find two or three files, which renders my job impossible to do. Not only it will double the number of files in the shelves, but they are likely to remain there for a few more months as a result. We are already under, we pay the junior advocates three months late, and now it will be five or six months late, because all by myself I cannot cope. I donít really mind about this, because in the end I just do my hours and get out. But after realising that she was asking me to double my workload, I wanted to make sure that my Manager knew about it. So I got them both there with me to discuss the situation and to make certain they wanted me to do this, because in the six months I have been there, we never had to do this, and they never did before, so why now? It was also important to me that my Line Managers knew it would now take me twice longer to do my job, and so that they shouldnít be surprised when the grad fees become once again out of control. The bitch didnít like it, being put on the spot like that, within one minute after our simple discussion about what to do and how to proceed, she was on the phone with my Line Manager, freaking out about me. I have been told now to avoid her for the rest of the day. It has put me in a bad mood, but to be honest, I donít really care that much. Put in perspective, this is nothing compared with what I had to suffer in my previous jobs. And so, Iíve realised that this job is very cushy, almost free of any troubles and confrontations. I will go to her today and apologise for whatever it is she felt bad about, that she felt the need to contact my Line Manager to get me into trouble. What is brilliant, is that my Line Manager does not give a shit, and almost didnít tell me she stitched me up. It goes no further with him. Great management skills. He defuses the whole situation but simply not making a fuss about it. Heís the reason why this job is so great.


My manager should get a medal for his skills, a book should be written about it. I told him he was the best manager I ever had in my lifetime. Yet, he is despised for it, the management believes he is useless and apparently they have been trying to get rid of him for a while. This is sad, and I am powerless to do anything about it, except protect him as much as I can, and that, I certainly do. He is the first manager I ever had who has my unconditional loyalty, I am unlikely to let him down, as I donít believe he would let me down. This is quite refreshing for me to be saying those things, to have suffered such a big backstabbing, and yet, within 10 minutes of panicking, I am peaceful again and will go in after lunch not bothered by the whole thing. It is revolutionary. It is though what I thought I could expect from a job in the public sector, this is why for many years now I wanted to work as a civil servant. No pressure, less backstabbing, real happiness. Iím coming to terms with the nightmare the work place is, so I guess I should cling to this job, even though it pays next to nothing. Money is nothing, having a job is everything, otherwise everyone around you, your family, makes a big fuss about it and blame you for the misery of the whole humanity.


27 April 2007


It has been a month since I write in here, for a moment there I thought I would close the book, because nothing happens apart from the routine, and the crashing of three out of four hard drives on the same day two months ago brought my whole life to a halt. I only restarted last night writing Anna Maria, 10 pages, and this why I am so tired today and told the old Indian man to shut up at work. My whole life in ruins because of a lack of sleep, no more patience for anything, everything annoys me to death.


Very simple sentence, shut up, we hear it everyday on TV, without any consequence, but there, said in an office environment, in the cold light of day, in real life, it had quite an impact. No one spoke for five minutes, and I bet it is not the end of it.


My life is also come crashing down because I canít afford to become a British Citizen. Iíve done the stupid immigration test, I passed, cost me 36 pounds, and now they want 700 for the application. Becoming a citizen is now a luxury that only lawyers and doctors can afford. I donít know what Iím going to do, I canít even pay the 700 pounds to fix my car and it is already at the garage. Taxing it, the MOT and the insurance will add another 500 pounds to the bill. I simply cannot afford to live anymore, and both Stephen and I are working our tits off like two madmen. It is still not enough. We are 1000 pounds short every month, we do not go out, we never eat in restaurants, last time we went to see a play, must have been 6 years ago.


Iím not sure how I will survive the afternoon, at least the old man has the rest of the day off. Heís never there anyway, and now he has inherited the cashierís job, and no one gets paid, I canít process any grad fees, I have a mountain of files to go through, thousands of grad fees for which I need to find files that remains inexistent, and every time I try to enter a claim on the computer, everything beeps, it is plagued with mistakes which prevents to do my job, and I have to go see the monster Chief Clerk in order to figure out what to do. She is a master of multiplication of bureaucracy, I spend more time sending back claims to advocates and solicitors, than simply paying them, and they keep sending them back to me the very next day, and I keep sending them back again, and they come back again. The reasons are futile, unjustified, and I am totally on their side. I am powerless to stop this childish behaviour of the Chief Clerk. Itís time she moves on, sheís been there 15 years, thatís enough!


God Iím tired.


1 May 2007


Tonight Iím in the mood to talk. Funny that now extraordinary circumstances are necessary for me to start writing, like tomorrow weíre on strike. So tonight I can drink myself to death and write. Even then, I had to tell myself that I wouldnít do anything else, I was quite prepared to go to another abandonware website and download just about every single adventure game there ever was which have now gone into the public domain. God knows when I will have the time to play these games, at work last week I joked that I was downloading all that for when I will retire, in 35 years. I never do half a job, I will die trying to do 200% of it. I guess I need to cure myself from that, but not this year. I will have every single adventure game there is on this planet, and I will one day find the time to play them all.


I remember a time when I was programming my own graphic adventures, designing the images, writing the content, programming the whole thing to build a story. I must have done at least 4 or 5, the last one quite impressive and comparable if not ten times better than most of the shit Iím downloading right now. And that was done at a time when we weíre programming in basic, and the best of us all were programming in binary language. What I would have done to be able to do the same, and I would have if the new generation of computers had not it the market. Once I switched my Tandy Radio Shack CoCo2 computer form an Atari ST with some sort of early windows desktop, that was it, I never programmed again, Iím surprised I continue writing at all, because I could have easily let go of that as well at the time.


I donít know what happened. It was not the same after that, writing in basic did not seem that easy on an Atari ST, and it was even less on Windows 3.1 once I bought my first portable PC when I was 18 years old. It was black and white then, my God, I sound like my grandfather, when he tells us he bought the first TV of the whole village, and that it was black and white. He also bought the first colour TV, just like I bought the first ever computers on the market as they were becoming available, and I certainly bought the first colour one of the whole town when it came out.


Iím 34 years old now, and Iím working with that kid at work whoís barely 21. He was born with a PC and other game consoles. I had in my time a Leisure Vision, then an Atari 2600, then some other console I canít remember. Iím not even certain if this kid knows these consoles ever existed, I believe he thinks xbox and play stations are the first generation of game consoles. Or he believes that anything that came before that was simple crap and not worth considering. However I had so much fun with these early computers and consoles, and as much as I try to connect with the actual ones, I canít. All the games are boring, and are about military strategy and first person shooter. We had none of that in my days, or at least it was on a much simpler scale and hence playable and fun. Today thereís no fun in most of these games, they have become way too complicated and uninteresting. And it is not that Iím becoming old, Iím still very much playing actual adventure games, though at the moment they have a tendency to jump into action adventure style, and then I lose interest. If I have to use a vast array of weapons and kill up to 10,000 soldiers, monsters or dragons, I disconnect, booooring.


Iíve been worried about that kid at work, because he shows me how old Iíve become, and how young he is. That we are so far apart, that I seem to lose touch with whatís new. But that is not true, I have all the latest gadgets, I buy them as they come out. They seem to think that iPod is the newest invention around, they think these MP3 players came out last year, I had the first ever MP3 player something like eight years ago, the iPod has nothing revolutionary about it except the memory capacity.


I donít know, I feel like Iím getting older, Iím jealous to be honest. I wish I was born at a time when personal computers really existed at the time I was born. Thatís what I really feel bad about, that I had to wait a decade of my life before I finally got my first ever computer, even though I had a game console when I was 7. But the computer was what was going to change my life, thatís what I should have had when I was 4 years old bored out of my mind because there was nothing to do except playing those old 33 tours records that today I canít even stand that they ever existed. I wanted to be born with a computer plugged into my brain, and by the time that technology exists, Iíll be dead.


However I had to try to convince myself that everything happened as it should have, instead of things happened as they have been able to happen considering how limited we were at the end of the 70ís and early 80ís. I would have never learnt basic, never programmed all those little software I did for fun, never created my own graphic adventures which I have now lost. True, but who cares, I cannot imagine myself starting to write in basic again anytime soon, or any other language, though this week Iíve been considering it. But which one? Today there are dozens of different computer languages, most people working at creating adventures probably donít even have to program anything. I donít even know where to start. When I was young, there was only one thing, basic. I had to learn it, I had fun with it, today it is like Iím being flooded and I wouldnít even know where to start, or if I wouldnít be wasted my time learning something that next year will be totally useless. Anyway, at the time I was able to create adventures as good as the professionals. Today I couldnít even come close. Doing a game today is more like how Hollywood makes films, it costs millions, it requires a team of 300 people. And God only knows what these people do.


I am jealous because I would have liked to be born when computers were already old hat, at the same time, I had an experience that none of those kids will ever have. When your computer is a command prompt, you have no choice but working in codes, and hence to start programming is very natural. When you have windows, you have the chance to never see a code in your life, and in certain ways it has its advantages. God the nightmare it was to programme HTML pages at the very beginning, as once again I was one of the first on the Internet and building web pages. There was a time when my websites were reaching number one on every single search engine, on any search people were doing, because by then the commercial world had not taken over the Internet, and I seemed to be the only one out there with more than just a list of products, I had pages and pages of content, I was King of the Internet, every one of my friends found me as soon as they got connected. Today they would have a hard time finding my website doing a search on my name. I need to re-submit my pages again to all search engines, I havenít done it for years, it might explain why I am being buried.


Why did I have to think about all that recently? Because of a damn kid who used to like Street Fighter as the first ever new generation game on the streets, which marked the beginning of the end, of all these boring games that came out after Ms Pac Man was finally dead, but was never replaced with something much better? More fun? Today I canít stand Ms Pac Man, and yet, I played it a lot in Los Angeles last year, while waiting for my pizzas to be ready on a Friday night after work. I was expecting something else to replace it which would have been perhaps as simple but fun, not more complicated, all those resources, but with the incapacity to make it interesting. Is it just a lack of imagination? For a second there I thought that the advent of games on mobile phones might have brought us back the simplicity required for a game to be fun, and yet, I can see that it is the imagination which is our problem. Simple games, running on low processing speeds and lack of memory capacity, and yet, the best thing to do is to bring back the fun games of the past, Nebulus for example. A weird little animal trying to reach the top of a tower, going through tunnels to reach the other side of the tower, trying to avoid flying balls. Must have spent hours playing that. Dungeon Master was the best game ever, and that is fantasy and all, killing mummy and monsters, and knights, with your sword and fire balls, and yet, there has never been any other game on the market after Dungeon Master which was fun. And Dungeon Master was one of the first games on Atari ST at the time, when personal computers were even less powerful than todayís mobile phones.


At least adventures went wild, they became much better, the Atlantis series have been my long time favourites, with a bunch of Sierras and Cryoís games, and the Longest Journey, Dreamfall and the House of Tales games from Germany. Without those games I would have committed suicide a long time ago. They are why I was able to escape reality, forget that I even exist, lose myself in a credible virtual reality, and simply make me dream. Iím sometimes afraid that in 10 years time it will be plugged into our brain directly, and again I will feel bad because that wouldnít have existed by the time I was born. However, it is perhaps possible that I will be disappointed, and that none of that high technology will be able to bring me somewhere else like those badly 3D graphics were 10 years ago. I agree, computer screens are limited, letís get rid of them, keyboards, what a bore, letís get rid of them, especially that mouse. But then, will it bring me out of this world? Will it give me that sensation, emotion, I felt the very first time I watched all the episodes of Star Trek the Next Generation on TV a decade ago? It was powerful despite its very limited resources, TV screens are really past date. And yet, it changed my life, just like those adventures. Funny I never mentioned them before in all my books, and yet they are such an important part of my life. That if I had the means, I wouldnít be writing books, I would be creating adventure games. Today it is simply not possible, or else it would have to be for fun, and for free over the net. I might get on with it, I found some software recently just for that, creating adventures. I have to investigate. I donít want this to become a waste of time, time which could be better use right now to write new books.


Even books nowadays, I feel it is almost past date. Before the Internet, writing a book was quite something, you were an author, it was respectable, whether you were published or not. Today you can quickly just be another blogger. Millions are writing, publishers are churning new books as if it was the end of humanity and that they needed to do something to save the human race. Unfortunately. most of it is unreadable, boring me to death, none of the new authors are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.


Whatís wrong with me? Iím bored out of my mind. All this technology that I eat for breakfast is not enough, I need more, I need a few next generations to happen instantly, and even then, I think I will become bored so quickly. I want the ultimate experience, the one which will free me from my reality completely. The virtual world which will be so convincing, that it will take over my existence, stop time somehow via relativity, and give me the chance to live in there for eternity in a world of wonders where I will be the happiest. One way or another, I will free myself from this boring reality, if it is not suicide, it better be a convincing virtual existence. Does not even need to be about sex, I know better. I know that walking around in a virtual reconstruction of the old city of Atlantis is a sexual experience. Because when I wank, at the summum of my orgasm, images and memories of when I play these games resurface to my mind, as if being in these virtual worlds were the only pleasurable things I have ever experienced in this life. People who donít find evasion or escape through these games, have a TV, but I can assure you, I never thought of TV or even a television series when I had an orgasm, though I remember sometime thinking about Star Trek the next gen, and it is the only series which have brought me that kind of pleasure, because it is the only credible television series capable of make you believe you are no longer on this small and ugly planet which is Earth. I have never experienced that kind of excitement about any other series, and I watched them all. I hope my Anna Maria will be able to bring people somewhere else, and I wonder how great it can become after three books. Whilst I am debating right now if I should move on after the first book, create a totally new universe, or build on that one. Hard decision. The book wonít get published, wonít become a television series, and hence, I might find myself thinking I have failed and need to create something else. When in fact it is simply a lack of good contacts, and maybe I should carry on. Create my own Sherlock Holmes legacy. But is it? Anna Maria? Or could I think something even better. There lay the answer. If I can, then I should go for it. If I canít, then I have it and should write a second book. There are so many things left to explore, so many ideas in there just screaming to be exploited, I could lose myself in there for decades to come. Shame I canít find the time to finish it, when Iím so close to the end. Again Iím sitting here tonight wondering how I was able to find the motivation and determination and time to write so much so quickly, when now it is becoming impossible to write ten pages. When there is nothing motivating you to write fiction, it is hard to find the energy. Something almost magical needs to happen to get you on the road and simply do it. When you know it will never go anywhere and that youíre just wasting your time. And then again, not writing it is a bigger waste of time, because then, what the fuck do you do instead but watch TV or play games? Escaping reality is important, true. Helping others escaping it seems to have been mission in life. I have some experience at that, I had many people contacting me, telling me I changed their lives, because of books I have written. But it is not enough, I always felt I needed to become global, influence people on a massive scale, and in the end, I donít even get a buzz out of it, so why go through so much pain? Simple desire to escape my reality, once again. It is the way I feel I will get my freedom, at least do something worthwhile that I enjoy doing, instead of crappy jobs where what I do is meaningless and is killing me.


If I ever have a lot of success one day, my recompense will be the freedom to isolate myself completely from everyone else. I will live in my own little isolated universe alone, and that will be paradise. No news, no radio, no magazines or newspapers, no emails, but lotís of technology, that I know. My medieval castle perhaps will not fly in space like the enterprise, but inside it will very much looks like an enterprise. Perhaps it is why Iím downloading all those adventures right now, 800 to be precise, when I know that I can only play a few a year. Totally wasted, I spent more time downloading and burning CDs than I will ever have the chance to experience these universes. Itís a gamble, maybe I will never play any of them, maybe Iíll be spending years playing them with more free time I ever dreamt of. You never know, and you cannot predict which adventure you will want to experience one day, so Iíll get them all, and one day Iíll advise. Itís like everything else anyway, I need to know everything that exists about something if one day I will be doing the same. And if I become rich one day, thatís what Iíll do, create adventure games, even thought thereís not much money in it. Escapism is the most important thing, and you will note that Iím not talking about simple entertainment, Iím talking about something that saves lives, just like it saved mine. It is like going to see Depeche Mode in concert in Wembley, it is an adventure, not just another night out. Something to remember forever, an experience. Even that the kid at work cannot comprehend. He believes Depeche Mode has been dead for years, when their last album last year was number one in America, and every stadium was packed in California whilst in England we donít hear of Depeche Mode anymore. Of course, Wembley is full, packed with oldies like me. But Depeche Mode in the U.S., it is not for the granddads, it is a new generation capable of appreciating great music. It is sad when the media can make you or break you, and that great stuff in some countries will never see the light of day.


Perhaps it is time that I accept that this kid at work and me, we have nothing in common, we have very different tastes, and just move on, donít give it a second thought. For godís sake, his favourite music is beatboxes, whatever that is. Beats done with your mouth, I canít think of nothing more exasperating and uninspired. He loves raves, and he is some amateur of drugs, like Ecstacy and hash. I donít understand why I see myself in him. He is thin, skinny, beautiful, soft, intelligent, intellectual, some sort of genius, just like I was at his age. We are perfect replica. I was also going out every night at that age and a zombie at work the rest of the week. He developed it into an art form, something I never did, but weíre the same. Thatís what is troubling. Iím the only one at work able to see his potential, how intelligent he is. I feel he could become much more than I ever was, if somehow everything falls into place in his life. I also need to consider that people like me, there might be thousands, and yet only one out of thousands will ever break out. Iím not even sure if I will ever break out of it all myself. I sure work hard towards it, I certainly made every possible decisions to ensure I will escape this way of life, and if I havenít been successful so far, I certainly believe that I am getting there. And Los Angeles last year was one more step towards it. I thought the results would be more extravagant, it is perhaps that I cannot yet see those results. Maybe it just happened to bring me back my faith. I have to admit, getting back in England with that stupid whinger of a boyfriend is doing my head in. I am now looking at any opportunity to leave him, anything will do. I need to free myself from my boyfriend before anything else. That was actually the main reason why I wanted to leave the country, and Los Angeles was the perfect opportunity, the only one, as leaving this life for Boston would have been a no-no. Even New York could not have convinced me to move to America. I simply forgot once in Los Angeles the reason I went there, it was to get rid of the nightmare that my life had become with Stephen. And somehow now Iím back right to square one, and Iím tired of it. I really need to get out of this relationship. I sued to think that it would get better once we have no more stress in our lives, but letís face it, weíre condemned to work in these miserable jobs every day, so stress will never disappear. In the meantime he is making my existence a living hell, and I just donít know what to do anymore. I am at the point where Iím hoping he will die of an overdose of these drugs he is taking, to free myself, when I could just walk out this door and never come back. Life doesnít work that way. Where would I go? What would become of me? As miserable as I was in Los Angeles perhaps? His death would solve all my problems, my indecision, etc. At the same time, it would probably kill me, because I love the bastard. So what am I supposed to do? His chameleon died two days ago, and since then we have not been on speaking terms. He seems to blame me for the death of the chameleon, like he blames me if the dog barks in the middle of the night, and also blames me when the parrot get out of control and wakes up the whole of London. In fact, we have not been on speaking terms since my return from Los Angeles. And before we were so not on speaking terms, I couldnít wait to get out of England altogether. This relationship has been over many years ago, and yet I am still stuck here. Maybe it is time that I loo for another place to live, alone. Iím just not sure I could afford it, maybe I should try. My friend Sheila would take me, I know that. Would need to find a job around North London though. I donít think I would make the move. My friend in Sidmouth might take me, and even offer me a job in his computer shop. It wouldnít be lower than my actual salary, thatís for sure. Donít know if I could move to Sidmouth just like that. Perhaps I am waiting after destiny to make the decision for me. Like Los Angeles, it is something I didnít have to decide, it was offered to me on a platter, not taking the opportunity would have been impossible in my case.


There is little left to motivate me in this world. There never was much to motivate me in fact. I always thought that death was much more desirable than life. I donít know why, I canít explain it. Iím drunk again, and every single time Iím drunk, I reach that same conclusion, whether Iím in Toronto, in Paris, in New York, in Los Angeles or in London. I always felt as well that when I was drunk, I could finally really understand myself, get the real me, finally stop being blinded by everything else. I just get right to the bottom of my neurosis, I see clearly. It seems that I have only one real dream, the one to die. I felt like that even when I was in love, and I havenít been in love for over a decade now, which probably makes it worse. At least I am not in depression about it, it seems that to have been in love cures you from wanting so desperately to be in love again. Same thing for sex. When you reach a point in your life where you had a lot of sex, you can finally move on and sex is no longer that most basic need you have which blinds you to everything else that exists. Sex is not an end in itself. Love is not an end in itself. There is something else which needs to be satisfied, and Iím not sure what that is, perhaps freedom to do whatever you want, whenever you want. Then again, I have a feeling that it might not be enough. Until I find out, death will be on my mind.


The worst thing is that I couldnít possibly hoped for a better life than the one I have right now. Iím proud of everything I have achieved, everything I have done. I have to admit, it is much more than I ever thought I could achieve when I was still 18 years old lost in my village in the North Pole. And yet, it is not enough, I am not happy, I have not found either happiness or peace. I wish to be peaceful at the very least, that I could not even achieve, when it is perhaps just a state of mind, it is psychological. Anyone can be peaceful and happy, if they wish to. Perhaps I thought it was dependent on some events or some situations or events in oneís life. Obviously it is not. Being rich right now, or a huge public figure wouldnít change anything to my state of mind, it wouldnít make me happier or satisfied with this existence. I suppose that is a hard lesson to learn, and being able to learn it without even having ever tasted fame and richness is a good thing. It will be one less thing to achieve for which I would have learnt that this was not the answer to all my problems. Freedom I guess is everything, it always comes back to that, even though Iím not certain of the definition I would give it. I would recognise it, I know that, it would bring me happiness and peacefulness, that I know. So how do I find freedom? How do I reach it? If it is just a state of the mind state of affair, surely I should be able to reach freedom in my sleep? Or is it something I will never find, because it is so intangible, just an intellectual concept, that none of it will ever be reached? Dear me, that would explain a lot of things. Toute ma vie Jíai couru aprŤs des chimŤres, that could easily be the last thing I will state on my dead bed.


Something the kid at work said last week, he was wondering if he should go to Brighton to rejoin his friends who decided to leave him for death on a Friday afternoon and go without him, as he was still at work, ready to go with his bag pack. I asked me if he should take a train after work. My Manager said no, that his friends were not worthy of him if they had left him for dead. I said go, you donít know what it is that will happen that could finally make some contribution to your existence, enough to become a few fascinating paragraphs in a book. And then he turned around to me and said: I will go because I read on your website somewhere that you never regretted any of the decisions you made. I was stunned. Yes, I remember writing that, about the fact that I moved to Paris at 19, London at 20, New York at 21, Brussels at 22 and Los Angeles a decade later. But I couldnít find the book or the page on my website where I said so. I couldnít find in the thousands of pages I have written where it is that I have said that. It worried me that the kid had read a lot of my writings, ťtats dí‚me, and other emotional and suicidal stuff I might have written. Did he just stumbled upon that line while vaguely surfing on my website, or did he sit there one late night reading everything for hours and hours? I still have to ask him that question. It is one thing to be honest when you write, it is another when your colleague at work is privy to your most personal thoughts. Strangers are ok, I will never meet them, and if Iím lucky, I will never hear or read their personal critics. But your colleague? Thatís something else.


15 May 2007


Was supposed to sleep a bit tonight, but Stephen prevented me. So I thought, would go to bed early so not to be a zombie at work tomorrow, and now at midnight I had two glasses of wine, Iím listening to old 80ís oldies MP3, and sleeping time nowhere in sight.


For the last two days Iíve been catching up on some reading, about every negative article and books written about Scientology, I downloaded everything I could find, I never do half a job. And every single piece of writing Ron Hubbard ever wrote, including what they sell for thousand of pounds. I may one day flick through that. The only problem about scientology, is that it always bring you back to the stars supporting it, and so tonight Iíve been reading about John Travolta and Tom Cruise, and hence South Park banned episode where Tom Cruise and Travolta are gays in the closet, protected by sham marriages organised by Scientology. Whatever.


Somehow this whole thing energised me, that Tom Cruise and John Travolta could one day come out of the closet, that I could eventually meet them, and who knows, perhaps sleep with themÖ all right, Iím getting carried away. This is more Gay Power out there, and Iím in awe. Unfortunately I guess it wonít help me, closeted gays and openly ones are not exactly coming out of the woodwork in order to help other desperate gay people. Will just have to hope that my Anna Maria will reach stardom all on its own. I never doubt it for a moment, and yet, Iím in deep doubts right now. Is it all down to connections in the end? Or never giving up? I never gave up writing, I never stopped, writing more and more, and at some point there must be a breakthrough, Iíve got to insure my pension, cos the way itís going, Iíll have to commit suicide before reaching 65, because then there will be no pension and no government help anywhere in the world. I can see it, everyone can see it, no one cares. So I have to do something to insure my old years, if somehow I donít kill myself before reaching them, or die of that Essential Thrombocytemia, this overproduction of platelets that my body decided one day to do, for no reason apparently. Very rare in people in their early thirties, and here we are, another one with an unknown sickness, will be original foer my obituaries: Died of an obscure disease, just like million others who al seem to die from mysterious illnesses. How many of them are there? Millions. The weak will perish, and Ő guess Iím just too weak. Letís face it, I was already diseased, being gay, but that at least is not obscure or rare, though at one time it was because everyone was in the closet, just like it seems to be the fashion in the celebrity world right now.


Problem about that book is that last weekend I sort of drank too much, and launched into multiple attacks about everything. Anna is now a closeted Jewish woman, Arthur is a closeted Catholic, and hates religion a bit too much, ready to exterminate millions in order to eliminate it, within some sort of tyrannical monarchy. Oh well, will need to edit the whole thing (delete the whole thing) and hope I will not have to annihilate everything. I guess I cannot really talk about religion, too many people are way too fanatical about their own religion, I would alienate the whole planet, and I guess this is the last thing I need for my mass market commercial product Anna Maria. Anna Maria is the first book I have ever written which I consider a pure product, instead of literature. Thereís a difference, and thatís what my mom has been telling me for years, think big, think money, think product, and so I gave in. I enjoyed it though, it was not painful to write the book, so thatís a first. Each idea for each story was considered by me to be exceptional, however when youíre in the thick of writing them, you just lose all perspective. For now I have no idea of the value of any idea, originality and impact it could have. Two persons read them all, Leonardo in Los Angeles, my other friend in Sidmouth. They both really reacted favourably, but God knows if bad stuff could have reached them the same way, as they are my friends. Yeah, so Iím a bit distressed by all my hard work on Anna Maria this weekend which I feel might have been wasted time. I already have my 28 pages, but fearing that I would delete it or that it would be censored, I had already told myself that I would write a few more pages. Now I dare not look back. It is the first short story that I went overboard and deleted stuff, I have already changed the whole thing and got rid of the first opening I previously did. This book will never be finished, and yet Iím so near the end, I have to finish it within a month. Then I can blame not contacting the tax people both in England and in the U.S. on Anna Maria, the same about not applying for my British Citizenship. What a waste, I should have done all that by now.


Listening to old hits from the 80ís, makes me wonder. Bands that have been highly successful but today are all but dead, along with all their songs and albums, except that one or two classic songs they were able to come up with in a moment of insanity. Something so spontaneous, so extraordinary, where everything seems to have come up together at the very last minute, and there you are, a song that will never die. Most of them happened by mistake, and were never repeated afterwards, I mean one great classic song, most people have only one or two under their belt, if theyíre lucky, if they were genius enough to achieve that in the first place, if their song is still played in every decade since it came out. Take on Me of A-ha is one of them, still the most played song in Europe every year over the radio, and yet I canít stand the song now. Not the best example, but it is sort of number one in that field.


And there I am, wondering if I can achieve such a classic, but in books. And if I will only have one shot at this. Iím worried, because if Anna Maria is successful, Iím not sure I can do it again, or do something better or more successful. And yet, it was all innocent, all done instantly with all the spontaneity in the world, no pressure whatsoever, no one told me to sit down and write a line, and there was no monetary motivation, I never really considered that I was doing it for money. Hey, with my history, I never made any money from writing anything, or almost. This is certainly not my motivation, as deep down I know very well this book will not go anywhere, even though I hope it will be my breakthrough. There is something so pure and innocent about it all, something that will never exist again. I tend to forget that if this is a success, it will be down to one thing only, the amount of great ideas that are parts of the short stories, and these came to me over a period of many years, and a publisher following the success of Anna Maria will want another one within six months. Writing it is nothing, thinking and creating it will be something else. Iím already thinking about ways of gathering inspiration, and it is all bollocks, because I never needed anything in order to get inspiration or finding great ideas. I guess Iíll just have to trust that Iím good at what I do, and that my resources and imagination are unlimited and unbound. And then again, if Anna Maria goes nowhere, then all this is for nothing and I might as well give up, because I really donít know what else I could write which could be better. Not true, I was thinking about it today actually. The most simple and horrible love story filled with painful events, ordinary stuff, the kind of story which would bring me to the brink of suicide if I had to read it for a particular course, yawn, yawn! That would have to be my last attempt.


Well, I already know that I would fail. After watching a film about Truman Capote. The book that turned him into the most respected and best selling American author was In Cold Blood. And when you look at the content of the story, there is really nothing about it that would make me wish to rush to read it, in fact, I started reading it yesterday and it sent me off the wall. The only reason Truman Capote was successful with that book, was not the content, or the story, or even that it was new to write a non-fiction novel (though that must have helped), it was his writing style. And then, at that point, he could have written a book called In Cold Winter, about two escargots being crushed on the pavement, for 300 pages, and people and critics would still have gone wild. And there and then, I know I will always fail as a writer, because I cannot write in the style of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, my favourite, not in English anyway. And I cannot do it in French either, because if youíre from Quťbec instead of France, youíre already handicapped. Worse, I donít like that most appreciated and talked about writing style neither in French or English, and I donít want to write in that style. I wonít even attempt it, though eventually I plan a pastiche of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, however I feel I will never be good enough to do so, not in a second language. So whatís left for me? In fact, there is only one place I could fit in in the history of literature, that is The Nouveau Roman published at …ditions de Minuit in Paris. This is the only movement which could give any credibility to anything I have written so far, to legitimise it and claim that what Iím doing is literature, probably because there is firm rule, it is all disconnected and there is no Gallimard writing style in sight in any of these books. What you could not classify in the 60s or 70s, it was basically du Nouveau Roman. What I have been writing before Anna Maria, was unclassified. Closer perhaps to the collection de LíImaginaire at Gallimard, and if ever Iím published in that collection, then Iíll know Iím a real author. High ambitions, my only ambition, and yet I now write in English and will, or donít intend at the moment to revert back to French. I may have to if I wish to write again in my special writing style that I developed for my early books, and I would like to get back to that, and it can probably only be done in French. These books are Towards the Green Fields, The Revolution and The Eclectism. I feel it was new, never done before, quite an accomplishment. However I lacked the connection to drive these books anywhere, and so they can only be known now if I ever reach success with other books like Anna Maria, and then again, like with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, anything else I would have written which does not bear the stamp of Anna Maria or Sherlock Holmes on it, will be forgotten or put aside as inexistent.


There is no reason to deny this now, Iím obsessed with reaching success, being recognised, Iím consumed by it, it is eating me alive, and it always did, since the first short story I wrote at 10 years old, since the first graphic adventure I programmed in basic when I was also 10. At that point I started having ideas of grandeur that I was some sort of genius who would achieve great things in his life, and I never looked back, or I did looked back every other day. To remind myself, of where it all started, and where it was going, and where it would all lead. And yet, you will not find a word about this in everything I have written in French, even in the most biographical books I ever wrote. I will vaguely touch the subject, but never go into an in-depth analysis like Iím doing right now. I learn very early that a whinging mediocre writer crying over his lack of success was to be avoided at any cost, and yet I could have written whole books about it, because it has been the only thing on my mind for the last 25 years. There is only one reason I let myself go now, in this book, in English, when I know I shouldnít, because in English it is like a new beginning, but it is because when you have been writing for 25 years and have over 25 and more books under your belt, it is like you already have a lifetime or career done upon the subject, and so Ő better start talking about these things soon, because I could very be at the end of my writing career. I could die, or I could decide to stop writing altogether. Iíve always been writing what I wanted anyway, including Anna Maria, to bring together all these ideas I came up with for potential feature film scripts. I will have no more ideas to cover after that in any sort of Anna Mariaís style book. Either it is a success and I will have to start from scratch to write another, or I take it easy and wait until I feel like writing something totally different, either in French or in English. I have no doubt it will be completely different and new, something I never did before, and I look forward to it. I just hope Iím finished with these pseudo-poetry books which I thought for a long time would bring me fame, I know now that the titles alone frighten any publisher in sight. No one have been able to appreciate these books. They were useful in order for me to vent my hate and pressure, but ultimately they could not go anywhere on their own, and I intend to have an easier life from now on, so no more of that crap. Even though, and I cannot deny this, whenever I am drunk, feeling energised listening to great music, I always go back to these books and read them until I fall asleep in the early morning. They will certainly stand as my favourite books, and in the end, that is all that counts, and so I should not discount writing another. It is never a waste of time, because every single one of those poetry books have always been written in parallel of writing something concrete, or at least, another book, as I have always been writing at least two books in parallel, sometimes three.


When I look back, I donít know where I found the energy, the motivation. I could never have done it on demand, no matter how much money someone could offer me. This is a life in writing, and it was done as if it was the most natural thing for me in the world. It might turn out to be worth nothing, it is a big worry for me, and yet, I was compelled to do it. Sometimes I am frighten that it is something that I will never be able to repeat or carry on. That one day I will just run dry with nothing else to say, like it happens so often at work that suddenly I shut up for days and just do my work, something meaningless and repetitive. Because then I find the environment hostile, not permitting any sort of talk, deviation, or freedom. I might then just shut up, when everything you say is used to incriminate you, that everything single word you say is used against you in some sort of ongoing trial. Iíve reached that point now at the Crown Court, I am now a stirrer, at least I am not a backstabber, but I feel I am, even though it is nothing compared with everything I suffered everywhere else in the other jobs I had. I have met real backstabbers in my time, I have to say that where I work now, there are none. Just a few gossip people, mostly and mainly the managers, probably because they are a bit more intelligent than the rest, who are so simple minded, backstabbing would not even enter their mind. Nice people, shame theyíve got no brain whatsoever, which explains why they are civil servants, living a pitiful existence serving others for a pittance. Today I told myself that I had to stop talking about them about al the places I visited and everything that happened to me in my life, because I strongly feel that they will perceive me as a pathological liar, a delusional, who thinks he is better than he really is. And yet I have tone myself down so many times, it took me months before I told them anything about me just to prevent that. And yet, I am coming to the conclusion tonight that despite all my wildest claims, none of them expressed jealousy and hate towards me, simply because they are too small minded for that sort of thing, which is really refreshing, I have to say. In Los Angeles, just mentioning that I had six books published was already too much, you should have seen the hell I put myself into just by stating that fact. In Los Angeles, it donít matter if you are a published author, if every other person does not know your name, then youíre nothing and you are not allowed to even mention anything, it could be seen as boasting when you have no reason to, because you are obviously a failure if no one knows you. In the Crown Court, telling them about my published books is like telling them that I went for a walk in Osterley Park, it goes right over their heads, it does not light up any lights in their brain, it means nothing. Which again made me wish for a society where a writer would be recognised for something, it is not easy after all to write a book, and not many people can achieve it, even if most of the ones who do have the detestable habit to get published in the first round and reaching some success which I feel is not deserved, for me who struggled for such a long time without ever getting anywhere. In France, actually, in Paris, is the only place where an author is respected, admired, celebrated. Nowhere else have I got the status I had in Paris. I was someone even though at the time I had barely written 10 books and none were published. Celebrated as someone with great potential who would achieve great things, an artist I was in Paris, a pariah in London, a nobody in Canada, and an undesirable, annoying pretentious monster in Los Angeles. I guess I will eventually have to live in Paris, if I can ask for my British Citizenship eventually, or else, Iíll never be able to live in Paris, ever, unless it was illegally, and I will if ever I can live out of my writings. Only Paris now makes me sick when Ő live there, sick in a good way, as if I was really somewhere worthy of my attention, somewhere where I was always meant to live. And yet, if I became rich tomorrow morning, I would probably move to the South of France, not Paris. And I would never feel like I am lost, because they speak my language, it would be a totally different story in Spain or Italy, eventually I would want out. I might though enjoy Germany, especially Bavaria. Such a special place, and German people are so nice, hard to believe they are depicted so badly in just about every other Hollywood film, the reality is the German are the greatest people I have met in my life, the most interesting.


Now I thing I babbled enough for one night, telling things whilst being drunk, which the next day I might no longer think, and would have a hard time to convince a jury that despite saying those things once, I never really believed any of it. And that is becoming a real problem with the media and websites like Wikipedia. If once you said something, youíre fucked, because it becomes then your core being, everything you believe in, and you will never be able to shake it off. Telling your true thoughts will be seen as a PR exercise, a lie. Sometimes I love you all, sometimes I hate you all. Sometimes I write you love letters, other times it is mostly hate and destruction. Which is the real me then? I am a being of love? Or a being of hate? I bet you will only remember the latter, and yet I am both. Sometimes I love you, but sometimes I hate you. It depends on a lot of things, and right now, just thinking about this, I hate you all. I find it hard to love you. But Iím trying, and tomorrow morning I might just love you again, when Iím peaceful again and without any alcohol in my blood. Thank God Iím not completely drunk, or else what I would be telling you all right now, is that I wish you could all burn in hell and a bomb should annihilate all of you as soon as possible. Never mind, tonight I love you all and I wish you all to live a long life and to prosper, and to multiply to the stars. I must really feel close to death for talking such nonsense, I really donít give a shit about you, I just hate you all though I canít explain why. Most criminal in England must feel the same when they rob you of your money, when they hit you in the face in the street for no reason, they are filled with what fills my vein, hate, for no reason, no apparent reason that is. But when you read these lines, perhaps you can guess the real reasons, the frustration, the real reasons. I know them, I wonít admit to them, certainly not in a court of law. Which reminds me a letter I read today from a defendant from Africa, who was caught smuggling cocaine in the country. His letter was obviously dictated by professional counsels, or even solicitors, because if I was not more clued up, I would have cried. Instead it revolted me, that such bullshit could be used to try to soften me and the Judge towards the sentence. A rocambolesque story about something like 25 children between the defendant and his brother and sister, a failed business, some Mafiosi on his back, a desperate act for man only wishing to feed his children and his dying sister who somehow is dying of AIDS, like if cares anyway in the first place, if he actually saw her in the last 20 years. I was revolted, that a criminal would use these cheap emotional tricks to get to me, had I been a judge, he would have got twice the sentence of anyone else, because he was stupid enough to listen to unimaginative counsels who thought they could get us on emotions and pity. Thereís no such thing in a court of law, bastard, and you should know better. I would have been much more clement with some sort of philosophical justification as to why that loser decided to make a few thousand pounds by importing drugs into the country, and were to bring me quotations from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Machiavelli and Hobbes. If he had done so in my own court, he would have walked free. His dying sister, from HIV, mentioned three times in three paragraphs, which Iím sure had nothing to do with the crime in the first place, guarantees him 20 years in prison and recommendation for deportation back to Nigeria after. Thank God Iím not a judge, because Iíve become a master of reading between the lines, understanding beyond the discourse, and not being duped by bullshit. Iím sure judges are not kittens either, emotional crap probably does not reach them at all. And if there is something I have learnt from working in this Crown Court, is that the Jury is not filled with imbeciles (in London anyway, Iím sure in Los Angeles it is a totally different story). You cannot hope to deceive the jury, they are clued up, they see through you, they will not fall for your bullshit. If you raped that bitch, and you were alone with the bitch when you raped her, you will most likely walk free from a lack of evidence. And if you are an overzealous policeman trying to frame your victim on a smaller crime that what you already know is just the tip of the iceberg, you can forget it, the jury will see through all your lies and the defendant will walk free. I have to say, working at a Crown Court has inspired me, as long as the whole justice system is independent from any political party or corruption, then you are most likely to gain justice. If there is no proof, there is no proof, and you walk free. And if overzealous policemen planted evidence, tricked you in any way (which they do even in England, and it is flagrant), then you should walk free, no matter your crimes. Framing and entrapment by the authority is a worst crime on my book than any other crime, be it murder. I came across a case where the charge was handling stolen goods, the good in question was the jacket of the chief of police. Now how could this be without entrapment? The defendant walked free, and Iím pleased for it, even though it is clear the man is one of the biggest crooks around. I have little tolerance for abuse of power, and since I started working at the Court, I have to admit, Iím always on the side of the defendants, protecting their rights, making sure it does not look worse than it actually is, and hoping that if there is no proof, they walk free. I feel it would be so easy to rehabilitate most of them, just give them a worthy salary, for whatever they may do or not, who cares, crimes is something that could easily be eradicated in any society. Some of them do it by pleasure, or because they never knew anything else, but most of them do it by necessity, society drives them to it, and persecute them more in courts, when in fact, theyíre responsible for it happening in the first place. I trust my Judges, I feel theyíre more intelligent than most, they can see through you, manipulators of all sort. Then again, Iím drunk, and tomorrow I could wake up thinking completely the opposite.


21 May 2007


Tonight has been the most exhausting night for a long time. Weíve had police cars and other policemen all around the building and in the garden, playing with electronic gadgets, taking photos and perhaps listening to our conversations. Stephen arrived tonight without the van, because he suspected something like that could happen, he thought that because he had a drink today, his employer set the police on him, sent them to our home, and so the police were waiting for a white van to arrive, which never arrived. So for a while we were quite in a panic state, and you can understand that we argue and fought all night.


The thing is, if Stephen is truly that great criminal mind that he believes he is, he has done many stupid things all night. He went outside to snoop over the police something like 30 times, he kept all the curtains wide opened, all the lights of the flat were lit at high capacity, our flat became a spotlight for the whole neighbourhood. He kept most of the windows opened, so the police could hear us fight, etc. It was madness, he was practically giving himself up!


I am now at a complete loss as to understand this kind of mentality for which he assures me he what should have been done under the circumstances. I was actually wondering this week how the police, for whom we have way too many proofs are totally useless and disorganised, could have arrested all those criminals we process at the Crown Court. Simple, the police is useless, they certainly never truly investigated any crime, the people they catch are always the same ones, they come back year after year in the justice system, they are the ones who basically give themselves up, because they are small time criminals with absolutely no brain, who most probably always rob people in the exact same spot, or at the very least, the same area around where they live. When is it last time someone robbed your house and the police caught the guy? Never.Have I remained in Los Angeles, and decided to investigate the two morons who stole my TV and DVD Recorder right under my nose, I would have caught them, for the simple reason that I would have done the smallest effort to catch them. Very simple. Another ad on the same website I put it, the same morons would have fallen for it and came to be caught.


Anyway, I know now that the criminals who get caught are the brainless ones and that they seem to want to get caught, as if they donít really care. They are cocky little bastards, like Stephen, and whenever a police car is going around, they go snoop around it until the police decide to arrest them.


As the night evolved, it became clear that the police was not here for Stephen. There were now too many of them, with full armour and guns, and so it was way too serious for a simple employee who might or might not stopped down the pub for a beer. I guess it was only a coincidence if Stephen tonight felt the need to park the van a few roads away, in all his paranoia.


So if it was not for Stephen, for who then the full swat team had been called here tonight? What could be serious enough anyway? Terrorists come immediately to mind. So, do we have a terrorist living next door? Of course not. So, came the realisation that perhaps they were here for me, because of my few little poems which could suggest I was a terrorist. So you can imagine the kind of night I had, living in this police state where the freedom of speech, or even just freedom, has been eliminated at the same time it was gone all over America, the very day two planes crashed on those stupid towers in New York.


This story is not over yet, the swat team is still outside waiting patiently for something, we donít know what. However we feel now that it is more likely that they are here for our next door neighbour, who is an ex-convict who went to prison for an uncontrollable temper and actual bodily harm. He must have been arrested, must have been able to get a bail, and now the police must be here to make sure he will not retaliate against the bitch who gave him up to the police.


In the process of the night, the tension caused by the presence of so many police, has almost brought my relationship to a state of war and on the path of destruction. Stephen is also very short tempered, very short fuse, and goes on the attack in a split second. He would never hit me, but his verbal attacks and abuse are probably worse, because they make me lose it completely, and I almost destroyed the whole flat and be myself charged with actual bodily harm, just like our neighbour. It is so easy to get to that point, when youíre living with people completely off their mind through alcohol and drugs.


So, we might never know why the police is here, or they might storm our flat any minute now. It certainly does not help my sense of paranoia, my convictions that England has become the worst police state in the world, and that living here now has become intolerable. Perhaps outside of London people can still breathe, but within the M25 boundaries, thereís no hope. I just had a police man in the garden shining a flashlight inside my flat, I guess they will move on any second now. Stephen went to them to ask them what was the problem, and obviously they didnít say anything, they told him not to worry. How can we? Is there anyone left on this planet who has not done a single stupid little illegal thing who could feel completely safe when your roads and your garden is being constantly invaded by the police? When is it last time you or your kid downloaded a song over the Internet? Shit, if they wanted me, I would be an easy target. And what worries me the most, is thatthe new terror laws has given full unlimited powers to the police, and no more rights whatsoever to the accused. Iím not sure now, if I were to be arrested, if I would be given a lawyer, and if I would be given the chance of a trial.


Just got another big argument with Stephen, who still insists to keep all the doors opened so the smoke can get out, and as if this was not enough, all the lights on too, so the police can have the greatest peak in our flat, and gather as much evidence as possible against us. He must have the tiniest brain of all criminals, I am amazed he was never caught in his small time scheme 30 years ago, another proof of how incompetent police really is.


Well, the state of alert is over for us, a police woman just told Stephen, who went out again to snoop around, that an incident has been reported at number G. G is not the flat next door, and so we can only surmise that it is the fluffy girl again who went mad and destroyed everything in her flat. As she is also a sex addict, perhaps she invited the wrong type of guy for the evening, who knows. Now the police will be here all night, and we feel so wonderfully safe now, after going through the five stages of death, culminating with panic attacks and all. Great world this place has become after 20 useless, allegedly got five planes to crash years ago. This place is now unliveable, so I guess terror really does work, it has changed our lives completely and now there is really no more good reason to live.


31 May 2007


Oh dear, for some reason I feel a bit lost tonight. Itís been the hardest week at work so far, even though it is only a three day week and only two have past. Yesterday the Old Indian Man really got on my nerves. Bitching, backstabbing, checking on me at every minute, ordering me around when the bosses are not around, as if I needed that, considering that I work with 8 persons exactly in the General Office, three of them are already my Managers. Funny enough, none of them order me around, which was why this job was so perfect. They all let me live, do what I want, and I repay them back by doing my job and working hard. If only that old man would leave me alone or got sicker and decided to retire early. I think he is 64 anyway, and certainly doss around at work, doing nothing all day. In fact, our problem together is that if I work hard, he has to work hard too. Because I enter all the claims in the computer, and when he has to do a payment run, every single claim I entered, whether they have failed or not, he needs to pay them. As he is the King of wanting to do nothing, going sick home al the time, taking half day holiday virtually every week, and always at the doctor, he simply cannot cope. And then the grad fees and the standard fees and the files just pile up just about everywhere, weíre four months late paying everyone, and then I spend the day apologising to those angry counsels who want their money.


It is so typical, that even in paradise, in the perfect job, the dream job, I still have a fucking bitch on my back to make my life a misery. Otherwise, without his bitchiness, I would like the man, we had a few beers together and he was nice, full of weird experience from when he lived in Africa, I would enjoy learning from him. Weíve clashed too many times now, he hates me, today he called the dead room where we keep all the old files, asking me to bring him a file, just so to check if I was actually there working. That was what made me decide to write tonight. I thought that if at least I have to suffer a hell of a two days because of him, I might as well do something productive or creative out of it. Iím not telling every little other bitchiness he did this week alone, Iím too tired and it is too sad. He reported me to my Line Manager, but my Line Manager being the best I ever had in my life, said nothing to me, pretended the old man never spoke to him about anything. My ass.


Funny also that the 21 year old kid, who does fuck all all day, still has his job after now four months, and the old Indian man appears to have fallen in love with the kid. So perhaps people who work hard are a threat in this Mad Crown House. Iím definitely a threat to the old man. And yet, I never speak to him, I avoid him at any cost, Iím trying to be as diplomatic as can be, I never bitch about him, I never denounced him, I let him live. So why canít he do the same? What is so offensive about me that he feels the need to corner me, to entrap me, to eventually get me sack? What is the purpose of it? The only thing he stands to gain, is that he will have to work a little bit less if someone else inherits the grad fees. Perhaps it should be my course of action, I should go to my Managers and tell them that I want a change at work, I donít want to enter the claims into the computer anymore. Let the girl from the List Office who just moved in the General Office to take over the worst job there is in the General Office, which I inherited for the simple reason that the Old Indian Man could not get rid of all his work quick enough, that he gave it all to me when I started, including the National Taxing Things that the kid has now got and cannot cope with, when at the time I had that and the grad fees, and I managed just fine.


In fact, this is brilliant idea, I should get rid of the grad fees and thatís it, I will no longer have any link with the old man. The problem is, I love doing the grad fees, it is the only challenging job there is in the General Office. It is a monster, it is complicated beyond belief, no one understands them, including the Top Clerk whoís been working there 15 years. Just organising all the files after finding them all, is quite an art that I have mastered. As soon as someone elseís takes over, this wonderful system I developed will most certainly go out the window. It will certainly show how good at was at it, no one else in that office could cope with what Iím doing. When I inherited the Grad Fees and the NTT, there was such a backlog of at least 8 months, there were so many complaints, it was clear the old man did nothing for months. And somehow he came back to blame me for all this mess a few weeks after I started these impossible mammoth tasks.


I love doing grad fees, however the intelligent course of action is to cut myself off from having to deal with the old man, and the chief clerk, who is also some sort of monster who frightens everyone. The thing is, we all need to go and speak to her daily, but no one wants to do it, and so things pile up on our desks in the hope they will disappear without us having to speak to her. The beautiful Spanish girl from Tenerife will not go and speak to her, she told me she couldnít bare the thought.


I need to make my move, and I need to make it quick. It is decided then, I will get rid of the grad fees, and then I will simply make new files all day, and also I suppose learn to do Post-Trials. Then I will have a minimum of interaction with everyone else, it will be a more peaceful job. And letís face it, thatís the only reason Iím still working there after all, I deserve an easy life after the nightmare of the last decade.


On the Anna Maria front, I worked very hard last weekend. Finished the most complicated and time consuming short story and started the last one with a brilliant introduction. If I were to work very hard this weekend, I could finish the novel, and it will be well over 300 pages. I should be proud, but the idea of reading it again a few times to correct it, and what I will do with it once it is finished, is worrying me. The last think I feel like doing is print a copy, pay to get it photocopied, and post the damn things. I also know it is the most disheartening part of writing a book, the rejection until the very last dear John letter, when you understand that this book will not even get published. Well, anyway my website needed such a novel in the English section, I didnít have any thing that was publishable to speak of in English, and there you are, no more excuse, I could be a bloody success overnight. However, I feel that as I am getting closer to the end of Anna Maria, Iím becoming pessimistic. I feel the book will not find a publisher or an agent, and it will be another one of those excruciating full year writing a book that will never go anywhere, will never be read. And eventually I will reach that part of not having anything to write anymore, and wondering what I should write next, or do next. The only reason I can suffer a job that pays nothing, well below me, is because I convinced myself that I only took it in order to write a book, which I couldnít do if I had to commute to Central London, I would be too dead. And so I will find myself in a situation where I will feel lost, just like I feel now. Do I write a second Anna Maria book? Do I write something totally different and new? Another English novel, a French one perhaps? I donít even want to think about the fact that perhaps my English is not good enough and writing that brick of 300 pages was a big waste of time. I could always translate it, modify the locations and job titles to match something in Quťbec City and try to get it published in Canada. But then, why not simply write a new book in French based in Quťbec? Thatís an idea. No sci-fi though, it doesnít get published in Quťbec. I donít think I will ever crack the French market in France, not only Iím not writing in the expected form, I donít want to either. So if my English is not good enough, and Anna Maria doesnít go anywhere, I feel it might be the right time to write a French-Canadian novel, inspired by the greatest successes of Anne Hťbert, and then see what happens. A simple love story which will never go anywhere might just do the trick. I could also write a new play, inspired by Michel Tremblay, be clever about it, it might just work. Iíll have to give it some thought. In the meantime, I have a novel to finish, and it would be a shame not to finish it, considering that I am entering the last mile. I have to work on it this weekend. As long as I work on it, I donít mind if I donít finish it this weekend.


And now, before I get too depressed, I think I should go to bed.



3 June 2007


††††††††† I didnít intend to write in this book today, I had already after all worked on Anna Maria, The Eclectism II and started a whole new book called The Book of Dreams, and suddenly the neighbours had a barbecue, that is, the ex-convict next door. Brought in his best friend, also an ex-convict, and finally the neighbour at the end came out for a beer, also an ex-convict. So I had there four people who did prison or, in the case of Stephen, have gone through the whole justice system a few times. The saddest part were their girlfriends, innocent bystanders (including me), living in fear that their boyfriend will end up in prison again any day now. For my next door neighbour, as soon as today apparently, as the neighbour upstairs has been shooting all afternoon for them to turn the music down, we know now that it is a question of time before the one next door go up and carve a new face to the one upstairs. It might still happen tonight, the evening is young.

††††††††† In fact, it might happen now, and Stephen just came in to let me know he is preparing his own exit, within ten minutes, or else, he might come back with a black eye. Our next door neighbour has a temper as long as a 10 centimetres ruler. Apparently he is already getting annoyed by the two guys in the last flat. Heís calling his girlfriend a fat cow in front of everyone, anything now at anytime can spark that fuse, and so Stephen is preparing his way out. Something I successfully done 10 minutes ago.

††††††††† Out of eight people, three have been grave diggers, including Stephen. That tells it all. It has become a ring between truants, whoís the one whoís been in court the most, whoís been in prison the longest, whoís done the worst crime, etc. It is obvious that the guy at the end is a pussy cat, quite intelligent and clued up, he is nothing like a criminal, I donít care how many times he had a splif going through the customs from Amsterdam, and how many times he has been caught drink and driving, and perhaps that is the problem here.

††††††††† Stephen just came in to tell me that the back windows of the next door neighbour are now completely broken. Never mind, it is only the sixth time in the last decade that these windows have been shattered, the spectacle is already started, and no one could tell exactly why. Short fuse, anything will do.

††††††††† Well, I told the guy that I wouldnít mind sitting with him one night to discuss his experience throughout the justice system, he knows Iím working at the Crown Court and that Iím writing a book. I had to admit that I had already written over 200 pages, and yet, nothing significant happened, and I still have to learn anything crunchy about it all. So tonight was not the night to discuss it, however I did get one important bit of information. Corruption within the police and the Judges of any Court, including mostly the Old Bailey, is running high. His father, a right criminal, went to the Old Bailey four times now, and yet, he walked free four times. Apparently it is normal to bribe the police and Judges, and it works every time. So I guess that all those Hollywood stars going to Court and getting off so easy, has nothing to do with how much money theyíve got, and how great their solicitor is, but how much money they are willing to put on the table to walk free, and it seems, it works most of the time.

††††††††† I knew it, I was hoping I would come across some scandal whilst I was working at the Crown Court, I guess these never get out. I had to speak with criminals to find out, to understand, and it seems that right now, I am living in the criminal world, as all my neighbours are truants, except the one upstairs, he is the perfect victim to get the others back to the hole.

††††††††† I also learnt a bit about prisons. How they are a walk in the park where you can watch TV, read novels, and in my case, I could write books to my hearts content. Good, I wouldnít want to hear otherwise, however it is certainly not a deterrent. The next door guy wouldnít mind going back, and he is tough enough to avoid all the bullocks from other inmates. One try to have sex with him the very first day, I had a hard time explaining to him that the man was probably not gay, he just had been there too long. Of course, all they all know weíre gay. Sounds like Wormwood Scrubs prison isnít so bad after all. Whilst I always imagined it to be a nightmare place. Highdown Prison in Reigate/Banstead in Surrey appears to be the worst one. Feltham being an easy one as well.

I suppose it all depends on how likely you are to be a victim of bullies, which I most certainly would be, when the neighbour, no one would give it a try, they might lose sleep over it. So it is all relative to who you are, and I have a whole collection of bullies who made my life a miserable one when I was young, and even when I was older in the work place. I sometimes think that it is written on my forehead: I am a victim, I am weak, please kill me! However I no longer feel like that now that I am in my thirties. I sometimes think that I have more rage accumulated inside of me than any of them, and that none of them would want to be around the day it will all come out in one huge burst. How easily I could myself become a convict, is simply amazing. Which means, it could happen to any of us, at any time. And so, letís continue to hope for prisons where you can still breathe and pursue some sort of hobbies and learning process. We are all human beings after all, and that we have to incarcerate our neighbours now and then, should not mean that we are about to turn them into animals, though I agree, sometimes, thatís all they actually are, including Stephen. And it is damn hard for me, who is a bit more intellectual, to have to live with them. Because these animals cannot understand anything about the any intellectual idea or the desire to write a book. It is all meaningless and a big waste of time. And they have almost convinced me of it, I now agree that this world needs less intellectuals, and more animals. Thatís the way to go. Just build more prisons, as we are all about to end up there one way or another soon, England having become the police state that it is now.

Tension is running high at the moment, and it is contagious. Stephen and I are at the brink of war, he brought back some meat for the zoo we have, and taking a Tupperware bowl out of the cupboard, I crashed a big bottle of Surgical Spirit on the floor. What that bottle was there for, and who put it there, is a mystery, I just know it had been there for years, and it has now left an indelible smell all over the tiny flat weíve been living in for the so many years. Of course, with the zoo, we canít open any windows.

Iím getting tired of it, tired of Stephen, of the nightmare of living with him. All day long, every single sentence that comes out of his mouth is a personal attack on me, completely unjustified. Iím so desperate, Iím thinking of leaving the country without asking for my citizenship before hand. These things take too long, they cost too much, they are too complicated, in the end they will always succeed, I will never become a British Citizen, I will never retire either in England or in France, I will die in Canada where I was born, just as they wanted all along. I am tired of this existence.


12 June 2007


††††††††† Today has been a bad day, and unfortunately it is not over, I could cause myself more damage. This morning ended with me shouting across the office to the Old Indian Man that telling the Chief Clerk she needed to sign these claims was his job, not mine. I then disappeared for 30 minutes, and then went to lunch. I have no idea what to expect this afternoon, Iíve already reviewed in my mind my options: going back to conferences, finding a job that pays even less than what Iím already earning, where no stress and no bitches are a guarantee, not a simple wish, because I have enough experience now that as soon as you work with a whole office, it will always be a nightmare, even when there is only one lazy bastard bitching around.

††††††††† I foresaw it, I knew it was about to happen, I requested specifically 12 days ago to be taken off the horrible task of Grad Fees that no one wants, and for 12 days I am still stuck in it deep, there has been a bunch of major complaints from counsels reaching the very top of my Court, and even further to the directional director, I have now declared a war on the old lazy Indian Man, and I cannot see how I would be taken off the grad fees any time soon. It is a wonderful world.

††††††††† The logical choice to take over the claims, has been prevented from doing so because my Manager is too weak to make a decision. He wants a meeting about the grad fees and how we will proceed to pay them within 20 days, when right now it takes us 4 months to process them. Now the woman is going on holiday for a full week, we may have that meeting the week after her return, and that meeting will not solve anything, if it even gets me off the damn thing. So Iím stuck, and alienated, and ready to kill.

††††††††† Iím completely de-motivated, I donít want to go back this afternoon, especially after my three bursts this morning, the last one quite grandiose and dramatic. Iím in deep shit.

††††††††† My problem is that Iíve been used to get things done, and so if it was all up to me, within a week I would have got rid of all the grad fees, no matter that there are thousands of them. However it all depends on the cashier, the Old Indian Man, who as soon as he sees 20 files on his desk, goes into panic mode and stop all the machines. And then, it all depends on the Clerks, who also freak out as soon as they see 20 files on their middle table, they can take over a week to come and sign the claims so they can be paid. I simply cannot do my job, and unfortunately Iím on the front line when the shit hits the fan, Iím the one being blame for being so late, my name is the one going right through the top Manager and the Regional Director. Iím the incompetent one here, despite the fact that I work like three administrators.

††††††††† The frustrating situation has been more stressful on me than I initially thought. I wish I was like my colleagues and say: as long as I can justify myself, I donít give a fuck, I will sit back, relax, do fuck all, go to lunch, take the rest of the week off. I wish I could be so complacent and irresponsible. Iím not, it angers me, I want to take the whip, and start beating them up so they will do their job. And if they still donít want to do it then, pick up my phaser and simply vaporise them out of existence. Thatís what I would be like if I was the Manager of the General Office. The newbie, the kid, that one, is the main problem there. By doing all day, but stare at the ceiling or his computer screen, he has insured that he will not inherit the grad fees, and prevents someone more competent from being hired. And so that bad apple should have been eliminated a long time ago, I have a feeling he will be in that job for many years to come. And the Old Indian Man has taken over a job too big for him, it is clear he should never have been made the cashier, he is not up to it. His philosophy is quite clear, he wants to do fuck all day, and he tells everyone so almost on a daily basis. And the Manager of course does nothing important, managing people does not get the job done. He is most famous for putting in the bin most of the post and faxes we receive, and now we are plagued with phone calls about these things that they sent years ago, that we never answered, and then they have to send it again, it is being binned again, and so every single phone call comes from someone completely out of his or her mind, because we donít pay them or even give them the courtesy of telling them that we have binned their letters. I am at my wits end.

††††††††† I am now back from work for the evening. Dear me, what a day, but I certainly shake up the place, the email I sent to the Manager had the same impact as when the Top Manager gets a complaint and freak out at everyone. Once again I will be free to enter grad fees into the system for a while, until it clogs up again. Hopefully by then I will no longer be in charge.

††††††††† Unfortunately, as I exploded again in the office at the Old Indian Man, as he was constantly trying to see what I was writing on my computer whilst writing these emails, I had no choice but backstab him real hard. For six months now he has been backstabbing me, and not once have I told one manager about it. Today it is writing in an email. I found it was the only way I could justify getting out of the grad fees soon, rather than next month. Also that the Old Man pushed me too hard at the very last second. I was not going to say anything about him, I had already deleted my backstabbing, but him still peering at my computer screen for five times, made me lose all my inhibition. I yelled: what? What do you want? You are not my Manager, mind your own business, leave me alone and everything will be fine! His answer did it: If you have a problem, tell it to the Manager. I shouted back: donít worry, I will! So I did, fucker.

††††††††† I was called into the office after that, remained there for over 45 minutes. And then it was the turn to the Old Indian Man, where most likely he had his chance to stitch me up real good. As it was ongoing, I guess I donít really care at this point.

††††††††† At the end of the day, the Scottish Manager wanted to bring the DX with me where we have to put it every night on the other side of the building. This conversation I have to say was illuminating. The only way I thought of to finally tell him I was gay was indirectly, stating that I was wondering if the Old Man had a problem with him, quickly back pedalling to assure him I didnít think it was the case at all. It gave him the chance to tell me he was also gay, and how he thought, like I do, that the top man at the head of all the courts was also gay. As a result I have now joined the Rainbow Network and will be attending a gay meeting in Central London at the end of the month. Not sure where I will find the money to go, but Iíll figure out a way then.

††††††††† When I left tonight, I think the whole of the Clerks office was doing grad fees. A new system has been implemented to avoid preventing me from entering grad fees. And the Old Indian Man was sorry indeed for the way he has been treating me and the casual way he does his job. He certainly will get his revenge, and more bloody baths are to be expected now that it is an opened war, however he left me no choice. If I had no complain against him, they would only have his side of the story, bashing over their head again and again how bad I am, and ultimately my big bursts in the office would confirm all that he had told them. Now Iím in a position to say: stop there, Iím not the problem here, he is.

††††††††† All in all, it was an exhausting day. I should go sleep for an hour or two before Stephen arrives. He told me on the phone he also had a hard day, but he has one every day. For me at least, it is the exception to have such a nightmarish day. I just hope tomorrow will go more smoothly. I really need a holiday!


20 June 2007


††††††††† I am so tired, I just recovered from having the flu. All Saturday, Sunday and Monday I spent in bed, and then, could not sleep anymore for most of Tuesday and especially during the night. I was supposed to go back to work today, but as I couldnít sleep as I was wheezing because of asthma, I wrote all night instead. Now I am completely drained, because I wrote all Tuesday as well, despite my headache. Unfortunately, I wasnít finishing my novel, I was working the Eclectism 2, which now has taken over my brain. I wrote between 45 and 50 pages of a normal book since last Friday, pretty good when considering that I had a bad flu and slept for three days out of five. The problem with The Eclectism 2 is that it is not commercial in nature, it would never be published, it may never even find a reader. And yet, I feel the need to write it, and I feel better for writing it. I already have 140 pages, maybe more. I wrote 25 pages back in April, then forgot all about it, and picked it up again 18 days ago and wrote 115 pages since. It is truly impressive, remarkable, Iím very pleased with myself, because this is not just a journal like this actual book you are reading. A journal, I can churn out 1000 pages in six months. But a real book, novel or not, it is not that easy, it does not come so naturally. And what is nice, is that I used to be afraid of running out of ideas, of suddenly be hit by the blank page syndrome and run dry. This year alone I will write more books than last year, and last year was a record. But this year I have a novel in English, something commercial, but I donít want to think too much about that, because if it fails, and it cannot fail to fail, I will be so disappointed.

††††††††† The real question is, is it quantity or quality that I am looking for? Bad question. Should I write less books, but concentrate on one only, making sure it would be perfect? Not really, I need to be in the mood, I am not always in the mood to write fiction. And if I had to try to produce a novel which is more high quality than what I have already done, I wouldnít know where to start, I may no longer be interested in writing then.

††††††††† The other big question, and that one is quite important, or will become important one day if I become able to live out of my writings: Is it possible that having a full time job is where most of my inspiration and motivation to write comes from? Would have I still written sop many books if I had not been constantly working full time in parallel? Even if that were true, no longer having to go to work would be such a blessing, I wouldnít care if suddenly I was a bit less motivated to write. Fiction anyway does not require that much input from the outside world, and I have accumulated enough experiences and memories now for a lifetime. I could quiet easily isolate myself alone on an island and I would still be writing about all this in 100 years time.

††††††††† I think the book of dreams, I will abandon it. I started all motivated and all, but that books require time, time to sleep and dream, time to write it all down, and I donít have any time left. The idea is good though, I will put it on hold until I have more time.

††††††††† And this present book has now over 200 pages (though you might not find that if you read it one day, because then the version you would read would be an edited version where most of the crap, like the few paragraphs I have just written, will have disappeared). However, 200 pages is significant when it comes to a journal. It means I am way on my way to the bottom of the ocean with my job, I had enough trouble that I wrote what could be considered a book, and so I have enough and I can move on to something else. It usually takes between 8 months to a year, so I guess Iím not quite there yet. Though, we never know, perhaps that will be the job I always wanted and in which I will remain in for years to come. I could also become a clerk and finally sit in court instead of the admin office. That would be like a new job, and it would be a great one. Imagine, sitting in court all day listening and writing down the main lines of all those criminal trials. I might even start to write crime books, something I never had any interest in so far, unless they were pastiche of Sherlock Holmes.

††††††††† I used to hope for something nice or different to happen at work every day in my previous jobs, as I was so bored out of my mind, and the day were so long, and so much bitchiness would happen, I always needed something more to keep me going. This time around, I have not done that often. Once only did I go to work and said to myself, something nice needs to happen today or I will lose it. There is also something else that only happened once, and it happened last week. When you start a new job, at some point will come a time where suddenly all the days are so similar, you can no longer distinguish your different working days, the routine has finally arrived. And then, going to work in the morning for one more time, becomes so painful, that routine, I often used to think it was reason enough to commit suicide. Well, in this job it only happened once, and it was not even that frightening, in the sense that suicide would never have occurred. I just felt irritation at the idea that I was falling into a routine and it was getting tedious. But then I immediately got the flu, and five days later I will only work two days, and then next week perhaps I will not feel so much the routine as I would have without the flu to change my mind a bit. So the job is not bad at all, however I will have my return to work interview tomorrow and everything I said tonight about this job could suddenly turn very sour and sound more like a bunch of lies I stated whilst under the influence of paracetemol and other feverish flu.


1 July 2007


††††††††† Speaking of days at work where something suddenly happens to make it more exciting, two things happened last Friday. First they found some unexploded bombs in Central London in cars, they were so crude, I believe these are not government sponsored terrorists like the previous ones, this must be a copy cat incapable to actually make a bomb. Anyway, it was enough to electrify the day. But then, something more unthinkable happened. A defendant who was declared guilty of beating his child, or trying to kill her anyway, decided to commit suicide in the court room by gobbling up paracetemol. Iím not certain if you are familiar with this drug, but it is the equivalent of aspirins. The man died on his way back to prison, probably Wormwood Scrubs. As a joke I said, so, the police killed a defendant in the cells, interesting, I knew this was a police state. Everyone laughed. I laughed a bit less after reading the logs, because it stated that he had taken many paracetemol and that security then stopped him. So, on one hand, if the man was spotted swallowing his pills and was stopped, and on the other end we are only talking about paracetemol, how many of these damn things do you need to swallow to die? I would reckon quite a lot, and where would a man who has been in prison for quite a while would find so many paracetemol, and did he have the time to swallow so many? However, it is a bit useless to read any conspiracy in there, why would anyone want to kill a man who has been trying to kill his own daughter? Who would care anyway, certainly not the government. And so, he must have swallowed enough of these pills. I find it quite interesting that the man and the wife wanted to kill their daughter, in such a weird way as well, by gently pressing her head with his large hand, not even in a fit of rage, and the wife being quite happy with that. I wonder if they were hearing voices telling them to kill their daughter, as perhaps she was the daughter of the devil or something. They were Indians, and we know they prefer sons before daughters, because in the long run it is much cheaper to marry them. Perhaps this is all there is to it, or Iíve been watching too many Hollywood films.

††††††††† Last month has been the worst for a long time, as we ran out of money a few days after the beginning of the month, and we didnít eat anything fro at least three weeks. Stephen is finally going to do something about it, heís declaring bankruptcy, or the next best solution, a Individual Voluntary Arrangement with his creditors, just like I did two years ago. Great, weíre now both bankrupt, and I guess Iím the one to be blamed, though I prefer to blame it on my books, they are the reason I didnít work for six months after my return from Los Angeles. And I feel guilt for not having finished Anna Maria yet, though I havenít stop writing, The Eclecticism II. It is going very well, yesterday I wrote the first half of War, Iím not sure if I will finish that tonight or if I will work on Anna Maria. Iím drinking a lot of wine, and that is a dangerous thing to do when I work the next day, however Iím unable to get drunk and motivated to write, which explains why Iím writing this book instead.

††††††††† Last Friday I went to the gay association of the HMCS, Her Majestyís Courts Service. I wouldnít want to put them down here, as this is quite identifiable, they would recognise themselves. But I canít avoid mentioning that this is the perfect example of a small little committee representing a government at the microcosm. A bunch of losers with nothing better to do than meet, pretend they have any sort of power, having a small budget and spending it in all the wrong places. Have I mentioned a bunch of moaning bitches? Well, I met quite a woman there, who is actually a member of all the sub-groups of the HMCS, as she is a Jewish woman from Wales with ancestors from Russia and Ukraine, she is bisexual and disabled, well, sheís the jack pot and could potentially suffer from all forms of possible discrimination. I thought it might be interesting to get to know her better, but after reflection I feel it might be too demanding a friendship and it could turn sour very quickly. I better stay away while I still can.

††††††††† They invited me to attend the Gay Pride on Saturday, apparently the Civil Service will have a banner or something for the parade. Iím so disconnected, I was unaware it was the Gay Pride the next day. I also didnít go, as it was raining and I needed to finally do the grocery shopping of the century, as we just got paid and we had nothing left in the fridge, then cup board or the pharmacy, not to mention alcohol and tobacco. Now I am breathing better, everything is full and it needs to remain so for as long as possible, enough to survive a bird flu attack, because I have no money left and it is the first of the month.

††††††††† One more thing I need to mention, just to show how petty and jealous your colleagues can become when they have a bit of work lined up on their desk. The fat woman who recently moved from the Listing Office to the General Office, the very same who for more than a month now has successfully avoided inheriting the Graduated Fees from me, and will not even get to work on it for another month, was appalled because suddenly she received 14 bits of post to deal with. In itself this can be discouraging, especially if there are NG Forms in there, which means a lot of photocopying to send tot eh Court of Appeal, however she didnít have any NG Forms and most of these faxes or letters are most probably people who want a record sheet of the defendants, which takes a minute to print and fax, no need to find the file (the most time consuming part of our job, since we can never find any files). She immediately got angry with me and shouted in the office: did you get any post to do? Now, you will understand that three people are required to deal with the Grad Fees and pay them on time, and yet I have been working on that alone for the last seven months. So I turned around and said quite calmly, no, I didnít get any post, once youíre on the grad fees, if you want any post, let me know and I will make sure you get some. Her unjustified jealousy then became full blown, and she replied back: so on grad fees we donít get any post? Obviously sheís already thinking about the day she will finally inherit them, and so she wants to insure she wonít have any more work to do. Si I answered: I get post, a lot of it, including NG Forms, I just didnít get any this time. And then I gave it the last blow, just to confirm her pettiness and desire to do as less as possible, I said: Look, at some point and for many months I was on Grad Fees, on NTT and on Post. In my mind the rest of what was not said was: And youíre worried about 14 bits of post, and the fact that I didnít get any, when those Grad Fees are so urgent and I canít keep up? Not only do I have to deal with the grad fees, I also have to find all the files, and before I started to work there, there was someone working full time at just finding files, so she can fuck off the bitch. I canít believe she freaked out at me because I didnít get any post, that she could have thought for one second that it was unfair and some sort of injustice, when she has done everything she could to avoid getting the grad fees and I have been killing myself over them for so long. She thought in her puny mind, like everyone else working at the court, that the General Office is easy and relax, because unlike with the Listing Office and the Clerks, none of our work needs to be done urgently in the next 10 minutes, if something is not done, well, it can wait another day. That is why she moved from the Listing Office to us, she will realise once she inherits the Grad Fees, that she should never have switched to the General Office. Then she will understand what I have been going through, how justified I am to want out after so many months. The difference between her and me, is that I liked to be on so much pressure, I was happy with grad fees, NTT and post, and doing very well thank you, whilst NTT alone right now is overwhelming the other kid who does nothing al day. It is against him that she should be freaking out, however once someone in the civil service has been declared a useless employee, everyone just accepts it and act as if that person didnít exist. They accept him or her as a lost cause we all have to put up with, and as such, no anger or jealousy goes towards them, in fact, they have all fallen in love with him, I guess it helps that he is so good looking, even though he is stoned most of the time. We have been short of staff for a very long time in the General Office, and he is the only person who was hired to save us, as it turns out he is doing nothing, and the Old Indian Man who is also doing nothing, means that not only we are short staffed like crazy, but on top of it there is no hope that someone else will be hired to save us. We are sinking and there is no light over the horizon. My desk is so full of files, it has now become a mountain, even the General Manager of the Court on Friday looked at it and asked: what is that? Grad Fees? And then the Deputy Manager said yes. I felt really bad, it looked like I was not doing my job, but I am, and I would have done it all if I was not constantly stopped by the Old Indian Man who cannot deal with the claims and the cheques fast enough, he is always off at the hospital or gone to see his children in the West of England. And when he is there, he prefers to moan instead of doing his job. What can I do? They hired two assistants from an agency to help us get out of the hole, one has left because he couldnít be certain if his contract would be renewed (they wait until the very last day of the month to let them know if they will remain for another month), and the second one, who was helping on the Grad Fees, has been stolen by the Listing Office more than five months ago. And our Manager is too weak to complain that she was hired to help us, not the List Office who probably does not need her in the first place.

††††††††† Well, now that I had a good moan, I feel much better. Iím ready for another week in the Crown Court Madhouse. Despite all day, at least, on Sunday nights, I am not hiding in my bathroom in fear of going back to work, like I did in Los Angeles, so at least it is not that bad. My return to work interview was with my Line Manager, so it made it easy last week when I came back from three days with the flu. However the voice of the other Manager reached our interview, my Line Manager was told to tell me that if I am sick for one more day I will be facing a committee of Managers and Personnel people specially coming from London where I would be facing a return to work interview from Hell, leading either to dismissal or at the very least a warning. Wow, and the other kid who does nothing all day, because he was never sick since his father told him that if he doesnít come to work he will kick him out of the house, will never face such committee. And the Old Indian Man is quite safe, because he is dying, so it is quite acceptable for him to always be at the hospital. If only he could remain there for good! What is the point anyway? He is at the hospital half the week, he might as well stay there for good. Unless of course it is not the hospital that he visits most days, but the pub, as he is quite the alcoholic and would never miss a chance to go down the pub. Unfortunately, for all these alcoholics and drug addicts doing nothing at all all day at work, alcohol seems to kill their bug flu, and so theyíre never sick. Let it be known, in the civil service, if you wish to get away with doing nothing all day, make sure that at the very least we never miss a day of work or that you can always justify why you are never there, because then no Manager has anything against you and cannot call his or her little friends from Personnel to descend on you like a ton of bricks. That is reserved for hard working people like me, who despite working their ass off, being sick twice is simply not acceptable and deserves more investigations, meetings, warnings and ultimately dismissal.

I canít wait for him to retire, the Old Indian Man, because he causes me so much grief by hating me, being so rude all the time, being quite blunt and barking orders at me. I just donít know at this time if I will feel the need to move on to another job before he retires this autumn. It seems too far away, I will crack before that time.


6 July 2007


††††††††† This week for the first time ever at the Crown Court, we got on top of the Graduated Fee Claims and weíre paying them within the 20 days required by law. And today for the first time ever, I cleared all the files on my desk, and every single file and claim on the two shelves. I worked so hard at this, you wouldnít believe, I got rid of almost every single grad fee we had, and to do that I had to climb to the top and write reports about problems and solutions so they would let me enter the claims on the computer to finally get on top of things. Because if it had depended on me alone, we would have been on top of it after one month on the job.

††††††††† Anyway, I felt it was worth celebrating, and told my Line Manager I deserved a medal for all this hard work. To which he answered, great, it only took you a year! It was a joke and we laughed, and it does seem like it took me six months to finally reach the point where we could pay the fees within 20 days, but he knows very well that it is not my fault. Though I have to say, he never noticed all the work I did until I told him, and then he agreed it was an achievement.

††††††††† So, as a recompense for all my hard work, the Chief Clerk freaked out completely, went straight to the Deputy Manager (the Scottish guy), and complaint I was incompetent because I had not looked inside one file where it was clearly stated why a grad fee had been cancelled. She also accused me of not investigating enough to find out that some files have been transferred to other Crown Courts, which explains why we couldnít find the files for so long. It was a proper bullocking, in front of the Deputy Manager. It left me completely aghast, de-motivated, and I sure am glad I took the next two Friday off. If I see that bitch Chief Clerk for five days straight once more, I will no longer be responsible for my actions.

††††††††† So, whilst I was being reprimanded and told I was incompetent, what were the kid and the old man doing, the very ones who do nothing all day and never get into trouble with any manager for it? Well, the kid stares at the ceiling all day long, and for once yesterday the Chief Clerk came in and told him: do you actually ever do any work? The answer being no, of course, or else, he would have inherited the Grad Fees by now and I would no longer be sinking like a madman. So there you are, she knew this guy does nothing, and yet, she doesnít do anything about it. It is understandable, the kid is so incompetent, he is limited in his duty to doing one thing which only concerns the General Office. But then the Chief Clerk went to the Old Man and asked him to do something by Monday, and his answer was: well, you see, I was planning to be sick on Monday because my hand hurts. We are Friday, how can he be sick on Monday for arthritis, and what about the next day, and the next? The answer was so astonishing, we were all stunned. Even the Chief Clerk said laughing: I thought you were joking, and yet, I can see that you are not! And so, do you think she jumped into the Deputy Managerís Office to complain that both these morons who do nothing all day are a waste of space, time and money? No, it was all perfectly acceptable, whilst I am being accused of incompetence while working so damn hard.

I told her in the office: you will see that I am good at my job once someone else inherits the Grad Fees. They laughed, because the woman who will inherit them, eventually, maybe, once she returns from holiday, has got a lot of experience and has been working there for quite a while. I said: you will see.

I know better, I thought, she is as lazy as the others, she complains like mad as soon as she has a bit too much work (which is the reason why she moved from listing to the General Office), she does not have the intelligence, she will bring us right back to us paying those grad fees three months late. I give her one month to reach that stage, after which month the grad fees will get back to me, because now we are on a rotation system, and apart from her, only I can inherit them.

In virtually all the jobs I ever had I always worked like a madman. I always gave them 200%. And yet, it has been my observations that all my managers decided to ignore that fact, to give me shit about details. At the same time, I was always surrounded by a bunch of lazy bastards doing nothing all day, and yet, they always seem to get away with murder. How do you explain this? I canít, unless this is some form of discrimination, favouritism. Is it because Iím gay, French speaking, or my appearance, or my attitude? All valid points, but in the end, it is getting really tiresome, and this unfairness is killing me.

Invariably, every time I left a job, I heard afterwards how incapable the people who replaced me were, and how they had to sack the newbies time after time until they could get what they had when I was doing the job. Why canít they see it whilst I was still working for them? How could they have forgotten that before I arrived, we never used to do so many things, because they add more and more, as they see that I can do it, and then freak out and I have to leave, and then no one can take over such a nightmare. I feel a good manager should be able to spot this instantly, and my Line Manager has spotted it, unfortunately he does not appear to have told anyone about it, and so some other managers believe I am incompetent.

Well, this time at least I wonít have to leave the job before they understand it, the fat bitch is back in two weeks from her long holiday (she had another week holiday two weeks ago), and I will scream with pleasure when she starts complaining on a daily basis about the grad fees. Unfortunately for me, Iíll be there every step of the way for her, I will train her to do her job the way I came to do it, and so she will have it easy, and yet, she will be drowning in no time.

I never spotted her looking for a file, never, now she will have to find hundreds a day and process hundreds of claims. I look forward seeing this happening. First thing that will happen is that she will say that she cannot do that job if she also has to find the files, and so ushers will be given to her to find files. I will be laughing, because ushers are so useless, in a weekís time working full time finding files, they will find ten of them, for four ushers. In one hour I find 50 files, I also check if the claims have been paid and if there is Legal Aid granted on them.

I wonít set the fat bitch to fail, I will train her exactly the way I was doing it, and yet, I predict she will explode before the training is over, once she realises all that it entails. And then I will say: shit, I got 14 pieces of post today, and I have a whole week to deal with it because, frankly, I have nothing else to do, did you get any? How can this world be so unfair?

I feel much better now, all this injustice will not be in vain if I have written it all down for posterity. I just hope I didnít bore you to death in the process. Who could care about damn grad fees anyway?

††††††††† What fries me most, is that scheme 4 is coming soon, and so the fat bitch wonít have to pay any grad fees for most of the new ones we will receive, until the system is updated on our computers. And once it is updated, there will be only one grad fee to pay per file, instead of between 10 and 24. She will have it easy, and yet, I predict that she will still fail and complain a lot. She must have an angel looking over her shoulders, because she was able to delay inheriting the grad fees long enough that I got all the shit whilst she will have it so easy. Bitch.


10 July 2007


††††††††† I understood today that it was not my incompetence which seems to drive the Chief Clerk, every hour now she finds a good reason to jump into the Deputy Managerís office to complain about me. It is a personal vendetta, she is for some reason annoyed with me and has decided that she will give me as much shit as she can for the shear masochistic pleasure of it, just like she does to all the counsels and solicitors who found a way to annoy her, she will return the claims over and over again until they either give up and accept that they wonít get paid (most of them), or until they complain to the top manager or regional director (which happens once or twice a month). It is pure pettiness, and now I suffer the consequences of it.

††††††††† Today she has to remind me to be careful with my language with the Senior Managers, after I told her that I had worked my ass off to process all these claims. Iím sure she has already reported me to the Deputy Manager, even though it wasnít much to report. Later on during the day she came out of the Deputy Managerís office once more, with a pile of files to complain about and I stopped her and I asked her directly if she had a problem with me because she was now always on my back without a valid reason. She was so patronizing whilst she denied all that, the kid noticed it and told me afterwards how patronizing he thought she had been. I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about finding a new job, and I told the kid who now Iím sure he told everyone else. And I told my Line Manager that her little vendetta had been lasting since last Friday and I was growing tired of it. I said that if she continues tomorrow, I will simply go home. He told me to come and talk to him before I do so.

††††††††† On top of it, Stephen announced to me that we had to pay all the credit cards this month, that his IVA is not working as planned, and I can already confirm that we are not in a position to pay most of these bills and we are now heading once more towards a complete month without any money. Another good reason to find a better job. The problem is that I donít know which jobs to go for, all I know is that I will not go back to conferences.

††††††††† It is now 1 am, Iím afraid I have become one of these moody persons, and no matter what turned me into a miserable sod, no one will want to work with a miserable sod. And so, there is a point of no return that all Managers should know not to cross, because after that, whatever you could do, that apple has turned bad and will never get back to the red shiny shade of before. That apple needs to be crushed and replaced by another bright one which will, one day, rot as well. I have to be careful that this time has not yet come for me, I need to get back there tomorrow with a smile on my face, work with the bitch as if nothing happened, hope for the best that she feels she had her little revenge on me for whatever it is I may have said which disturbed her so much, even though I know from experience that she doesnít need much to go into attack mode. If I am unable to get my smile back, start laughing again whilst still working hard, then I am finished. It will be like in Los Angeles, when I could come to work a whole day without saying a word, and avoiding them when they came around me to torment me. I had crossed that point of no return then, it could never have come back, I could never have salvaged that job. I have to make sure this does not happen here, this is quite a challenge, and I have no clue about what to do to get back to where I was, happy go lucky guy minding his own business, working hard, no one had anything or complaint against me. How can I achieve that? Especially if I donít have any help from any of them to try to bring back the peace? I could work all morning trying to show a great attitude in the office, and then the Chief Clerk would storm in again to the Deputy Managerís office (the Scottish guy), and then I will no longer be able to contain it, I will explode.

††††††††† Today must be one of these days, the cat or the dog, peed and shat on the bed, at 1 am. You can imagine how Stephen is in a good mood about it, and as usual he tried to blame me for it, asking me when was the last time the dog went out. Of course, it would never enter his mind that it is as much his responsibility as mine to get the bloody dog out. Incidentally the dog was out less than an hour ago, but freaked out so much, waking up all the neighbours, I had to bring her back in immediately. And after all that argument, now Stephen thinks it was one of the cats.

††††††††† Donít you feel sometimes life is really testing you, just to see how you can keep it under pressure, until the cover just blows up and sprays every wall? I can no longer contain it, and Stephen never could in the first place. I had become excellent at keeping my cool, and still say what I had to say despite the shouting, tonight I exploded without even giving it a try. And tomorrow there is a huge risk that it will be the same, that the smallest dig will send me off the wall. I need to ensure this will not happen, I have to control myself, change my mind, learn to ignore the bitch, and smile back at her, and laugh with her, even though it is obvious she has backstabbed me a dozen times in the last week, and will continue to do so for a while. I think I would need powerful drugs to achieve such a feat.

††††††††† There are two ways to be tired at work. Being tired because you went to bed very late a few days in a row (or a few months in a row), and then you can snap at anything at anytime. The second way is to be tired because you went to bed very late for a few days, but at least you drank a lot of alcohol the night before. Then you are so comatose, you donít see the bitching around you, and quite sincerely, you donít give a shit, and so, this is how alcohol can save your ass. I wouldnít try it though, because the only reason you might avoid a fight, is because you are already fighting with yourself to keep awake and try to achieve some work, which then becomes impossible. At least without alcohol the night before, you may be tired, but you will still be able to enter stupid numbers into the computer without inventing suspicions that you might not have the brain to do so.

††††††††† So far, every single prediction I have made about this job, from the very beginning, before I even got it, have materialised. I have not been wrong once. Is it because I ultimately control that destiny and whatever I want or fell might happen, does happen? Or is it because I have become so good at that game, and people are so damn predictable, that guessing what will happen next has become second nature to me? Well, if people and myself are so damn predictable, what is the point of being alive, go through life and acquire an experience for? Is that the experience I will have at the end? Being able to predict every single bitchy thing every single bitch will do in this world?

††††††††† I am now in Defcon 2, which means I spoke to her rudely, I confronted her with her bitchiness, and I told my Line Manager that if tomorrow it is the same shit, I will go home. I am now wondering if tomorrow it will be Defcon 1, an outright war, officials meeting with all the Managers to make my discomfort official, or Defcon 3, slap a fake smile on my face and ignore the bitch. If she talks to me, answer the most polite way as possible, just get rid of her. If I am in a bad mood, if I suddenly shut up completely and show that there is a problem, I will still be in Defcon 2 and Defcon 1 will be around the corner. And the danger is that despite everything, without my control, if she goes too far and cannot stop herself from digging, I will have no choice but declaring an outright war. So much depends on yourself and your own attitude, but sometimes it is inevitable. I hope and I believe I can ride that wave and get back to Defcon 3, I have gone through much worse in my life, especially in Los Angeles. Maybe I didnít act the appropriate way then, but I will make all the efforts tomorrow to joke about it and defuse the bomb, while I still can.

††††††††† I have learnt today that two weeks ago was the first time a defendant killed himself in a Court (in the United Kingdom I assume). And that happened in the court I am working in, whilst was at the Court. Fascinating. Newspapers were saying that head will roll over this one, I havenít seen any head rolling. I overheard the top Manager joke about it, saying that the man may have drink whatever poison there was in his can of coke whilst in the Court Room, at least, and thank God, he died in the hospital. According to him, it absolves us all, it didnít happen in our Court.

††††††††† Letís make a few more predictions about little me in that job. I was thinking becoming a Clerk, now I know this is not feasible for many months, because the construction of the new Crown Court means the shutting down of many court rooms, also that I cannot become a clerk under the actual Chief Clerk. Since she has been working there for 15 years, there is no reason to believe she will move on any day now. And since I have already written a full book about this job, I doubt I will need to remain in that office for much longer. Either I will decide to move on, or something else will happen in my life and will make me move on. I doubt I will be working at that Court for that much longer, could be a few more months I reckon, in the autumn at the latest I will be somewhere else. I hope it will be something better than that shit job that doesnít pay anything, whilst you still have to suffer the pettiness of small minded ďSenior ManagersĒ. The only remaining argument for me to remain in that job, is that it is local and three minutes away from my flat. I wonder how powerful this argument will be to keep me in that shit job as a civil servant.


11 July 2007


††††††††† I think I have been very successful in getting down to Defcon 3, though stress was running high with the Pakistani man this morning, as he was freaking out because I spent an hour on the phone about Legal Aid for one case, and he was insulted when I told him that I had to do what the Chief Clerk had told me to do, and so, no, I would not listen to anything they were asking me to do. They said we never had to chase Legal Aid before, and now I have to do it on half the cases I have to process, that is all I have been doing for two weeks now, chasing Legal Aid orders.

I told them that my Manager now was the Chief Clerk, and she had been freaking out so many times and backstabbed me so many times lately, I could not afford not to do what she was asking me to do. That shut him up, and so after that it was quiet for the rest of the day. Though for a while I thought the shit would hit the fan again. The Chief Clerk came in with over 500 grad fees in her hand, and she said: return them all back with a letter saying the cases were still opened. This was a double blow to me, because first writing 500 letters will take me two weeks, but also, it was another proof I hadnít done my job, and she will probably once again jump into the Deputy Managerís office to complain that I had not verified that these cases were still live, so now everyone is convinced, me included, that I failed miserably in my job.

However, it would be humanly impossible to verify the thousands of claims about first if they are still live or not, if they have been paid or not, if Legal Aid was granted or not, and if it is a Scheme 4 claim or not. I did it today for 50 claims, what we received today alone, and it took me the whole day. Which means, if I were to do that everyday, that is all I would be doing, I would not be finding files, I would not enter the claims on the computer, I would not achieve anything. So I am glad I ignored all this for so long, at least I have paid almost all the claims, and now it is really apparent, because after I finish sending back the 500 claims, I will virtually have no more claims to enter into the computer. I will give the woman who will take over a clean plate about grad fees, and it will be more obvious how she will fail.

††††††††† I just finished drinking a few beers, like ten of them, and I just finished writing at least 4 entries for my book The Eclecticism II. I find it quite extraordinary that I could probably be writing my two greatest masterpieces of a lifetime, whilst being so petty about the reality surrounding me, and be worried about the smallest bitchiness of some small minded people around me. The truth is, I could die tomorrow morning, and the last few months of my existence would turn out to be the most determining and significant months of my existence, because of Anna Maria and The Eclecticism, and yet, when people will read about what was truly going on in my life at that time, they will stop and wonder, how can such a crap life bring out in someone such books?

Of course, I am not talking here in real terms, none of these books will ever see the light of day, I will die completely unknown to humanity, this is not the point. This is what I feel, that I have written the best I could within my lifetime, and it is no small matter for someone who has been writing every single day since he was ten years old, and wrote over 30 books in his lifetime, whether or not any of them get anywhere.

Dear me, I wouldnít want to appear pretentious, with a large Ego, when in fact, this is exactly who I am, and I donít give a fuck about any of you who will laugh at that. Write one book of 300 pages, and then we can discuss it further. What comes so easy to me, can only come to you as the most painful and impossible task there is. So if I feel right now that I have written the best I can, then it is so, and it is my right to wonder about whatever impact it might have after Iím dead, because dear me, I would never suppose I can be recognised whilst I am alive, though Iím pretty sure that if I am not recognised before I die, then I never will be, and to be honest, at this point in my life, I have accepted it, and I donít care anymore.

I only care for one thing, writing books I can be proud of, even if in the end it was all just for myself. This is how I will judge my life on my death bed, and I can assure you, it will not involve any of you. You have only been a big disappointment to me all my life, and I am not expecting any miracle coming from you anytime soon. All I can say is that you have been my greatest inspiration, and you probably do not deserve to read any of it, because it will fail to inspire you back.

I wonít change this world, I donít believe this world can ever change, it has been the same forever and will always remain so. We cannot change human nature, whatever how we would like to believe that there is some sort of evolution in mentalities. There is no such thing, and hence, we are all doomed. Iím not proud of humanity, of what we have achieved, I am not even proud of myself. There is no hope for any of us, we will all go to hell, if there is such a thing as hell.

Sleep well tonight, even though I know, you know, we all know, you donít deserve it. Humanity deserves to go to hell. If you want to know why, just read every single word I have ever written since the day I was born. If you still believe in humanity then, then my God, you must be Jesus-Christ re-incarnated, and then we need to crucify you. Fuck you all, I sincerely hope that these will be my last ever words before I die.

Funny, after writing that stuff above, I decided to put it online on my website. I never usually do such a thing until it has been a year since I finished working at the place Iím talking about. It is not the first time though that I put it online, I did it a few months ago once I was completely drunk, but deleted it two days after. Tonight though it is different, even though I am completely drunk. This time I truly do not care if any of them reads it, anyway, I believe they are all too stupid to first find my website, and second to find this book which appears under the name The Lost Link. And anyway, at this point, I donít really care if any of them finds it and reads it. I am quite prepared to lose my job over this, which I wasnít before, for some weird reason. I guess they had not pushed me to my limits then, now they have.

Something weird also happened tonight. I spent some time reading the beginning of this book, and realised that all of this, this job, this book, was supposed to be more like a game, a spy within the mist of the Crown Courts. Along the way, somehow, I forgot that it was all but a game, and that at the end of the day, I truly didnít care about them, whatever could happen to me. It was all for the sake of this book. And then, as usual, I forgot all about it, and it became a true reality for me, a nightmare. I got caught in the mind games, I have been brainwashed, and then I started to take this game way too seriously, when there was no need to. I felt tonight that I had accomplished my mission, after eight months. So I have nothing left to lose. Writing anymore about this job would be simply repeating myself, even though I know you are all over finding out if the woman who will succeed me in the job I have been doing most of the time will succeed or fail. This is unimportant, we all know she will fail, there is no need for me to confirm it or tell you all about the details about how she will fail and when. In a way I feel I have written enough about this book, enough that I donít care about losing this job about a few words I might have scribbled upon the subject. Which tells me a lot, because there is still a whole book on my computer about a friend I met in Los Angeles, and yet I am not ready to put that online anytime soon, even though he is now very far away from me, and I do not believe we have any future together. So what is stopping me to put it online then? Good question. It is called Kiddo. I think I might put it online soon. Fuck that friendship then, as if he reads it, it will be over faster than you can say what the fuck?

The problem with me is that I am so honest about everything, so blunt about everything, it almost seems obscene to put it online for everyone to read. Fuck it, tonight I put everything online, I will put that Kiddo online. It is all a game anyway, and I should be damn if I forget it for one minute and suddenly decide to lie about anything or censor myself in any way. If people canít take the truth, I donít care.


19 July 2007


††††††††† I did put them online, but I took them off the very next day once I was sober. In fact, I spent Sunday writing many pages of what has now become People I may have inspired, and I did put it online, and once again the next day I took it off, because I believe it would cause me more damage to be seen to be boasting about what people would not believe could have happened. So, how many hundreds of pages am I going to write this year that I will never find the courage to put online because a few people might get hurt by it and might decide to confront me?

††††††††† This week was supposed to be my last week doing graduated and standard fee claims. As a consequence I worked so hard, I stayed at work until 18h30 every day. I cleared all the claims, there are 10 claims without files, probably cases that we no longer have at the court, and I have ten files with claims on them that I would have been able to clear if we had not been told to turn off our computers at some point because of a network upgrade. I succeeded! I am giving on Monday a complete clear slate to the fat woman, no stress, no pressure, and so, I can in no way be blamed if she fails, as she cannot avoid, as there is no way she will be able to work as hard as I did.

I entered so many claims this afternoon, there were a huge pile of files on the table waiting the chief clerk when she came to sign them. She said: There were only two last night, where have this all come from? I turned around and I said: you see how I work hard? She answered back: well, yeah, but the important is to find the files. She was basically accusing me once again of not searching and finding files, which angers me so much, because I have found so many files since I worked there, I filled the two cases of five shelves each so many times! So one way or another, I could never have succeeded, in her eyes I have failed miserably, I did a half job, I did not look for files, I didnít spotted all those claims that were still from live cases and needed to be returned, etc. And yet, she is completely blind to the final result, that I cleared them all, the most single and biggest source of complaints we ever had since I started, and every time there was a complaint, as I was responsible for claims, it was my fault, when it was anything but my fault.

Anyway, speaking any more about this would simply be repeating myself, and would now become some long and interminable whinging. All I want to say is that I have cleared it up, the bitch is supposed to take over on Monday, something tells me she will somehow not take over until the beginning of August, or perhaps never, and if she does take over, the shit will hit the fan, they will suddenly realise how great I was, and then I would have no qualm about taking them back, because then I would actually be appreciated for my hard work instead of being picked on al the time, and humiliated in front of the whole office as if I was the most incompetent employee on the planet, when I am the hardest working person in the General Office.

As a proof of this, lets look at the other areas. The cashier is always sick, always at the doctor, and yet he can now do is daily run of payment as if it was second nature. I can only surmise that being the cashier is actually an easy job, because he is never at work, when he is there, he does nothing, and yet the few cheques are printed and posted everyday. And yet, dear me, he certainly struggled to learn that new job and he too got into a lot of altercations with the chief clerk.

The Post-Trial section, the job of the Pakistani man, is overflowing with files, it is one of the main reason why many claims could not be paid, because files need to be properly closed. There has been many complaints from many other departments that files were not being closed fast enough, there must be over 400 files waiting to be closed. The distribution and photocopying section, also the responsibility of the Pakistani man, is overflowing with files as well. I can only feel that if I were to apply the speed I have demonstrated in these two sections, I could clear these bookshelves within days, and yet, he is so slow motion, it simply getting worse a bit more every day.

NTT, National Taxing Team, need a lot of information from every file in order to calculate the taxes to be applied to each claim. This is the responsibility of the kid. We are in so much shit with the NTT, they call every day to complain about the 100 files that need to be found, photocopied and sent to them. Once a week at least all the senior managers are buzzing around us because NTT have complain again.

The other main section is the committals. These are bundles of files we receive from the Magistratesí Courts that need to be entered into the computer and new files created for each of them. When I was on Committals, I virtually eliminated them all, and yet no one ever congratulate me about it, and no one recognise that fact now that there are four towers on the Managerís desk. On committals we have the kid already drowning in the NTT, and the fat bitch. Since she has been on holiday for over a month since she has moved from the Listing office, it is understandable that there are now four towers awaiting me once I go back to committals next week.

There are other areas like Legal Aid and Post, which are requests from everyone in the country for this or that, and there is also a huge pile of unanswered post that most of the time will end up in the bin, as my Line Manager cannot be bothered with it. All in all, the General Office is an utter failure filled with incompetent and lazy people. They all need to be sacked, because none of them are productive at all or can do the job properly or at the very least at a faster pace so in the end we do more work than new work is coming. It has been piling up since I started and it is all going to hell.

And let me repeat it once more, just in case it has not yet entered your mind, I am the only one being picked on by the Chief Clerk, because I am the only one, with the cashier, who has to work closely with her. So it is quite an injustice, for this new Ministry of Justice that we are now part of.

This week the top Manager of the place came into the office and asked the kid to come in. We all thought, thatís it, he will finally get the sack. The main big surprise was that not only he didnít get his head chopped off, the discussion was about if he had filled out his application form in order to become permanent. The Top Manager is trying to make permanent the most incompetent employee I have ever worked with in my entire life, and no one will stand in his way to put a stop to what I could only qualify as a crime. The kid is stoned and drunk at work al the time, and sleeping all day, and yet, they are doing everything they can to insure he becomes permanent. This is really the civil service for you. The kid is not even fit to work in a McDonaldís, because there they would quickly spot that he is a zombie and they would not hesitate to kick him out within a month. I truly cannot explain this madness.

However I predicted, I knew that this is what I would find, and I do not resent the kid for this extraordinary injustice. Thank God, because if this was truly angering me, I would have been out of this job by now, because I would be completely alienated by now and probably driven insane by what I am witnessing. At least at the moment I may be stressed out because I work so hard and run around everywhere all day, at least I am not creating a fuss, being jealous or backstabbing anyone. Because then I would be no better than any of them, and hard worker or not, I would be as rotten as them and would not deserve that job either.

I have also assessed that almost all employees working in my Crown Court have got their job through a contact of theirs, as I understood it, the Top Manager alone is responsible for many of the employees there. He did say to me also that it was great that I got the job via a job interview in Central London instead of at the Court itself, because at least he could not be accused of favouritism in my case. This is why these jobs in the civil service are so hard to get and that no matter how I tried to even get interviews in the past, I never even got one single interview. If I had, it would have been useless, because the chosen one has already been chosen before they even began the interviews, and then it is just for show that they would pretend to make it fair to everyone, when it is anything but fair. I only got the job myself because I came at the exact right moment, they were desperate for some help, and soon after I was hired they even got two temps from an agency. Otherwise I would never had any chance. Especially if I had gone through an ad in a newspaper instead of just showing up there in the first place.

The civil service is that last refuge for the lazy and incompetent people on this planet, and in a way I guess it is important to have that at least fro these misfits who could never keep a job fro long in the private or the commercial world where everything is based on results, quantity, speed, etc. It is also fitting that the salaries are so low, because none of them deserve their salary anyway. However, I do suppose that if the salaries were a bit higher, people who actually have some brain and aptitudes might actually apply and get those jobs, and then we would only need half the employees the whole service is using to accomplish the same amount of work, since at the moment the whole civil service is working at 20% of its capacities, and there is no denying that from what I have observed.

Working there is just a depressing thing, seeing all these people doing nothing all day and getting away with it, and me working so hard and being bullied by the Chief Clerk. I cannot stand that treatment for too long, and I will have to move on rather soon, Iím afraid. Unless of course I was to start dossing all day like them, take it easy, be sick all the time and always find ways to leave early, like the fat bitch and the other fat bitch still in the listing office. Sheís pregnant now, so it has gone worse, but she has no excuse, because she was like that months before she became pregnant.

I hated the fact that we had now to sign in and out using magnetic cards and a computer, but now I have realised that everyone is no longer arriving at almost 10 am and leaving at 4 pm. They are all now working longer hours, and even, my Line Manager and the Kid have to work until 6 pm for something like a month to compensate for their late arrival and early departures. They have now admitted that they have been lying on their time sheets before the system was installed, that everyone had been lying except me, even though the Old Indian man was always checking my time sheet as if he was my Manager, and passing comments, and I hated him for it, and it is now clear that my Line Manager and the Kid were the only one who failed to adapt to the new system and took the piss for many more weeks before realising the consequences, and now they have to work to exhaustion to compensate. It doesnít matter though, that extra hour they spend talking and doing nothing, so it is again totally useless.

I do not believe the Scottish Manager is working a full 36 hours a week yet, he arrives late every single morning, often by 30 minutes, and almost always leave at 4h45. However, he has access to the computer, so I imagine that he can temper with is time sheet. It is also just a question of time before my Line Manager gets access too, and then, we will be lucky if he works 25 hours a week. Not that it matters anyway, since he does nothing all day but going through the mail and dropping all the work on our desks.

My next Line Manager will be, before Christmas, the Pakistani man. I also helped him to get that job he has been trying to get for years, but failed every time. After my indiscretions, making it clear it could be discrimination and racism, he suddenly got the job on a part time basis when my actual Line Manager is not there, which is quite often. Again he was off all this week fro back problems (more likely too much cocaine, as he is a self confessed drug addict, just like the Kid). As my Line manager is immigrating to Australia next January, the Pakistani will be my new Line Manager. I wish I could say that this is good news, and in a way it is, because I have his respect, I am his confident, and I am not bothered like others by the fact that he is a Muslim, and right now England is at war with the Muslim world, for dodgy reasons I might add.

Basically, despite witnessing me all day running around like a cunt, entering grad fees into the system so fast, he was still blind to how hard I work, and find many ways to pick on me for insignificant details. I felt today that he was not happy with me for whatever reasons that I am not certain I can even identify, so the injustice is likely to continue with him at the helm, and so there is no hope and no future for me in this Crown Court.

Hard workers in the Civil Service are perceived as threat for some reason, they make everyone look bad. Usually it doesnít matter because the Managers at least will recognise that fact and will help you, defend you, let you get away with more than usual. The novelty here is that hard workers are also perceived as threats by management, which is just as lazy and incompetent as the rest of them, and will be as ready to bully you for it than the weakest link. In those conditions, bureaucracy worldwide will never be solved unless most of the craps and administrative tasks are simply eliminated instead of being multiplied. There is just no way any civil service work force will ever be efficient or competent, and so we stand to save a lot of money by simply simplifying everything, eliminating the work somehow. If we could somehow eliminate the need for Civil Servants, we will then have found our perfect solution. As for the Civil Servants themselves, I suggest nothing less than a genocide, because they would simply go on benefits as they would not be able to find a job anywhere else. (I hope you can read the irony here, I burst laughing out loud just now. I feel the need to clearly say it, because most of the time my readers fail to see the irony (perhaps because they are Civil Servants? I would not expect them to spot irony when they come across it.))


21 July 2007


††††††††† I have now everything online, though three of my latest pieces in English are actually only found on my French website, that is the only compromise I could reach with myself, and yet, I was thinking of taking one off, the one about the people I might have inspired. It is too pretentious, it will shut down everyone. Worse, some people I talk about could find it by simply doing a search under their name, and then I guess I could be in trouble. Funny, that I inspired them, some of them blatantly stole my ideas, and yet they could decide to sue me on the basis that I decided to say it online. I bet it wouldnít look too good for them on any level, especially if in the end they are not responsible of the source of the inspiration, it could after all be the work of one single person on a project of a hundred. Anyway, if truly I inspired so many big things, then surely I have attracted the attention of many people out there, and I suppose it is just a question of time before someone contacts me to work on a project. Then, who cares about what I could have potentially inspired? At least I have now written it down and I will keep a record. Who knows it might come handy one day. Not sure for what.

††††††††† Today I wrote an interesting entry in The Eclecticism II called Recognition. Though you could have thought that the idea came from the fact that I could have written so much and yet I am completely unknown might have been behind that text, actually this very journal opened my eyes. I was reading the beginning last night and understood that I was struggling with working hard at work without being able to get anyone to recognise that fact, the same at home, that I could be working so hard cleaning the house, and yet my partner just drives me mad with his attacks and bullying tactics. And tonight, after I wrote the text in the afternoon, I got the most perfect example of this lack of recognition.

††††††††† Stephen will be doing Jury Service for two weeks starting on Monday, yes he will be coming at the my Court every day, and yet I doubt I would see much of him. Quite a big coincidence, since it has been 13 years at least that we have been together, and it is the first time he is being called upon being on a jury. Well, because of that, they would not let him keep the van at work, and so I had to go and pick him up, sort of destroying my day off. I didnít complain, I went to pick him up. I have done three loads of washing today, including the bed and the sofas cover and cushions. Something he never does, and if he has to make the bed, he complains so much, it proves how horrible a job it is.

††††††††† So we met at the back of a fish and chips restaurant in Heston, where I used to live, but then the car would not start again, even though it just came out of the garage, went back because it was still not working, and now will go again tomorrow. A problem with the starter getting stuck, and the only way to unstuck it to start the car is to bang the starter somewhere way under most pipes under the hood. We had to drop his van in the end, and walk back to the car, something like two miles. You can imagine that it has ruined my day off, we were gone for over three hours. He was fuming, and burst into an unprecedented bully, blaming me for everything that was going wrong. I didnít say a word, but when we arrived home I told him, you know, you could have said thank you that I came to pick you up, that I washed everything and passed the vacuum, instead you shouted at me and attacked me for the last three hours. I think I made my point, he went quiet. Still didnít say thank you, still didnít admit how much I did to help him today, he went straight to bed after moaning some more.

††††††††† I have now become a master at shutting up and boiling inside without reacting to his attacks, and I have to admit that it serves me very well at work, as I am now able to suffer the most disgusting personal attacks from my colleagues without exploding myself, keeping calm and still say what I need to say softly whilst they are totally out of their mind and still jumping up and down in front of me. I will not say that I will now be able to keep such a cool exterior forever, like everyone else I, after all, only need one more drop to finally go berserk myself, but at least I have gained some sort of self control, even though this came at the cost of 100% compromise, where I let these people walk all over me, insult me, shout at me, whilst I bend and give up all my own personality or my own needs. I turned into a pussy. However I feel more like someone who can distance himself from all these conflicts, capable at the same time to analyse their shortcomings and judge their actions. I also have a better edge over the outcomes of these events, because whilst they moan, I can think and find the right answer, whilst theyíre already out of their minds, when usually I would also be and it would degenerate into a outright war of verbal abuse on both sides.

††††††††† And by the way, you might think: he passed the vacuum, big deal! When you have six cats, one dog, three tortoises and a parrot, let me assure you, within a day of clearing the carpet, there is not one single 10 centimetre square without grains or animal food on it. In those conditions, after a week, there is so much crap on the carpet, the only way to vacuum the place is to use the smallest tube you have and pick every single grain one by one, otherwise the vacuum clogs up instantly and it takes 20 minutes to unclog it. Passing the vacuum in our tiny flat takes two hours minimum. And once you are finished, the difference is so striking, you feel you are living in a different place.

††††††††† Talking about the tortoises, I think I mentioned before that they have much more sex than my partner and I, and as a result they laid three eggs. We have been cooking them in the improvised incubator for almost two months now, how long can it take for these monsters to come out of their shells? The big killer is that somehow we do not believe they will ever be born, and this could be a big waste of time and energy. However if they were not healthy, apparently, the eggs would rot after a few days, and this has not happened. These tortoises are very rare as well, they need to be registered with the government as soon as they are born, highly classified stuff. We might make a grand out of them, but Stephen will never be able to part with them, I guess they will be so cute anyway, I would find it hard to let them go. We have many animals, in a way they are our children, since gay couples are not exactly allowed to adopt children or have them, whatever, I guess in everyoneís mind gay people are still considered pedophiles, which is such a ridiculous idea, I wonít even discuss it. Anyway, these tortoises would be the first ever babies born under our roof, and as such, they are important children. Just have to make sure the snake will not eat them, as he escapes all the time, the sneaky slimy thing, and Iím always the one to find him and put him back in his cage.

††††††††† I feel like writing a bit more of the Eclecticism, but it is not easy to find new topics to talk about. It almost has to come naturally to me, once something quite shocking happens in my life, then it is obvious what I need to talk about. The Eclecticism gives me the chance to take a step back and truly analyse a subject from a distance, with all the objectivity I need. From it great truths might come out, unlike this journal which is just a bunch of whinging without too much philosophy involved.

I find it extraordinary that I have started four other books and wrote quite a lot instead of finishing the damn novel Anna Maria, the most important book I have ever written and might ever write. I canít explain it, but then again, these things cannot be rushed, it needs to come when Iím ready. Often some important events in my life will influence the story Iím working on quite considerably, and then I believe that it was great that I waited before writing it, that somehow there was a reason why I was blocked, some more experience had to come in. However I cannot sit on that argument too much, or else I could wait another decade before finishing it. Finishing a book might be the most difficult part of writing a book. Because until it is finished, then, it is not really worth anything, it might as well not exist, because then it cannot see the light of day, and could easily remain in a drawer for eternity.

I have finished many books in my lifetime, and yet I cannot remember exactly how hard it was to finish them, how much I had to pressure myself to do it, and how I felt once it was finally over. Most of the time you spend over a year on such a project, talking about having children, being in labour and abortion, this is exactly what writing a book is all about. And the buzz you get once you have written the last sentence, is indescribable. An aborted book is also painful, because so much work has gone into it, and now you have to realise that these months or years have been wasted. Fortunately I donít think I have ever suffered an abortion, I usually finish what I start. Because when I start, it is already quite concrete in my mind, and the need is there for me to write it all down. When I finish writing Anna Maria, I will celebrate properly, it will require a bottle of pink Champagne. I usually just open myself a beer, open the file, and look at the title for an hour, once I finish a book. Then I just feel pride, encouragement, happy that these ideas have now come to fruition, and that I have another book to add to my list. It is quite powerful and might ultimately be the only reward of writing book in my case, since my books donít get published, and the ones that did, didnít sell very well anyway. I just hope this is all about to change.

I am well aware The Eclecticism II is not publishable, and that I have no other book in French which could possibly interest a publisher, apart from what has already been published. And so Anna Maria is my only and last hope. If it turns out that my English is not good enough, since English for me is a second language, and hence it cannot be by definition literary, then Iím fucked and will most certainly go back to writing in French, a new novel, and then it cannot be sci-fi because in French there is simply no market for science fiction, I would never get published again.

Somehow I feel so confident that I will once again be published, and yet I have a great friend who has so many published books, and won so many awards, with a perfect literary English from Oxford, and yet none of her last six books she has written have been published. How pretentious must I be to believe that I could succeed where she has failed? The thought is crippling me, and so I usually just put it at the back of my mind. Without determination, without faith in what you do, you could never finish anything. Without my pretence, I would never have been able to finish a book. So I better keep my confidence healthy.

††††††††† I just finished writing Pride, for The Eclecticism II. So, how do I feel? Proud, thereís no doubt about it. This is really why I have become a writer, this kind of text that could truly have an impact in this world. I donít know where it comes from, I guess it was always at the back of my mind, and yet finally it is all stated completely in a few pages, and it is now so clear in my mind. I will never be fooled again, and without writing it, I might have still be fooled and be proud of something other than myself and lose control over my own destiny.

The Eclecticism is another ball game altogether. This is something else, it is moving beyond the traditional entertainment, the insignificant book that no one would care if it existed or not. This is une littťrature engagťe, (engaged literature?), it is taking clear position about a whole bunch of beliefs and values, strong opinions, something this world lacks tremendously, that we are all the same, we think all the same, we do all the same, we are one and only one. No individuality, no democracy, no freedom of any kind. The Eclecticism is something I can proud of, it will probably remain in my mind, the most important book I will ever write, and yet, it didnít exist two months ago, I had no idea I could write 200 pages like that out of nowhere, I am amazed. I am proud of what I can do, it is just a shame that I am the only one on this planet capable of appreciating it, and that ultimately it is only for myself that I lay these eggs. I guess these are things people have to find out and realise for themselves. Without writing it down though, like I do, it must be quite difficult. It becomes so clear after I have written it all down, suddenly it makes sense, it is concrete, it is significant, it means something, something big that I could not have understood otherwise.

And what I can be most proud of, is that I am not a parrot. I never just repeat what I hear here and there, it really is all coming from me, and that is what I feel is rare in this day and age. Listening to journalists and TV presenters, it seems that they are quite happy to simply repeat what they heard somewhere else, and ultimately all new ideas and opinions only come from a few clued up people in this world. Better one of them if you wish to have any sort of impact, being capable of thinking for yourself and expressing opinions that are truly coming from your heart. Otherwise, you might as well just shut up, instead of serving the whole propaganda machine.

When I am talking like that, like when I am writing a book like The Eclecticism II, I feel so disconnected with a book like Crown Court Madhouse, or my job, or my life in general, it is like I am another person altogether, the real me, what I was meant to do, what I was meant to be. Anything else, everything else, is bullshit, fake, unreal, not existing, definitely unimportant. This is how I can still smile and be happy, even though I am sinking faster than the Titanic ever did. This is why I donít care if for more than a year now I didnít have enough money to buy anything or even eat something. This life is not mine, it is not me, it is not my legacy for after I die.

It is certainly premature for me to think in those terms, that I could somehow leave any sort of legacy, but I canít help it. Writing significant stuff is the reason I gave to my existence, at this point it doesnít matter if I am recognised for it or not, if I am being read or not, or if I will ever be one day. I donít really care anymore, and I am being truthful now, otherwise I would have stopped writing a long time ago. If I am proud of what I have written, if I can read it over and over again and still learn something worthwhile after reading it for an hundred times, then it is all worthwhile and it is enough for me. No one told me a legacy had to be for everyone else but myself, I did it, I know it, Iím proud of it, that is sufficient and I will die happily.

In fact, I could die right now and feel I have accomplished everything I set myself to do. I could die proud right now, without writing another word. In fact, I could die right now happily without even giving it a second thought about anything I feel I may have achieved in this world. I am that disgusted with this life, that it doesnít matter whether I wrote a whole library or not, I donít give a shit anymore, I donít give a shit about anything. Iíve been ready to die since the very second I was born. I hate this life, I hate this existence, and to be honest, these questions of being proud or trying to achieve anything in life makes me sick. I would perhaps die more happily if I had never given this any thought at all or achieved anything.

I donít understand why I have not committed suicide years ago, that is the true mystery of my life. I donít give a shit about anything, I couldnít care less about anyone, even myself, I welcome death like the bit of fresh air I desperately needed all my life. I am incapable of appreciating this world, this universe, my existence. It is not only because I cannot make any sense of it, that I cannot find anything worthwhile or significant enough to justify my existence, Iím just tired and bored with it all, I have always been.

I welcome death, I wish it would come this very minute, I crave for the day that I will go to bed and never wake up the next day, and I sure hope that any sort of consciousness will die with the body, cosí I couldnít stand continuing any sort of awareness or existence beyond what seems to be.

I never felt the need to be aware, to think, to exist. I want to stop all that, I want to die for good, I do not wish to exist in any shape or form. I am tired, I am bored, I want to die. I always felt like it, I cannot commit suicide, I can only hope it comes quickly, before I do something insane.

Life is not worth living in my opinion, and I donít think anything else like fame and fortune could change anything to my train of thought. Not even love. This is how desperate I truly am, this is how serious I am. There is just no hope for me, and I canít explain any of it.

You may think this is sad, but it leaves me completely indifferent. So how do I really care about a fucking job in a fucking Crown Court, or recognition, or pride of self-accomplishments, of having written a few books, whether they will turn out to be significant or not? I care not at all. I donít give a shit.


23 July 2007


††††††††† As I predicted, the fat bitch came back from holiday and I will still be on Grad Fees for while longer. The excuse this time is that the Line Manager has back problem, and so the Pakistani man has to do the Line Managerís job, the fat bitch has to do the Pakistaniís job, and I have to do the fat bitchís job, with two NG forms and a bunch of committals (making new files). This sort of management is called apparently reactive management, as opposed to proactive. I was told in the office this morning, after I made it clear I was unhappy about the situation.

††††††††† I told the Scottish man that this sort of excuse could not go on forever, as it is certain that someone else will go on holiday soon, as it is the middle of the summer. And then what, I remain on Grad Fees forever? He said a few more days, until the Line Manager comes back. It seems to me that the Line Manager might never be back, that now he got something like 7,000 pounds paid retroactively, he doesnít give a shit anymore about his job, especially that he immigrates to Australia within 7 months, and decided to travel around the world very soon. I believe he is planning his trip around the planet right now instead of having back problems, and that in the process he is going to try to get a six months paid vacation as a bonus.

As usual, as soon as the Line Manager disappears, the Pakistani man cannot wait to take me off the Grad Fees to do anything else, and I hate that, because if you leave the grad fees alone for more than two days, there are so many claims to check and files to find, that you are already sinking.

I donít know what else I can do for now but accept my fate, I have tried every tricks in the book to get off the grad fees, something no one will accept to be responsible for for more than a month in a year. By the time Iím off it, I will have been doing for a whole year, the worse job possible to be given to anyone in any Crown Court. And the worst part of it is I may never prove to them how efficient I was at it, because it seems no one will ever take it over from me, and theyíre still convinced I canít do the job, somehow. Since this week it is unlikely that anyone will work on grad fees, they will be proved right, because within a week we will be back to square one and probably be back to paying them in three months time instead of the 20 days required by law. Who invented reactive management? I hope he didnít get a Nobel Prize for his discovery. Some planning would not go amiss.

It is now the evening. Never mind all the game plans you can come up with, you always get affected by the situation, and today I was not in a good mood. I launched into the first woman on the phone who was rude to me, a Manager at a local Magistratesí Court incapable of sending us a few Legal Aid orders that I have been asking for over a month, calling every three days, and then she turned around, said that I was rude, she said she would contact the Top Manager of my Court to complain about me, and she still has not helped, and she still has no intention to help me. I told her that if they were spending less time complaining about us to our superiors, and spent more time doing their job, we wouldnít have a problem. Those were my exact words. It may seem like nothing on paper, but the effect at the other end of the phone line seemed to have been quite powerful. Unfortunately for her I didnít swear, and, unlike my Line Manager, I didnít tell her: Fuck Off Fucking Bitch! He got away with it many times, so I guess I will get away with this. And yet, it has added tremendously to an already stressful day, and now, I can no longer contact that Magistratesí Court on any pretext, ever again. Which means, all those counsels will never get paid, all those solicitors will never get paid, unless they somehow can get that Legal Aid order from that Court. Good luck to them! It is the second time this month that someone from that Magistratesí Court hangs up the phone on me, the first time I had not even lost my cool. Meaning, stress must running very high in that work environment in that Court. Better leave them alone.

Somehow I doubt my mood and attitude will get better as the days go on this week, until I start training the fat bitch and finally get rid of the fucking grad fees and standard fees.

Tonight I have to sit down and read three brochures about the new pay deal offered by the new Ministry of Justice, to decide if I want to keep my old terms and conditions and salary, or if I wish to opt-in using the A option, or the B option. Sounds very simple doesnít it? I have already read the 40 pages before, and the 22 and 11 pages of the smaller brochures, and the bundle of sheets that came with all of this. I still have no clue what they are talking about, and I am not the only one, the whole office today had no clue what to do, none of us could understand anything about that new deal, including all the senior managers who were joking that if we understand any of it, to let them know.

The New Deal offered by the new Ministry of Justice is so complicated, it can only mean one thing, itís a trap, a big one, and you will let go just about everything by moving to the new deal instead of keeping the old one, unfortunately they make opting-in an obligation, because it gives you a bit more money now in salary, but probably in the long term you will lose big time. There is no way to know, as none of it makes sense. So for 700 pounds more a year, I have to opt-in, but I have no idea if I would have got that raise anyway or not, whether I opt-in or not. And now that I have decided to opt-in, I cannot understand the difference between Option A and Option B. I also donít have a clue what it means to be expecting this year or next year an increment or an uplift, and I donít know if I am due one or not.

I immediately called their helpline, the man at the other hand quickly told me a warning, that he could not tell me what to choose, that in fact, it was as if he had been told not to tell us anything, to let us remain in complete darkness about what that new deal really means. In the end I was able to get him to tell me that in my case, whether I go for Option A or B makes no difference. When I asked if I should fill out Option A or B, and said he couldnít say. And now I am worried, because I feel he is not telling me everything, hoping somehow that I will choose the wrong option. I hope the Scottish Guy will have read it again tonight and that he will let me know what option to go for. Otherwise I will have to risk it and go for Option A. It could be a big mistake and I could miss some raise sometimes this year or next year.

Maybe I should file out Option B. If it is all the same, or is it? I donít know, I canít understand anything they are talking about in all the information they sent us. And if I cannot understand it, and if the Senior Managers cannot understand it, then no one can understand it. Which means, there is a little team of clever accountants somewhere in the Ministry of Justice laughing all the way to the bank, as most probably half the civil servants will choose the wrong options and will in the end lose all their money. This is how the government works in England. Make sure no one understands anything, make sure they sign the wrong contract. Letís make sure that the poorest people in England remain the poorest for many years to come.


24 July 2007


††††††††† Days are getting longer, more boring, more stressful, because I lack focus. I am already being a lot of other things to do instead of concentrating on grad fees, and the result is that Iím no longer doing anything, I am not motivated, I have no self set targets and goals anymore, hence I leave early. I am once again prevented from entering grad fees anyway, for two days now, might continue until the end of the week from the look of it, and the two NG forms fro the appeal cases I prepared yesterday were full of mistakes. My Line Manager would have corrected them without telling me about it, a few files went into the wrong pile, but the Pakistani man made a big deal out of it, and I have to keep all my self control in order not to explode. It also adds a lot on my incompetence file, which seems to grow more and more as the days pass. All my hard work, all my overtime, have been eliminated in a few mistakes I made, and if they were to assess now if I should get a bonus, in the new bonus scheme, and assess if I need improvement, or if I am adequate or excellent, they would rate me as improvement needed, when in all, it is obviously the lack of training that is to be blamed here. And just to make sure it is all unfair, all my colleagues who do nothing all day would be rated excellent work, because if you donít do anything, youíre less likely to make any mistake and attract attention to yourself.

So it has been two stressful and long boring days. I lack sleep, wrote yesterday until 2 am, the entry about immortality. I thought I would find much to say about it, I did better than I thought I would, even though it goes all over the place and there is no coherent argument in there. As long as I am writing something, I donít really care at this time. Considering that I should not be writing because I have no time, and that no one asked me to write those, then it doesnít matter. No one has any expectation from me, and yet, they are all ready to destroy and criticise me, forgetting the larger picture, the context.

I met Stephen today at court, as I did yesterday. In the cold light of day, outside our fetid flat environment, he looks really sick, as if he was about to die, and yet, he sleeps three times more than I. Must be the alcohol and some other things, I think we are overdue for a long holiday, preferably one where we would only have to look at trees and the night sky, with nothing else to do. It would take us at least three weeks to decompress from all that has happened in the last few months.

The only positive thing at work is the engineer fixing the computers, who has been there since last Thursday. His name is Vivianne. This is not a typo, he is a she. The first time she showed up, she has been the talk of the whole department. I am the only one who did not burst out laughing about the fact that he was a transgender, and I had to remind a few that we were no longer in school, and bullying or ridiculing people was not acceptable.

It turns out that Vivianne is quite clever, philosophical, intellectual, speaks French, is from Belgium, and all in all, the most interesting person I have met in years. I wouldnít mind having such a friend in my life right now, but I guess this will not be possible, as she lives in Slough or something, and finally, anyway, I donít need friends. It made me realise how the people I work with are simple drones with no brain at all, and that not once did I had an interesting conversation with any of them. When I told Vivianne we were paid 15,000 pounds a year, she couldnít believe it, she said: this is volunteer or charity work, who could survive on that?

I made the mistake, the first time I met Vivianne, to call her Monsieur. That was right after my big speech to the whole office about growing up a bit and show to people that we were not so ignorant. I felt bad about it, but Vivianne realised quickly that it was not meant as a nasty comment, just a simple mistake on my part. But what a stupid mistake. I hope she doesnít feel like I am ignoring her, but if I speak to her for more than 3 minutes at a time, the Pakistani man starts to freak out. How quickly new managers find their hole and become monsters overnight, will never cease to amaze me. However I cannot afford to have any problem with him, because I already had enough problems with too many people, and then it will become obvious that I am the problem, I respond very badly to any sort of authority, and if I donít get it my way, I become a stroppy kid stamping his feet on the ground. I know I have an attitude problem with authority, I wish I was as laid back as everyone else and accept my miserable fate just like all those drones who never even express an opinion about anything. I just canít, we cannot change our nature, we just need to live with it and repress it whenever we can.

25 July 2007


††††††††† As planned, the Manager at that Magistratesí Court, with whom I feel I have been only assertive on the phone when she was downright rude from even before I called, because of the sudden flows of faxes I had sent requesting Legal Aid Orders they never sent to us in over a month period, has done her best to get me sacked. She has written a letter quoting verbatim everything I had said, amplifying it all to make it sound worst. I have a great memory when it comes to what I say, I could recite by heart everything she said and everything I said, and yet, despite having everyone in the office having hear what I said, the Scottish guy only spoke to the Pakistani man. I donít know what he told him, I know he said he had been surprised by my tone. Whether the Scottish man deduce from it that I was rude, I canít say. It is on minute details that he is trying to get me, trying to catch me on lies, when I have only told him the truth and had to remind him what I said on a few occasions. The Scottish guy seems determined to push this as far as he can, we have already spent two whole days on the matter, involving all the top managers of the both courts, as if they had nothing better to do, me being assertive on the phone to a woman who was rude to me and refusing to send us what is required by law. Well done, the pettiness of some people have no limits. The result is that now I will definitely never call that Magistratesí Court again, and fuck it if a few defendants end up in prison as a consequence, at this point I really donít care. Though in this case the result is simply that many counsels and solicitors wonít get paid, so who cares anyway? They should have received that legal aid order, they should have sent it to us, especially when they know the Magistratesí Court are incapable of sending these orders to the Crown Courts. I guess the real culprit here is the way the Legal Aid system has been designed, and hopefully this will change soon.

††††††††† Ultimately, was I rude to her? And does it matter? She was rude, I was rude back, and now sheís trying to cost me my job, or at least a warning, which would means under the New Deal, no bonus or raises for me for at least a year. If I had been clever, I would have complained to her Top Manager whilst she was complaining to mine. I had every right to, especially that I still havenít received those orders. And then she would have been in as much shit as I am. However I am not like that, I am not as petty as her.

I can only hope that such behaviour from her will not go unpunished somehow, that if she is that petty, somehow it will get her into trouble until she self0destruct, instead of destroying the career of others like that. I bet she is a right bitch and that no one under her can stand her. I also believe the stress is running high at the Magistratesí Court and that employees donít remain for long. I have already heard rumours to that effect. And now, unsatisfied to create chaos in her own court, sheís only too willing to continue her Destructivism in other courts as well. I wouldnít be surprised if one day someone kills her, I would never, I can still keep my self-control, others might not be able to. So ultimately she must be leading a dangerous life, just for being who she is, a right bitch.

††††††††† And now I am going to drink myself to death on a Wednesday night as a consequence, and go to bed so damn late writing all night, that tomorrow I should be a zombie and make a few more mistakes in the administration of all these cases. Who cares, not me, not anymore.

††††††††† All of this need not happen without me learning something, so I will perhaps start by writing an entry in Destructivism under the title Pettiness. I have observed it way too much recently to by-pass it. I hope the readers will recognise themselves and think twice before wasting the so much time on complaining when there is no reason to. Sometimes I feel that all Top Managers and CEOs do only that, deal with petty complaints of that sort. This is the only time we hear from them, and they appear to be delegating everything else they may have to do. So I can only conclude that all day long this is what they do, justifying the behaviour of some employees or decisions made that are not very popular with whomever.

††††††††† I have seen worse, I have gone throw worse, I also feel justified. If I had been downright rude without good reason, I would say so here. As it stands, I feel this has pettiness written all over it, and Iím sure the top manager of the Magistratesí Court knows the bitch that Manager is, and must know she is not justified in her complain. However, unlucky for me, this is the first time that Magistratesí Court complain about us, whilst every single other Magistratesí Court we are dealing with have complained repeatedly about us in the last few months. Unfortunately for that woman, in all she has carefully quoted about what I said, there was nothing that sounded outright rude or unacceptable. It is all in the tone, and that cannot be translated to paper. It can only be confirmed by my own Acting Manager who already confirmed that my tone was a bit hard.

††††††††† I donít know what the consequences will be, now. All I know is that it adds a lot to an already hard and stressful week, and that right now I feel so much anger, I could easily kill someone. I also certainly do not feel like working anymore, or doing overtime, or killing myself on the job. I know now that no matter how hard you work, it is impossible for any Manager to actually conceptualise it, to see it, to recognise it. And so, whether I do nothing or work very hard, no one can tell. I might as well do nothing, the result will be the same. It is after all my determination in getting those Legal Aid Orders that got me into trouble in the first place. If I had done just like everyone else, and didnít care about paying these people, I would not be in trouble now.

††††††††† It is totally useless to try to be efficient in an environment where everyone else is not only inefficient, they donít want to hear about efficiency. Theyíve given up years ago, and they will not rest until any new employee decide to act the same. They have decided that they would not do anything, and if you try to push them even slightly, they would react the way that bitch did, they will complain against you, get you sacked, and then they can return to doing nothing all day long. I wonder where they find the energy to actually complain, I lack that kind of energy, as I am always too busy trying to do my job. I am truly sorry to say that in the Civil Service, I appear to be the only cunt whoís got any sort of professional conscience. The sooner I get rid of my professional conscience, the more successful I will be, the farthest I will go.

††††††††† I can now confirm how low my opinion is of the whole Legal System in Britain. A hatchet man is desperately needed to clean up the bitches, the lazy ones, the incompetent ones and so forth. It has never been my intention to work there very long, I feel I have worked there long enough. Just long enough to state my final report: the Legal System in Britain is rotten to the core and there is no hope of salvaging it. I have not encountered one intelligent and reasonable person working in our Crown Court, it appears to be worst in the four or five Magistratesí Courts we are dealing with.

††††††††† Whether they are old and about to retire, or young and freshly out of dropping out of school, it is my observation that everyone who ends up in the Civil Service are incompetent, brainless, with no desire to do anything with the desire to do anything in order to achieve their ultimate inefficiency, and somehow very clever at insuring that it will remain the same at every level. And so, whatever the government could do to try to make them more productive, it will never work. Nothing in any management book that could be applied to try to get something out of these people would work. They will fight it, in the end, they will win. They will doss around doing nothing all day long until the very last day of humanity, no matter what.

††††††††† I can see, I am not blind, that the New Deal of the New Ministry of Justice recognises that fact. Everything in there is designed to motivate the civil servants to work harder. And yet it will definitely fail, because the one working hard, are stopped by the ones who want to do nothing. The ones working hard in the end are the ones getting punished and will eventually leave the Ministry of Justice, until it is filled with people who have the same lazy mentality. And somehow, if standards constantly continue to remain so low, no one will ever suspect that there is anything wrong, they will assume it is fine and normal. After all, no government ever expected anything great coming out of any civil service at any rate, which explains why they always underpaid them so badly. I donít believe for a second that giving these people higher salaries would solve anything, until the underachievers are kicked out, something apparently impossible to do. And so it will remain that the civil service will always be incompetent and incapable of achieving anything. No one in their right mind, with any intelligence or aptitude, will ever work for the civil service. If they do, they will be destroyed within months. There is nothing attracting them there in the first place, and if they end up there by mistake, everything will work towards them being kicked out the door at the first opportunity. It is very sad, but it is a fact. I know just the man who could solve all their problems, he was my boss when I worked in Westminster, he would clean up that place if he were to become the Top Manager there, I can assure you. I could also do the job if I had any authority, but no one would be clever enough to recognise, though the lies, that I am actually the most competent employee of the whole Crown Court I am working at. I defy anyone to prove me wrong on that point. Not only I would get everyone to do the job they are supposed to do, I know I would achieve it without alienating them all and destroying them in the process. Iím fairly certain I would be more successful than the actual managers, but then again, anyone could be more successful than them, because at the moment no one is doing any work, except me of course, and see how I am rewarded.

††††††††† I canít believe it took me a transgender or drag queen working for the subcontracting company dealing with our IT, to realise that not one of my colleagues had any intelligence, culture or knowledge about anything, and how much I craved intelligent conversations in the first place. I am not even asking for intelligent conversations, ultimately I could survive on common sense, but that in the civil service is also out of the question. I am dealing with a bunch of irrational people who cannot see any global picture, they get stuck on details and can remain stuck in loops forever. As a result I am too stuck in a multitude of psychological and physical time loops with no hope to escape. I am now as low as the best of them. And I feel powerless to change any of it.

††††††††† I must be getting drunk, I am thinking of putting this online on my English website right now. Hoping that one morning, maybe, just maybe, I might just keep it there forever instead of deleting it once more. I am at the point where I donít care about any consequence over my pseudo-career in the Ministry of Justice. Right now It doesnít feel like there is any justice within the Ministry of Justice, and there is nothing on the horizon telling me that it is about to change anytime soon, despite the New Deal, which in the end, will only complicate matters and bring about an outright war within the Ministry. You can never reason with an unreasonable people, you have to be more clever than they are. Even though they are useless at anything, when comes the time to self preserve themselves, their jobs and their laziness, somehow their survival instinct kicks in and they will get it their way no matter what.

††††††††† It is not even 19h42 yet, and yet all the events of today have already produced some concrete results. I just finished writing the entry for Pettiness in my book Destructivism. This entry now justifies the title of that book, how great is that? Iím quite please with the result, of how something so petty and selfish could actually bring about some creativity, something tangible, something concrete. Undeniable arguments about what humanity is all about, and justify how dark I perceive humanity to be. How could I ever be some sort of idealistic person, when all that I confront everyday are personal wars, for such petty reasons, it is laughable. And yet, based on this pettiness, we go to war, we annihilate a good fraction of the people living on this planet, and yet, it always seems all justified, that we were right to act in such a way. Wars on a personal level cannot fail to reflect the wars at a collective level. Except that somehow, at a collective level, there is no more rule or law that applies, we can be as wild and destructive as one can wish, when at a personal level, we would have to face a tribunal, a trial, and punishment. There is no such thing when we act collectively, and so we continue to go to war and kill a significant part of this humanity, and no one cares anyway, so why should I? I donít, I donítí give a fuck, because I am way too busy being worried about one single bitch who declare a war on me today, a bitch I have never met and will never meet, and yet now I am fighting for my job, for my existence, my chance to by a damn bread next month. It angers me so much, I could kill just about anyone right now standing in my way. And this is how wars start. There is no turning back when you reach that point, that stage, you will finish the war, you will kill them all.

†††††††† I think that what it is that I have learnt from that transgender Vivianne, is the Latin mentality, which has been burning inside of me for so long, and is such an alien concept to anyone in England, Canada or the United States. It is that when people are giving you shit, you do not endure for weeks and months, you immediately tell them to fuck off no matter the circumstances and the consequences. And that is what I have been near doing this week, last week and the week before at the Crown Court. I was ready to tell them to fuck off, and never come back. Let them struggle with trying to enforce their stupid meaningless contract stating that I need I need to give them a monthís notice. They would be powerless at trying to enforce it. Sometimes I think I am much more impulsive than most of them, I cannot suffer any mind game, hypocrisy or shit, whilst the better and the worst of them could quite easily endure months of it before acting upon anything.

So playing mind games with me is very dangerous, because I am always ready to give it all up to prove my point, just like I would expect French people to do, whilst these people have been used for too long to sheep, people who will endure anything before a squeak is heard from within their very heart. I would be the type to take a gun out and shoot them in the head, whilst theyíve been used to people who will break down on their knees and cry, asking for more pain, punishment and fewer rights.

I always take them by surprise, because I will not fall for their mind games, I will always put everything on the line, risking everything. As I have nothing to lose, why not? As a gay person, only myself ever enters any equation. It does not seem that it is the case for most of them though, it seems that they have everything to lose, and have the time to think about all the consequences before they act. No Latin mentality person would stop to consider that kind of stuff. Do whatís right right now, think about the consequences later, sort it all out later. Donít let anyone give you any shit or exploit any sort of inner fear they know you must be suffering from. Tell them to fuck off, re-assess your situation after the war.

No one is prepared for that kind of mentality in Britain, or even in Los Angeles. I took them by surprise in Los Angeles when I told them casually: all right, I call your bluff, letís discuss my departure date. They back-pedalled then like crazy, but it was already too late, I had made my decision to tell them to fuck off. No one will ever play mind games with me, in order to get more from me, when I am already always giving them more than 100% of my potential. I could understand if I were not giving them more than 100%, but as I do, it can only mean greed, and that kind of greed, I cannot work for. I have no greed myself, I will not kill myself over the greed of another.

When will these people ever learn? They cannot, because most of you are so afraid and weak. If you were all like me, they would learn fast and never try these tricks again. Shame on you. You have to learn to act a bit more like the Latin mentality would dictate you should respond to any sort of mind game or threat. It is all or nothing, and be prepared to accept the dramatic consequences. There is always a solution on the horizon, I have never failed to find answers to all my questions and problems. Just trust destiny, there is always a way out, and it always turns out to be better than whatever you could have suffered previously.

And now I am finally completely ready for tomorrow. If they give me any more shit about that that letter that bitch has written in that Magistratesí Court, in order to get me sacked, I will turn around and tell them frankly: all right if you feel this is serious enough to warrant forgoing how hard I work for you in the last few months compared with everyone else, letís discuss my departure date. And then letís see how serious that shit really is, how powerful a fucking stranger in another Court can be. I will not let them play their little mind games until I capitulate in my little corner, apologising for something I should not be apologising about. Letís be ready to risk everything, every time, and be ready to accept the consequences if they decide to call your bluff, because in the end, I am never bluffing. Letís see how serious this really is, letís bring it in perspective. Is it worth my leaving this job or not? If you feel that way, then fine, I will leave. If not, and we all know it is not the case, then leave me alone and shut that stupid bitch up somehow. You know sheís playing a game, you know I am not, so donít give me any shit, because I will not tolerate it.

Yeah, that is my course of action for tomorrow. No more shit. I have told you my version of event, she told you her version of events, you heard my acting Line Manager upon the matter, there is nothing left for me to listen to or suffer from you. The mind games that bitch is playing is just that, mind games, and I will not be part of it. Sack me now or forget it and move on. She will not succeed in her pettiness, because I am not afraid, I am ready at any time to sacrifice everything I worked so hard for. If you could not recognise it, if you were blind to it, then so be it, I will have nothing more to do with you.

That is the right answer, that is the way to react to bullshit. And I will do just that tomorrow, just watch me. Always be ready to sacrifice everything at anytime, so others can see the big picture and realise the pettiness of it all. If they fail to see it, so be it, move on. This is the only to deal with small minded people. I bet I can find a new job paying as much as that anyway within a month. Just have to delete most of my CV in order to achieve that. For Godís sake, I would earn more anyway cleaning the streets, the civil service is really not worth fighting for. At any rate, at that kind of salary, no one should have the right to give me any shit. Tomorrow could be my last day in the civil service. Great! I canít wait to put an end to my misery!

Gosh, I have never felt so strong than right now. I just wished I was still under the influence of alcohol when I will enter that Crown Court tomorrowÖ At the end of the day it is that bitchís words against mine. No matter how the Pakistani guy could have backstabbed me, I do not believe he would lie. And so, the issue is no longer that bitch in another court. The issue, the problem, the struggle, is between me and the Scottish guy. So he needs to understand that I will play his mind games, that I am quite ready to sacrifice everything upon the matter, and that if he does not drop it right now, that is it, I am out of here. I will not suffer, any longer, any kind of mind game or shit. I specifically moved from the commercial world to the civil service for that very reason, if it is to continue in that safe haven, I might as well be working in the world of conferences and make a fortune, no matter the shit that will come my way. Tomorrow I will be merciless: leave me alone or I leave within a month. What is it going to be? You decide. After all that I have gone through in Los Angeles, the consequences of telling them just that, and the fact that I have acted upon my words and went back to London, tells it all. I am capable of making the big decisions, the right decisions, when facing pettiness. I never have any regrets, but I bet they do. Too bad if they canít see it before hand. Maybe one day they will learn, when many people will react the same way as I do.

So now I have a plan of action, shame it took half a bottle of Vodka to get the answer. When the Scottish guy calls me in his office, I will not remain there for two hours like today, it will be five minutes. I will tell him that I wonít back down. That woman has a pea in her bonnet, she freaked out when she saw 30 faxes coming her way asking for Legal Aid Orders, and now she is trying to get away with not doing any of it, when she is required by law. She has amplified a simple conversation that was quite assertive, I admit, but it wonít work. She is wrong, she has to send me those representation orders, and I will remain as strong as I should be. If you do not agree with this version of event, I will leave within a month. She will have won, she will not have to send us any representation orders for years to come. Efficiency will do with my departure, but who really cares about that? No one I suspect, this is the civil service after all, isnít it? Thank you for having inspired me a few pages, a few books in fact, I guess in the end this is all that was required from you. Now it is time to move on. No regrets. I have done and achieve what I came here to do and achieve, beyond that I donít give a shit.

Right course of action, I will refuse to talk about it anymore, especially that by talking more I only give them more fuel to accuse me of something. He knows the big picture, never mind about the details. Now he is free to do whatever he wants with this little crisis, I donít care about the consequences. I will not debate details, you decide if it is worth for me to lose my job over this or not, and that is all. Let me know your decision, I am quite ready to accept the outcome, but I will not discuss it further. This is how pettiness should be dealt with, by not giving it any more attention than it really deserves.

And tomorrow I should also make a point of leaving at 16h30, no more overtime. I will also leave at 16h30 on Friday. No longer will I break my back for blind people incapable of seeing all the hard work I have done for them. And of course, this means the beginning of the end, as this will alienate them further. I have to find another job, and I will, somehow. I should set myself a goal to apply to at least 10 new jobs this weekend, and see what happens. No loyalty is required for people ready to backstab you at every turn, and who have never been loyal to you in the first place. It is not enough to just give you a salary. They deserve what they get.

††††††††† Tomorrow this Scottish guy will be facing a worthy opponent, as I will not be willing to listen, I will tell him that I am stopping this pettiness right here right now and will not discuss it any further. Whatever decision they want to make out of it, I will accept it and that will be the end of it. I have nothing to lose, do they? Weíll find out.

Iím so pleased that all of this happened, because without it, I would never have written my entry about pettiness in my book Destructivism. And to have acquired enough experience in order to write such an entry, is priceless. Anything I might have to suffer or go through as a consequence, does not really matter. It will not make me rich at any rate, but I am proud of it nonetheless. And that is what being a spy within the mist of a great institution is all about, that all this pettiness is not wasted, it brings in me some creativity, some ideas and observations about human nature that otherwise I would miss completely.

It helps understand human nature, find solutions that perhaps will help escape self-destruction. I have no doubt that we have already initiated self-destruct a long time ago, and yet, it would be nice to know how, before we simply all return to nothingness. That is what I mean by considering the whole picture, instead of being stuck on insignificant details.

I know of only one of my past managers capable of saving this planet, he is now on sick leave for God knows how long. Fuck! Where is my Line Manager when I need him the most? I will have self-destruct before his return. Didnít take long for all the other vultures around him to annihilate his management style. One week and a half exactly. And that is also how long it took me to destroy my future in that job. It tells you a lot about management and how incompetent people end up there, and can only bring destruction in their wake without realising it.

God, no one has any clue about anything in this world, no wonder we will bring about the end of the world and humanity within my lifetime.

††††††††† At some point today I went to the toilets for a good 10 minutes, I was trying to calm myself as I could feel I was about to explode. I was wondering, how can I achieve that, see al of this for all it really is, a game, a joke, and not take life so seriously. I went back into the office not hoping for any miracle. But a quick talk with the transsexual Vivianne brought me back to some sort of sanity, that was just before the shit hit the fan and that woman complained against me to the top manager. And then, of course, there was no more hope over the horizon.

††††††††† Tomorrow I will have to be strong, and show them that there are consequences to their destructive mind games. I will immediately request a week off as soon as possible, meaning next week. If they refuse, they will again owe me something, and somehow it might make it easier in my mind, to go through one more week of shit just for the sake of it. I know the shit cannot fail to hit the fan many more times before the end of next week, and that it will be small consolation that I had predicted it and tried to prevent it, trying to avoid it somehow by taking a week off, and they refused.

Somehow I will get them to confirm me a week off as soon as possible, because Iím desperate for it. I need to sleep for a whole week just to cope with the shit I suffered from them this week alone. Otherwise, it is my resignation they will get, and I have no doubt they donít really care either way, and will never, ever, feel any regrets after Iím gone. They failed to recognise a hard working employee, I donít know how, and I doubt they will ever recognise that fact even if I am replaced by an incompetent moron, as it is most likely to be the case.

I guess I was expecting too much from them, I can only conclude that they are more brainless than I ever thought possible. It is amazing to say the least, but what can I do? There is no hope for any of them, which explains why they are where they are now, and how they could have sustained themselves in these jobs for more than a decade or two. Weíre not from the same universe, that is all. I donít belong there, but I guess that in my case, I donít belong anywhere, and they in return, could belong anywhere, as everywhere is the same pettiness and selfishness I have witnessed, whatever the country I was in. There is really no hope for humanity. No one is looking for happiness, peace, freedom. In fact, any one I ever worked with pretty much worked hard to make sure there would never be any peace, freedom or happiness in this world. I canít explain it, except that pettiness and selfishness destroy any of those ideals.

††††††††† Oh dear, how could I ever bring any happiness to any of my readers, leading such a negative existence? When do you have to stop and wonder if the problem is not yourself? Perhaps I take life much too seriously. Maybe I was born with a negative attitude and I am ready to explode at any given moment, even when the moment does not require such a reaction, such an emotional burst. How can I become peaceful? Laid back? Lazy? Just like everyone else? How? Is true that no one can change its nature? Am I condemned to walk into nightmare after nightmare for the rest of my life? Is this life really worth it then? Will we not all be better off if I were to end it? Is there any point for me to continue living like this? At the end of the day, I have to admit that I may ultimately be responsible for everything that is happening to me. That I may very well have rude with that bitch, never mind who was rude first and who had the energy to complain about it to make one more point. It is known that everyone in this society will not stop until they have total control, until everyone is just simple sheep obeying all their smallest whims. And as soon as someone confronts them about it, they go into hyper panic mode until the deviant is brought back to reason or is kicked out for good, so they can continue their own little path of power. Should I descend to their level, accept authority as soon as I hear the word Manager? Or should I fight every single Ego trip I encounter? Whoís being hurt in the end? Not them, theyíre way too protected, only pawns like me can suffer any consequence. And hence, if I were to become the sheep, filled with humility and surrender that is required of me, maybe I would stand of chance to peace and happiness. Maybe there is something wrong with me, perhaps I am not ready enough to give up my own whatever to the next person in authority, when I should. Maybe I can learn to be sedated like everyone else, even without drugs. Maybe this is what I need to learn in this world, before I just decide to unilaterally end my existence. Or, just as I thought, perhaps for me there is only one solution, to end this existence, because I do not capable to fit in anywhere, I donít think I was designed or born to function properly in all these situations and environments. I think I am the problem here, that I deserve all the consequences of my actions, and yet, I know that I could not live any other way, that I will not change in order to become that I am not and could never be. And so I am condemned to live a nightmarish existence and alienate everyone along the way. Can I accept that? Is there no solution for me? Like isolating myself completely from everyone? Is suicide the only solution for me? It always comes back to that. I wish I would just do it and be over with it, be over with everything. If I were to meet that woman who is trying her best to destroy me right now, I think I would not hesitate to kill her, I donít think I could stop myself, because I feel this is all she deserves. I am still moral and ethical enough to not upon my deep desires, but then, there is only one other solution, to end my own life. I think I should give it more serious thought and start to think about ways to achieve it. I think it is clear now that whatever the job I will get, I will put myself through the same shit and will always be depressed. As I cannot find any solution in order to get myself out of these situations, and fail to see how I would ever be able to escape that fate, I guess that there is only one remaining solution. I cannot accept this way of life, I will never fit in anywhere. When something like this happens, a real crisis, it reminds me who I really am and how I am just dysfunctional in society. I donít think there is any hope for me.


27 July 2007


††††††††† After my last entry, you would expect me, two days later, to tell you worse tales. In fact, the very next day it was as if nothing ever happened, I had two last long and boring days, didnít hear anything about it except they asked me a list of the representation orders I needed, and I got them all the next day. Despite the fact that I nearly ruined my career over a two minute phone call, I can only observe that it brought great results and I doubt we will ever again have to wait more than 10 minutes to get an order from that Magistratesí Court. So in all, it paid off in a way, and no one can accuse me of being inefficient, in two minutes I unblocked a serious communication problem between our Crown Court and that Magistratesí Court that has gone on for years. And now, all those counsels and those solicitors will get paid instead of getting back in the post yet again the claims they sent us something like a dozen times before getting the message that without that bit of paper that no one on this Earth can get a copy of, they will never get paid.

I guess the lesson here is that you do not achieve anything in this world without stirring a lot of shit, putting your neck on the line, be ready to sacrifice everything over the slightest detail, and there you are, finally you succeed in eliminating a big chunk of our bureaucracy that has been alienating the whole legal system for decades. There will of course be consequences for me, probably next time I bark at another bitch down the phone, because obviously I can only get away with that kind of crisis once or twice, but at least I not only got my orders, I have insured we will get all the other ones in the future.

This panic has highlighted a big problem they have been discussing for years in high level meetings between the top managers of the Magistratesí Court and the Crown Courts, something that they never succeeded in making it happen. It took a nobody a bit too hysterical about doing a good job, to pick up the phone and tell them to do their job, creating a hurricane between the courts, and now the problem is sorted. After complaining about me the way they did, I think the answer they got was that it was true that they simply ignored all our requests for Legal Aid Orders, and hence, perhaps they were not as white as they claimed to be. They probably thought they would get me sacked overnight their desire to do nothing about it would continue forever, now they are so afraid we might actually be complaining about them with good reason, they are doing their job. I just hope I didnít destroy myself in the process.

I speak like if I had just saved a thousand lives from starvation out of a poor African corner, when all I really achieved is so insignificant, it makes me want to cry. And yet, I receive desperate letters from counsels and solicitors telling me to pay them or else they will go bankrupt. When they are owe 40,000 pounds, I guess they worked the better part of the year on that case, if not many years, and by the time we finally get around to pay them, they are mortgaged to the teeth and can no longer sustain their credit card payments. So I guess I sort of saved a few hundred people from starvation this year. It is in my opinion a misconception that counsels and lawyers are rich people, because there are now way too many on the market, that most of them are taxi drivers. Makes me feel good that I dropped out of law school to study literature and philosophy. Iím starving all the same, but at least I didnít commit suicide, yet anyway.

I think the whole point of this exercise with the Magistratesí Court, was for me to finally understand that I have been rude to that bitch, that I am responsible for the crisis that ensued, and probably she had every right to complain about me to all the top managers of all the courts around a radius of 25 miles. Because had a rippling effect, we after all have the same problem getting orders from all the other Magistratesí Courts.

The minute I realised that I was the bitch here, that it was I who had an attitude problem and needed to correct that sort of unacceptable behaviour, suddenly everything changed. When I woke up the next day, the sky was blue for the first time since the beginning of the summer, there were birds in the trees and leaves, when I could have sworn that the day before, it was like winter even though we are right in the middle of the summer. Something tells me that if I had not got the message, the next day would have been bloom and gloom. It is as if I changed timeline, that somehow after writing over 30 pages upon the subject, and drinking a whole bottle of Vodka, and understanding that I was wrong, I switched to another parallel universe where it was as if none of it ever happened. Something tells me that if I had not accepted that, this story would have gone worse the very next day and I would still be in crisis two days later.

I cannot change my nature, no matter what. I am gay, I tired to changed that when I was young, I was unsuccessful. I am impulsive and ready to explode at any moment, and can sometime be very rude, no matter what I could devise to change that, I will never change. It is like my neighbour next door who always get mixed up in fights and end up in courts and prison for another GBH or ABH, Actual Bodily Harm, they simply cannot change their nature, they are prone to explode at any moment, especially when drunk. An anger management course might help keep it under control for a while, but at some point it will explode again and hopefully you will not be anywhere near them when it happens. In a way I feel very bad for people born with such a nature, because it is out of their control, and if you push them too far, as life always do in any circumstance, that is it, they simply lose it and can only regret it the next day when they face the consequences.

So what is the lesson I really learned here? That I need to change my attitude, need to keep that bad character under tight control, or that I am like I am and I cannot change who I am? And so, have I really learned something important here or not? Because I know who I am, I have known for a long time that I cannot change, so whatís the point? And unfortunately my problem is not severe enough that it requires help from professionals, it is not like I had beaten the shit out of that bitch in that Magistratesí Court, I never even sworn at her. On paper it looked like I had been a nice sheep, though it was all in the tone. There is no denying that it drove her off the wall, and could have led to my dismissal, and might still if they get a second complaint soon about me. Well, I guess this is how I learn stuff without professional help, I am unlikely to explode again at a bitch at the other end of the line for at least a few weeks and months. Efficiency and reducing bureaucracy might suffer, but at the end of it all, who really cares? No one, or else governments would have done something about that, right? As ifÖ no matter how many millions or billions complaining about bureaucracy every day, governments have never shown any desire to eliminate or reduce the problem, on the contrary, it is getting worse every single day and as it is progressive changes, none of us really freak out like I did on the phone at whoever might be listening, so things will finally change.

All we hear is PR campaigns from the civil service and other public services that if you shout or hit one of our employees, we will prosecute you every time and make sure you get maximum penalty. When really, this is such the wrong way to go about it. I think the statistics of the employees of the Underground being beaten up every year by angry passengers are running so high, they never stop to assess why. Instead they decided to send a clear message that none of us will get away with it and will be severely punished, because at least a few hundred cameras will have filmed the whole thing and we can no longer escape our fate. Perhaps if they were to spend as much resources and energy on making the whole transport system work, they would actually eliminate the problem completely, instead of alienating us even more. They let it go so bad, I sincerely believe that if they were to build five new Piccadilly Lines deeper underground running in parallel of the first one, we would still be like sardines in the wagons, we would still want to kill a few of their employees every day. The whole of Outer and Inner London are all hysterical now, do something about it! If I ever hear once more that this train to Heathrow will terminate at Northfields or Acton Town, I assure you, I will kill someone.

I have been getting into new television series on Sci-Fi recently, and it seems that my Anna Maria is so similar to all of those, I really cannot feel any pride in my achievement. It is like we all went for the same kind of main themes, main sort of characters, etc. I feel my originality leaves a lot to be desired. And now I am boiling for another great book which will break all boundaries in originality, something truly special, and I know I have that potential burning inside of me. I donít even feel like finishing my novel now, despite the fact that I am so closed to the end, that a few drunken writing nights would do the trick.

I wonder if I should delete the last two short stories of Anna Maria and consider it finished with its eight short stories. Might be worth considering. The last one ďTime Terrorists Ė The Hampton Court ColonyĒ should clearly be for the next tome, if ever I feel the need to write a second tome for whatever reason. And ďThe Box on the Seven Dials Ė Full Circle in Covent GardenĒ seems so out of place, Iím not sure if it is really relevant to the whole book. Even though I liked the beginning bit in that VIP restaurant. Perhaps I can salvage that bit and include it to another of the existing stories. There was also the how Anna Maria and the Duke of Connaught first met, the story of their beginning, that I felt I could write for the first book. That would require months of work at the pace I have been working on that novel, and I am no longer certain if it is worth it. If I were that motivated, I would not have written a complete other book before finishing this one, ďDestructivismĒ.

I would have 136 single line pages if I delete the last two stories, that is 272 pages double spacing, over 300 pages of a normal published book. Perhaps it is enough for a book I no longer believe in. And I did think that ďHam III Time Paradox - The Uncertainty of King George VarneyĒ would end the book very well. Shit, what should I do? Is it just laziness speaking? Should I get to work on it tonight instead?

Right, I think I need to make a decision, and reach a compromise. I will delete that last short story, because it is getting in some sort of tangent, it continues the story of another one, ďHam III Time ParadoxĒ. That is definitely more suited for book II, it would insure continuity and develop a longer story line for other short stories. It could be short story two of the second book. And the short story one of the second book would be about the terrorists Anna and Arthur confronted when they first met. As for ďThe BoxĒ, I need to finish it somehow, I have to force myself. I need to work on it this weekend, hopefully finish it. Then I will be able to live with myself. I will not be able to accuse my laziness from having massacred my first big novel in English.

††††††††† I have to say that I stated the above thinking I had 200 pages instead of 300, and now I can see that even without The Box, I have a full book, I donít need that short story, especially if I can salvage the beginning and incorporate it to another story. Iím afraid, I donít think this is a decision I can make tonight. The dinner is already way too long for a short story, it is most of the story, and yet nothing happened yet. Either ďSeven DialsĒ will be longer than usual, or I will compress it beyond belief. The only reason I could want to finish it is because the beginning is good, and yet it can be the beginning of any of the other stories. It would be a shame at this point to delete it. Without at least giving it another writing blast this weekend to see where it could go. What frightens me, to be honest, is that Iím not sure I can develop that many dialogues in that story, and hence, it is less suitable for an episode of a television series. It would be more narrative. Unless I get into dialogues in some of the days, doesnít matter if some, like the first one, is all narration.

††††††††† Why have I blocked like this on that last story? When it was the last one, and that all of it is already written, not once, but twice differently in two different languages? Maybe because I feel that story should be a film all on its own and should not be part of Anna Maria? Maybe thatís the problem here. If overnight I had a lot of money falling from the sky and could afford to shoot a film, it would be that story. It wouldnít be possible if it was part of Anna Maria and that book was published. But isnít it what Anna Maria was all about? Getting all my film script ideas into a novel no matter the consequences, so they could be published?

††††††††† I will have to finish it, I will finish it. But I delete the last one, and forget the initial meeting of Anna and Arthur for now. Good compromise, or else I will never finish that novel. And I better come up with another great idea for my next book, which brings the question, French or English, sci-fi or not? It all depends on the reaction of publishers and agents to Anna Maria. If it is complete failure, as it is to be expected, then French and no sci-fi. If it is not a failure, then it will be tome II of Anna Maris. As it could take me a year to find out, I might as well consider French and no sci-fi for the next one. Because if Anna Maria fail to attract any attention, it is definitely the level of my English which is not good enough. Writing another book in English would be useless. But if it does attract attention, having written in French would have been a waste of time and energy, something I donít have in abundance at the moment.

††††††††† Big risk. It is true that I never got anywhere writing in French before, but this time around I would write specifically in order to write a best-seller in French. It would be different from before. The next French book I write, will be published, will be a success, I will make sure of it. The question and the answer to the dilemma is simple, find a good idea worthy of spending a whole year on, and then assess if English or French is more suitable. Letís see what the brainstorm will bring. In the meantime, finish that damn Anna Maria! I should prevent myself from writing anything else until it is finished. I have to give myself deadlines, or else I will never finish it. My whole existence as an author hangs in the balance, this is how serious that book could be to my whole destiny, it is time I realise it, nothing else matters, especially not bitches working at Magistratesí Courts. Iím too deep into ďSeven DialsĒ, I will finish it, and nothing else.

††††††††† Dear me, where would I be without writing all this, I would never figure out anything, I would never make any decision. It brings focus in my life, and it is great therapy. Shit, I just opened my eighth beer already, it is 2 am, I will be in a shitty mood tomorrow, it will take 30 seconds for Stephen to find out and freak out about it. We will have a shitty weekend again, I will be lucky if I can write a few pages. Iím now deep into the Moody Blues, ďA Question of BalanceĒ, whilst my whole existence is going up in flames. Perfect, just perfect. ďIím looking for someone to change my life. Iím looking for a miracle in my life.Ē ďWhy do we never get an answer. When we're knocking at the door? With a thousand million questions. About hate and death and war.Ē Never been more appropriate for the times weíre living in. And now I can dream the rest of the night away.

††††††††† ďAnd the Tide Rushes InĒ on that album has for a long time been the favourite song of my dad. He was singing it virtually every Saturday morning, blasting Moody Blues records all over the house for everyone to hear, it was his day off. Iím not sure if to this day he understood the words, his English was very bad then, as it is now. When I think of it, I feel that despite all the shit I have to go through on a daily basis, my life is not as sad as his was then. I donít think I could have gone on to lead the existence my Dad did. I think I did slightly better so far. Thatís a result, but a small one. Iím sure it never crossed his mind then that his son would be one day working in a Crown Court in England, spending his days paying grad fees and standard fees. Iím sure somewhere in this universe tonight he is really proud of his son.

††††††††† Shit, no more beers, I should I jump into the Vodka. Has anyone got a gun? I would really love to have a gun right nowÖ


31 July 2007


††††††††† Would you believe that in this day and age, I still have to fight bullies ready to attack me and make fun of me because of my sexual orientation, this whilst working in a Crown Court? One of the Security Guard at the entrance makes a stupid joke every time I enter the building or pass the entrance, he pretends I touch his ass and then he makes a stupid woman noise like: oh, donít touch me, or something like that. I can take that joke once or twice, but not 20 times every time I now has to cross the entrance. The first time I laughed, after that I ignored it, today whilst leaving at lunch time, I looked at him in the eye with an angry face hoping that he will finally get the message and stop. What I saw in his eyes tells me that not only he will not stop, it will get worse, as I witness hate, shear hate.

††††††††† Funny that this man his actually a drug addict, and owes money to my Line Manager and the Kid. So it is not like he was beyond reproach in the first place. I would imagine that being a drug addict desperate enough to borrow money from everyone who is known to take drugs working in a Crown Court would be undesirable, since half of our defendants come to the Crown Court in the first place because of drugs. And yet, I would never denounce him or tell anyone about it, as it was said to me in confidence by the Kid, and I wouldnít want to get him into trouble.

††††††††† However I still have to deal with that moron, as now I am afraid of coming in or out of the building, or even pass the entrance to go to the dead room where most of the court files are. If he couldnít see in my eyes today that I would no longer tolerate any joke at my expense, then I will have to take my courage at heart and tell him to stop. I am not certain how I can do this without him making another joke about it.

I could go straight to my Line Manager and tell him to tell that bully to calm down, but that would be like an official complaint. If I were to tell the Scottish Guy, the issue would become so serious, he might lose his job. If I tell my Line Manager who is finally back today from his back problems, then it will be very informal. Even more informal would be to tell the Kid to let him know, there are good friends after all, and it is obviously the Kid who told him I was gay.

I canít believe I still have to deal with that shit when I am 34 years old. The difference is that I am no longer a kid, neither is he, and I have a recourse now against that kind of thing, whilst when I was a kid in school I had none and could only suffer in silence and witness the worst atrocities against me. I will not let this situation deteriorate any longer, he will get the message one way or another.

This bullshit almost made me go for that interview for a Security Guard at Heathrow Airport, most probably the next Terminal 5. They want to see me, I wasnít too keen to work 4 days on and 2 days off in a row, 12 hours shift all over the place night and day. And now I have a pretty good idea of the level of intelligence of Security Guards, I would be opening myself to more bullies at the Airport.

Shit, every day now in this Court I am facing a new threat, a new situation that ultimately gets me into trouble and adds to my file as an undesirable employee. I wish it would all go away and I could be left alone to do my job in silence in my corner without having to interact with anyone. Maybe I need to look for a new job at the BBC or something, I had enough of these soul destroying jobs for which I have absolutely no interest in and yet are a great source of stress and pressure, enough to take over my entire existence that I cannot think of anything else but my job and the problems that come with it.

Another funny thing, I remember now that Stephen also had a problem with that same Security Guard. For Stephen it is obvious he is gay, and so that Guard immediately spotted it and hated openly Stephen, enough to cause him pain, enough for Stephen to let me know that this Security Guard hated him. I donít think this is because the Guard saw me speak to Stephen in the Jury Room, as Stephen reported this way before then. This afternoon I need to ask the transgender engineer if she has any trouble with Security when she comes in. Letís see how far that bullying really goes.

I am back home, it is now past 11 pm. I am back from the pub, it was the last day of Cristina, the girl from Tenerife in the Canary Island. To be honest, and I told her tonight, she was a miracle worker, and the only one in the whole office to do any work with me and the Indian woman in the Listing office. She came tonight, so sweet of her, I truly like her, she brought some chocolates for Cristina, finally she got a gift from us. She was the longest working temp they ever had, and I am sure, the most efficient employee they ever had. If I start my conference company one day, I would hire her in a second, and would hesitate to give her a huge salary, because I know she would deliver.

Somehow Cristina was my own employee to deal with, for the first time ever, you could have called me her manager. And you know what, her verdict tonight was that I had been so sweet with her, it tells me that if ever I become a manager one day, I hope all of them could say to me how sweet I was. Because, in the end, this is all that counts.

I called her a miracle worker, and I only realised that I had never told her whilst she was working for us. And yet, it has been on my mind from the very first week. I wish I had told her much earlier, it would have made her feel better. Somehow she has convinced herself that she was not that good for us, that she complained a lot, etc. When it is so untrue, with me at least, but of course, I was sweet to her, she has such a nice character, I could have been anything but sweet with her.

I stressed how important it was for me to say she was a miracle worker, because in all my years working in all those jobs, giving 200%, when most people donít even give 50%, only once was I called a miracle worker, only once did they recognise how great I was in my job, and it made me feel better about it. I am cursing myself that only on her last day did I tell her that, though I am pretty convinced she knew that I, and I alone, knew she was a miracle worker. It also makes me realise that my Managers are obviously not blind, they must know I am a miracle worker, even though they never take the time to let me know. But then it does not matter really, because as soon as I make a serious mistake or two, all that goes out the window, and I am back to square one, trying to prove myself once again.

At the table tonight, there was one Spanish, one French-Canadian, one Chinese from Hong Kong, one Indian, one British, and one mixed guy from everywhere, but mostly Italian, African and Indian. It was truly an international crowd, and that was very nice. I got everyone to say what yes and no was in their own language, and then went on to decide which one sounded the best. I took the Si in Spanish to be nicest yes, and the ďI canít remember nowĒ in Cantonese to be the best no, since in Cantonese, no is the negation of yes and it includes yes in it. I thought this was unusual, logical, complicated, but ultimately the best no.

I managed to insult the Chinese guy badly, without it being my intention. I was trying to understand why his brother and himself had so much trouble finding a girlfriend in England, so much so that his brother had to find a girlfriend in Singapore, something I said I only witnessed with fat Americans incapable of finding an American girlfriend in the first place. And then I said that all three of us, the Spanish, the Chinese and I, the French one, all had suffered discrimination in England. To which the Chinese guy answered that no, we had no idea, since until the Spanish girl or I spoke, we could be considered British, but for him it was obvious from the start that he looked different. The discrimination started in his case way before it could start for us. I answered that I had a similar analogy to that, comparing gay people with fat people. That when you are gay, and as long as it is not obvious, you can lie about who you really are, but when youíre fat, it is obvious and you are more readily ridiculed for it.

In the end, the Chinese guy is slim and highly attractive, and it makes no sense that everyone in Britain would reject him. That is what I couldnít understand, because I would take him any day as my long term partner if he was gay. And yet, no girl is interested in him, neither in his brother, who is apparently more British than my colleague.

I had the same conversations with the Kid tonight, how despite being 21, every girl rejects him because he seems too young and immature. I agree on that, but what great sex it would be, that I donít understand how difficult these European girls can be. All their confidence is gone, when I would qualify them as the best looking people I have met in quite a while. So whatís wrong with all those girls out there? I donít know, neither do they, I might add.

Sometimes I think how nice it would be to be straight, because there are so many good looking chaps and lasses out there, single and desperate for anything, that I feel, with my great confidence, that I could reach them all. I know there must be many gay people out there feeling the same, perhaps waiting for me, they are just harder to find, as they cannot be met anywhere, in every single office out there. And I am not willing to make the extra effort to meet any of them.

††††††††† For the first time tonight some of my colleagues saw two of my published books. I have been accused before to be lying about it, that it was so unthinkable that I could be a published author and yet working as a Civil Servant, they dismissed without another thought. Tonight the Indian woman from the Listing Office asked me why I was working in a Crown Court, she looked genuinely impressed. There you have it, I thought, I am spy, I am using you in order to write a journal, and anyway, no worry, it will never be published. Why am I doing it? It might make my website and my life more interesting, some new experiences, and yet, that journal is not on my English website and will not be for many years to come. I would probably lose my job over it, I know that much.


2 August 2007


††††††††† I made a serious miscalculation about my way to a better existence in that job at the Crown Court. First I thought that if I were to be taken out the grad fees two months ago, I would not longer have to deal with the Old Indian man who is the cashier or the Chief Clerk, both are a very high source of stress to me and regularly get me into trouble. The other serious calculation is that two months later the grad fees have become a monster that no one else in their right mind would be willing to take over. It is now so complicated, that the woman who has taken them over yesterday is highly stressed and she is now venting her frustrations on me, her trainer.

††††††††† I had not taken that into account, that now I would be constantly fighting with her for her to do the job as I showed her, she is fighting against everything and made it clear she will only do a half job. She will override anything, neither Legal Aid, neither wrong Offence Codes. She will not photocopy the grad fees we received and the letter we send back to counsels so we can figure out what is going on when they send it again five times afterwards in the coming month. Before we found the letter, photocopies it, send the invoice back hoping that on the sixth letter they will get the message that we cannot pay their claim until they sort out the problem.

††††††††† She has gone into a full blown attack today about me speaking French to the Engineer, right after another homophobic comment from my Line Manager, that he somehow succeeded in getting her replaced by a proper man this time, not a transgender. The Fat Bitch said we were rude to speak another language in the office and now I am forbidden to speak French at all, whilst I hear Indian all the time in this office. I said so, right, I was unaware I could not speak French in the office, now that I am aware, I will no longer speak French, however it must be the same rule for everyone and so, no one should be speaking Indian in this office any longer.

††††††††† So all these problems sort of fizzled out throughout the morning, however I am now uptight, so unwilling to continue her training, and quite direct and impatient with her, that I predict she will not inherit the grad fees and that I will definitely be stuck on them forever.

Sheís not helping herself, whilst I am trying everything I can to train her and to help her. One more attack and that will be it, I will certainly explode, she has to stop venting her frustrations on me. I have been on these damn invoices for over nine months now, what has she got to complain about? She will be on them for only one month, after which time I will most definitely get them back, as the famous rotation of whoís getting these things can only bounce from her to me. In fact, I predict I will be back on the grad fees within 12 days, once the Pakistani man goes on holiday, because then someone will need to do the Post-Trial, she can, I cannot. I need to ask to be trained as soon as possible before he goes on holiday, I will do so this afternoon. Iím glad I figured that one out.

††††††††† It is now close to midnight, it has been an exhausting day, and week, and every new day brought another new serious problem, and I know from experience that it can go on like that for a very long time indeed, until something breaks. Today on top of everything, I suddenly receive a phone call from the Ministry of Justice, they accused me of lying on my application form because I told them I took no sick day in my last job in Los Angeles. Now my ex-employer came back with seven sick leave I have taken whilst I worked for them. Lying on your application form, when working for the Ministry of Justice, never mind how small the lie is, or how white, is still a crime punishable by law. For a second there I thought they would terminate my employment on the spot, and to be honest even now I am not certain if it will happen. I guess it all depends on if they go back to my ex-employer to clarify the situation or not, and how nice or gutted my ex-employer is about me leaving them. Anyway, I may have saved the situation when I told that monster in HR that I never lied, that when you are sick in America, especially if your employer does not pay you sick leave, you can decide to take them as holiday instead, and that as far as I was concerned, all my sick days should have been considered holidays, but as this process was quite informal as I just told casually my manager (who by the way was a right bitch) that my sick leave should be considered holidays, then perhaps their records are not up to date or reflect reality. Basically, I told her I had not lied on my application form, but perhaps I would need a full trial with witnesses and a jury to truly prove my innocence.

††††††††† Well, this was another big shock this afternoon and it freaked me out again for at least an hour. Iím still worried about it, I hope it will fizzle out as if it never happened. I hate this idea of reference letters, reference from previous employers or teachers and so on, it is like having a criminal record for the rest of your life, that you cannot go anywhere in life without first having your whole background searched thoroughly, and you should have seen the questionnaire they sent to my previous employers, it was pages long with very specific answers, I have it here. This is discrimination developed to an art form, coming from the Ministry of Justice no less. It is simply not acceptable.

And thatís nothing, I would qualify myself as a good boy who obeys everyone with almost a minimum of questions, someone who could be considered respectable and who never did anything that questionable, basically, I have never really done anything wrong, and yet, insignificant details can easily destroy my career and my future, I almost lost my job today, over a trifle. Can you imagine what it must be for most defendants, never mind if they have been declared innocents for whatever reason? Their future must be mortgaged, and if they once lie even slightly just to make it look a little bit better, that is it, theyíre screwed.

Big Brother has access to everything and will eventually find out everything there is to know about you. It doesnít matter how small or insignificant detail you might not have reported that they will find about, this will be considered a crime and you will be thrown out, discarded, unworthy, some sort of sub human being. Whatever you do in life, never lie. Because in the end, if you admit to the worst crimes, they might just decide that as long as you told the truth, you may be worthy of their attention, they may decide to give you a fighting chance. Though it is unlikely and you would be deluding yourself for thinking so. So there is no way out. The truth is only a phone call, an e-mail, a fax, a letter away, and they will look for it, they will get it.

Thatís nothing, I thought it was BAA calling me, about that job at the airport as a Security Officer. Their own screening process is now so complicated that very few candidates actually get the job they are going for. As a result they are now desperate enough to send me emails, text messages on my phone and now I thought they were calling me at work, so I could spend a few months trying to get a job I know in the end I would not even succeed in getting, and all that despite the fact that I never even applied for that job in the first place. They found my name on one of their old databases for a job I applied for years ago, one that was paying three times more than what they are offering me now. How stupid and desperate do these people think we are? Or how stupid and desperate are these people really are?

Considering how difficult it is for me to become permanent at my actual job for the Ministry of Justice after nine months, I donít even want to imagine how impossible to get a job at Heathrow Airport in Security would be, after all these fake terrorists attacks and considering that Heathrow is classified as one of the main targets of this government sponsored terrorism. So fuck it. At least they must know that there is no need to increase security anywhere in England, but Iím not sure if everyone within the government is in on the secret that the government is responsible for most terrorist attacks these days, and so getting jobs there is impossible or not worth wasting the time and the energy.

I never keep a job for more than a year anyway, all my ex-employers are getting bugged by my new potential employers something like every year for a few months. Switching jobs now might not be wise, I will alienate them all beyond repair and they will not be helpful the day I actually go for a job that I really want (as if this could ever happen anyway).

Tonight I wrote the new introduction to my Shrinking Theory page, basically declaring it dead. I thought of the day I would do such a thing, I thought after that I could basically end my life, as there would be nothing else for me to live for. However it is not quite what happened tonight. In a way I was pleased to finally understand and realise that I was wrong, instead of it being the end of it, it is a new beginning, as now I have so much more to live for, a totally new physics to explore, to think about, to discover new things about.

In fact, the only thing in the last few weeks that saved my sanity, is that I have been able to retire to the bedroom and read The Final Theory of Mark McCutcheon, and simply try to visualise that new revolutionary physics. I intend to write a whole documentary about it and pitch the idea to one of my ex-employer, the one for whom I worked so hard for about the Einstein and his famous equation, and yet has been incapable of giving me a credit. Well, this time around if I present to them a finished product, they will not be able to deny me a credit.

It doesnít really matter anyway, all I need, all I want, is to diffuse that new physics everywhere as much as I can. It is my new mission in life, my new purpose for existing, that I will get that book recognised for what it is, I will help to turn Mark McCutcheon into the genius mind that I feel he is. Also that I am not satisfied with the book alone and its little graphics. Such new physics needs to be visualised in order to be understood, it would also help me a great deal. To think that I could be the instigator of the first ever big documentary about this Expansion Theory is truly something I am happy about. If I had a few millions at my disposal, I would not hesitate to spend them into that documentary, as the single most important documentary of all time, even though I am aware that money would be wasted, since science documentaries do not make money by definition.

I am also well aware that Mark McCutcheon has failed to attract any attention whatsoever in the scientific community, that not one single article was published about his Expansion Theory in any scientific magazine. His book is also not exactly published by a renown publisher, most likely it was vanity publishing. Selling this idea to a production company will not be easy as these will be their first questions, and perhaps final decision.

So if they cannot first be convinced by the ideas themselves, there is little chance this will go anywhere. I hope Mark McCutcheon has a list of theoretical physicists ready to pledge in private that such a theory is very likely to be true, even though they could not really admit it publicly from fears of ridiculed. It is not everyday that we kill Newton, Einstein, Quantum Mechanics and the whole of Standard Theory in one swoop. A theoretical physicist ready to do such a thing would need to have a lot of confidence, and an already established reputation, some suicidal tendencies would also help a great deal, as it could mean the end of their career.

I have not yet told Mark McCutcheon about my intention to write a documentary about his book. I would like to have something more concrete before I do so, also a better idea of all his new concepts. It could be a big risk and a big waste of time. I can think of many reasons why he would decline. First he might have something already all prepared which could help me a great deal, the rights might be sold already, someone else might be doing something about it, God knows.

I canít take any risk now, because it is useless to give people false hope if in the end you are not yourself going to do anything about it, or if you are still months and years away from some concrete project. So at the moment I read the book again, I get all my visualisations ready in my head, I will eventually come up with the skeleton of the main ideas and take it from there. Maybe I should contact him now, and see what he says. It might save me a yearís of wasted work.


3 August 2007


††††††††† I am so drained, I cannot do anything. For the first Friday in months, perhaps years, I wonít write anything apart from this journal, and I donít think I will be writing much. There is nothing else that insightful to say about what happened this week, except that training that bitch has not been easy, neither for her or for me. I can sense she hates me, I can feel her restraints, I can se how painful it is for her to remain calm and laid back, as she probably just wanted to jump on her desk and throw the biggest strop in history.

††††††††† Though I couldnít tell if her panic state was more about myself, or the grad fees which must be giving her nightmares by now, or both. One thing is certain, even though she is great at playing the game of pity me I have inherited the worst job of the court, she has absolutely no compassion at the thought that I have been stuck on that job for nearly eight months, two extra one because she has been constantly on holiday. It probably never her crossed her mind either that I never had a proper holiday since I started this job, and so I am much more about ready to explode than anyone in there.

††††††††† As usual, that I sacrificed myself for them holding on that that job for so long before starting to squeak, should warrant me a medal, instead, I believe I have destroyed myself in the process, and they may wish to just get rid of me. I may have been annoying and demanding in the last few weeks, but I would like to have seen any of the others coping with that situation. You can be certain that if somehow the bitch remains on grad fees for a full month, which I doubt because they have not started my training for post trials and now the Pakistani is on holiday for two weeks, after one month precisely she will not be doing one more grad fee.

I could accept this, you know, if everyone agreed that she is a lazy worker who would do anything to get away with doing nothing, especially after working there for so many years. But the general consensus at the Court is that she is a very experienced and efficient employee, and they fall short of saying that she is the best. Well, if the best this Crown Court has to offer is that lazy elephant, I must be at the very least a good employee for having coped with something she obviously cannot. But the general consensus there is quite the opposite, I am just a parasite that they are trying to get rid of. Not quite true, my Line Manager does not want to get rid of me, but the HR department is.

Personnel called again today, accusing me once again of lying on my application form. I thought I had been brilliant yesterday at shutting them up, however they are so disorganised that the seven sick days they were talking about were not concerning my job in Los Angeles, it was concerning my actual job at the Court. Here we go again. So I said that of course they told you I took seven days sick since I started, but you see, I was applying for the job I already had, and at the time that I applied a second time in order to become permanent, I had not taken any sick days yet. So you see, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that I am a monster who lied on his application form, I did not! Now will you leave me alone to do my job instead of giving me heart attacks?

But you see sir, we received your application in February, and by then you already had taken a sick day in December, so you have lied! For God sake! She would really not let it go. So I used my big brain again, thinking as fast as a computer, and told her that I had to fill out these application forms like seven times, and after a while, you simply used the previous ones youíve already filled, and so what if I forgot to update the damn thing? Have you also thought that what you had there might have been the original application for, I submitted before I started working at the Court? And they simply sent it to you months later when came up the time for me to apply again for my job?

You would have thought that after all these arguments, and two hours arguing on the phone over a period of two days, with the whole office listening on my conversation, and me losing my cool with a brain dead woman from the Human Resources department, she finally settled for me filling out yet another application form, stating the truth this time. Can you believe? I will be working all weekend on this, all so she would not get into trouble if an audit is ever done.

I have no idea what these audits are all about at the Ministry of Justice, but it certainly seems to frighten the hell out of all of them. That such a minute details can be so damn important, that you would think their life depended on it. I have the same shit coming from the Chief Clerk, that she needs to be able to justify every single little thing that the audit people would certainly never miss. As a consequence, theyíre driving us all mad and bury us under ever more inflexible bureaucracy. I imagine the audit people to look like the monsters in Doctor Who, that would explain a lot.

I am so drained! Even though I sleep for two hours and a half upon my return tonight. Sometimes I feel that if they continue to put pressure on me, one day I will reach the point where I will no longer be able to decompress for the rest of my life, I would be damaged beyond repair. I guess it would helped if I was as laid back as the fat bitch, but Iím not, and weíre about to find out how laid back she really is. I can already see the cracks.

Three days I think that she has been on grad fees, and yet she has not gone to the dead room once. She invented herself a doctor appointment this morning, and arrived close to 11 am. She left before 16h30 tonight, a first since I started working there. Sheís now going for cigarette breaks every half an hour. She is obviously struggling, even though so far it has only been raging inside. If she can survive the first few days, then I guess she will adapt.

The only problem though is that there is only time to enter the grad fees into the system, at the pace that I have come to do it. That is one full time job. She is so slow, I enter four times more than her in one day. Which means that at that speed, this is four full time jobs. You see, already there she is set to fail unless she learns to flip those burgers a bit faster, like they would obliged to in McDonaldís. The second main problem is that entering the data into the system is only half the job, you also receive a disheartening huge pile of fresh invoices every single morning, and that needs to be checked on the computer in five different places, and all those impossible to find files have to somehow materialise out of thin air before the end of the day, or else, you go under, you sink faster than the Titanic ever did (admitting of course that the Titanic really did sink which weíre not too sure anymore). Finding files is another full time job at the rate that I find them. At her rate, considering that in three days she has not walked once to the dead room, it could easily be between three or four full time jobs. So, now you understand my problem for the last few months, and you understand her predicament. She just inherited eight full time jobs in one day, you can imagine her state of mind.

And that is not all, because even though for me it represented two to three full time jobs, I was happy doing it until I suffered the wrath of the Cashier and the Chief Clerk. That was just too much on top of everything else. Letís see how she cope with that. Iím sure sheíll be fine with the Old Indian man, but watch out for the Chief Clerk, there will be blood all over the office, unless the Chief Clerk decides to give her a lot of leeway because she just started doing them, and also because she might be more afraid of that Fat Bitch than she was afraid of me. You donít show an old horse your teeth, or something like that, and the Chief Clerk might just decide to do what everyone else in the civil service do when they are confronted with lazy people, accept it, never ask them anything, just move on and forget they even exist. Others will do their job. The New Deal from the Ministry of Justice recognises that fact blatantly, as you will no longer get a raise based on your endurance to remain in that office years after years trying to do less and less every day, but instead on how much you have improved since your last review. And despite that, I bet you I would not get a raise, and they all would, as this is how really everything works in practice. I have no friends there, it is unlikely I would have any by the end of my first year. The people whoíve been there for years or got their job because of the Top Managers, they have friends who will make sure they get their raise year after year. I find it ironic that the nightmare I had to go through in order to become permanent, the three job interviews, filling dozens of application forms, still just casual after eight months, and so on, was all put into place to prevent the friends and family to get these cushy jobs over the people who truly deserve these positions. The irony is that so far I am the only one working there who has gone through that hell and who was not placed there by a Manager or another senior employee. In practice, despite the monsters that the audit people might be, it never works. In the meantime, I am disgusted by how hard it was to get that job, and how hard it is for me to hang on to it before my first year is out. All of it for a job that pays well below the poverty line.

Letís talk about something a bit more uplifting. If there is such a thing in a Crown Court. A woman called today crying her heart out, because her son had just walked out the door without his monitoring tag. She wanted us to move our ass so her son could be monitored 24 hours a day by our wonderful police force, and so he would not do another robbery on unsuspecting people on the street. I spoke with her for an hour, whilst she was crying, telling me about how a good boy her son really was, of good character, and that it was only the influence of other bad boys in the neighbourhood that led him to a Crown Court in the first place. All I could think about was that I was no psychologist, I have received no training about that sort of thing, truly I was wiring myself into a panic state because I was not working on my grad fees. I was trying to find a way to get rid of her whilst still being the nicest person I could be, showing understanding and compassion. At which point she said: do you have children? This is when I disconnected completely and almost launched into a speech that could very well have sounded like that: ďNo! I am gay Madam! And for me, being gay might as well mean being sterile, because this society will never give me the chance to have children, all right! I will never have children, so fuck off! And anyway, thank God I will never have any children. From what I hear, they are only trouble. You want me to show you compassion? I have some experience about robberies, I was robbed once in Brussels, I was shaken for two days, I thought it was the end of my little bubble universe. Now tell me, how many times has your son committed these robberies just for the fun of it before he was finally caught? Iíd say he deserves all he gets, and if it is true that he can be so easily influence by his friends and that he has no mind of his own in order to say no, then perhaps the Crown Court will teach him lesson, even so, I doubt it very much, because these robbers keep coming back every six months or so, it seems nothing can make them understand the trauma they cause on the general public. So you want my sympathy?

Despite what I just said, I donít really believe it, in fact I am more shock at the idea that the woman was trying to get her son electronically tagged, I would not even consider this option for my dog, let alone a human being. Anyway, the phone call ended up with how such a nice man I was, and understanding and all, she was happier that we would deal with the situation.

The thing is, she called again something like 10 times during the day, and finally ended up speaking with my Line Manager. At which point she was no longer crying, I believe it was reassuring for her to be talking to all of us all day, she was getting better. But then my Line Manager snapped at her: donít worry, weíll tag him and he will no longer go around to rob people. Or something like that, but it was shocking, I instantly knew she would start crying again, and sure enough he had a lot of work on his hands to reassure her before he hung up the phone. How insensitive of him, and yet I would not expect anything else from him.

I was met by the same insensitivity when I went to the Clerks to get help. Despite making it clear to the Clerk that I told the woman we would call her back within 30 minutes, she said she would not call her back. So I said that if she wanted me to call her back to let me know. I have not heard back from her, and the woman had to call back herself many times afterwards as a result. At††††††††††††† the end of the day, we are so far remove from all of this, mainly doing admin stuff, that it is easy to be very casual about stuff that for the public is terrifying. Most of them might not be crying, and yet, they must feel the same. Got to be careful there. Today was a big eye opener, as I have grown more used lately to having wives calling me hoping their husband will be going to prison for as long as possible.

I canít explain why all of what happens at the Crown Court leaves me completely indifferent. I thought I was a compassionate and understanding human being, I cry so easily when I watch a good movie. And yet, when the time comes to real life, even a crying mother on the phone irritates me. It would be fine if I was the only heartless person working at the Court, but I believe that we are all hopeless heartless people, none of us gives a shit about anyone else until it happens in our own home. This is how governments end up having all these unacceptable rules and regulations that suffocate us all and no one ever gets up to say enough is enough, because we all believe that none of it will ever apply to any of us except a bunch of criminal immigrants that no could really be expected to care about. After all, every other year we unilaterally declare war on them and go about bombing them until only a few of them remain alive. Those few remaining are probably the next refugees on the next boat ready to come to live in England. Gosh, they have no idea what is awaiting them, somehow I feel that it might be better to try and survive a nuclear attack in their own country than come here to suffer ever more.

Today though on the phone, with that HR woman, when she asked me if I liked living in England, I have to admit that answered that of course I liked it, or else I wouldnít be living here. That is it, thatís just it, I have the choice, I live here because, despite everything, I feel I like it better than I would Canada, but ultimately I am here by choice. Which is far from being the case of most other immigrants. But who cares about those immigrants anyway? Not me, not our Court, weíre trying very hard to get them all to prison for a very long time accompanied with a deportation order right at the end of it. And the people at the Home Office every day call incessantly to check if that deportation order is there or not, and you can hear in their silence the disappointment when it is not. I have never been able to reach a single person in my lifetime working at the home office, and yet I can now witness that they exist, I speak to them every day. I help them facilitate the deportation of a big chunk of the immigrant population. Maybe I have become a traitor to my race. Donít worry, Iím never that helpful to the bad people at the Home Office, and I am certainly not helpful to any Police Station calling every day, especially when they mention that National Police Database that I would just love to see go up in flames.

And now I really ran out of things to talk about. I never thought I would have so much to say about a normal boring day where nothing happened, just to showÖ


7 August 2007


††††††††† After asking twice more to be trained on Post Trials, I finally got my wish today and the Pakistani man has shown me for 1 hour this morning what to do in Post Trials. To be honest I was expecting something so damn complicated, with hearing dates to add on Crest and all, as it was the only explanation as to why he avoided training me for nearly nine months now. In fact, after one hour training, it feels my training is done, and yet yesterday he complained to everyone that the Line Manager had requested that he trained me, as if this was something unthinkable, such a bad idea, etc.

††††††††† The other puzzling thing is that if I were to sit down and do Post Trial at high speed, I could clear the whole six shelves within one day, and yet the Pakistani Man cannot cope with it, it is always packed to the brink and we get complaints from everywhere for being late, and it is all he does all day. I understand there is a lot to write down, like the offences, and he doesnít type very fast compared to me, but yet, here is another one doing nothing all day and didnít want to show me the post-trial for one reason only, so he could keep doing nothing all day, and also prevents him from being put on grad fees after the bitch has finished her month.

††††††††† He was afraid most especially to train me again because I write down everything he says in order to make sure I donít do any mistakes, he hates that and asked me this morning if I would write another book on the topic of post trials. Well I am, but here, not in my stupid notes.

††††††††† Why are they so afraid of training when it took me an hour to learn post trials, and barely took two days to train the bitch on the grad fees. None of this required such careful planning over a few months period before training finally took place. It is ridiculous, but hey, who am I to tell them what to do, theyíve been managers in that Court for almost a decade.

††††††††† My stupid eczema came out full bloom this morning, I was bleeding from my hand, it must have freaked him out as they probably all think that I am HIV positive just because Iím gay, when in fact, I certainly am not. I put some cream on but then I couldnít write my notes anymore because the pen was slippery. Such bad timing that these fucking things happen at the wrong time.


8 August 2007


††††††††† It is 2h30 pm, Iím not supposed to be home, but I just had a massive row with the Old Indian Man, about something as futile as adding two subfolders to the Committal for Sentence files, and yet it is the fifth big row we have about this detail. Months ago the Line Manager said we should now put three subfolders instead of one, and today they were still saying that this needed to be agreed by everyone. I said that I didnít realise this office was a democracy.

††††††††† I canít believe that I couldnít keep my cool, it was actually the first time in weeks that the Old Indian Man got involved in any discussion in which I was involved, and see it turned out. We have done great efforts to avoid each other, we donít even tell each other good morning from fear it could escalate into a huge fight. It is obvious the guy hates me, and he attacked me so many times in the past, patronising me and check up on me, that he has me on the verge of exploding every time he speaks to me now. However now it looks bad on me, not on him, whenever something happens, people have forgotten, or never knew how rude he used to be to me.

††††††††† I wonder if there is a future for me working at the Court. Today I was thinking, God, is there anything left that I am looking forward to in this life? There is nothing in my calendar for months or years, there is nothing left to be excited about. Now, if all there is left in my life is this routine of admin in a court, I will seriously have to rethink if this life is really worth living.

††††††††† Oh dear, just as I thought, Stephenís father just came to pick up the dog, just when I was here when I am supposed to be at work. I didnít want to have to justify this. I better go back, I have been gone 20 minutes, ample time for the Old Indian Man to go gossip to everyone in the office about me. He made it out as if he was the victim in all this, when it is clear that I am the victim. The whole list office is on his side, he spent hours talking to them about me in the morning before I arrive. I hope tomorrow he will be sick, he is usually sick after a row with me. If these fights are killing him, why donít he avoid them by simply ignoring me, as I asked now officially to the Scottish Man? Why does he still feel the need to attack me, when there is no way I would ever get involved myself in anything in which he is involved, as I do try to avoid him to prevent these fights. Sometimes he just cannot help it, so if it kills him, it certainly has nothing to do with me.

††††††††† It is now nearly midnight, I am only happy about one thing, tomorrow is the last day of the week for me, even though it is Thursday. I guess one needs to cheer up about very small things, or else, there would really not be any reason to cling to life so harshly.

††††††††† I just finished writing another entry in my book Destructivism, Truth, Iím quite proud of it. I never thought I could spit all that before I started writing it, it is really coming out as I write it, as I think about it, and think about what I wrote in the last few sentences. Iím afraid the book is way to cynical and ironic, however it is full of little truths about life, and probably many lies as well. I donít think I would have written that book had I not worked at the Court, but I canít start thinking like that, because I could have perhaps written something much better had I worked for example at the BBC, or not worked at all.

††††††††† I was so wired up this afternoon at work, I thought I would spend the night drinking myself to death, but the second part of my training late afternoon made me forget about the Indian man, and so I have drunk two beers and Iím ready to go to bed at midnight.

††††††††† I learnt something today though, I know now that the Old Indian Man has been working very hard against me to the Pakistani Man, and now I feel I can no longer trust any of them. Iíve been thinking carefully, this afternoon the argument was not only between the Old Indian Man and myself, it was equally with the Pakistani Man who took every opportunity to defend the Indian guy. So much so that my final argument that the Line Manager had decided it a long time ago and that this office was not a democracy that required their input after a manager made his decision, was mostly in answer to what the Pakistani guy said. And when I came back from my 20 minutes break to breath a bit before returning to the den, suddenly many problems came out with me at the centre of it, and all of it was initiated be the Pakistani guy. Something about a bitch from a Magistratesí Court who talked to me and apparently I told her the wrong thing about Surety, and the Legal Orders that we apparently all read wrongly as they mostly only covers solicitors without counsels when it comes to Sentence cases, and something else that I can no longer remember. I remember though how my name came out of the Pakistani Man something like three times in conversations with the Line Manager about three different problems. Has he simply gone out of his way to destroy me this afternoon when I left? I wonder what he truly told the Scottish Guy in his office about the row I had with another bitch at the other Magistratesí Court, when this whole affair exploded after she wrote a letter to the Top Manager in order to cost me my job. In fact, when I returned into the office of the Scottish guy after he had his meeting with the Pakistani guy about this whole affair, I didnít sense that I had been stitched up or helped in any way, but in review the Scottish man was no more positive than before speaking with the Pakistani guy, and so if it has all fizzled out, it is all down to me and my arguments, not the help of the Pakistani man, and I do think now that he stitched me up, even though he may have only told the truth from his own point of view. I know he said that he was surprised by my tone of voice, which certainly didnít helped me, he could have said I was downright rude on the phone, but then again, I was not. So to the extent of the truth he will not help me, he will tell it as it is, and so he cannot be trusted, he works against me, he doesnít really care if I lose this job or not, which suggests that he may very well be happy if I lose my job.

††††††††† Iím glad Iíve been able to see this now, before it develops into something horrible and I only realise afterwards that I could not in fact trust him. I canít believe it, after all I have done for him to become the new Line Manager within six months. I understand now that the day he becomes my Line Manager permanently, I need to find another job. The Old Indian Man has got the Pakistani Man in his pocket, I would have thought those two would be at war for some weird reason.


He may feel that he suffered discrimination for being Muslim for having failed four times to become a manager in this place, and it is after one of the very senior clerk heard me mention it that she talked to a few people and suddenly he is acting manager and will become it before the end of the year, but if he truly suffers from any other sort of discrimination for being Muslim, I have not seen it, I have witnessed nothing to suggest that to me. In fact, I feel I have suffered much more discrimination myself for being French speaking than he ever did for being a Muslim. Probably though because it is not considered racist whenever the person you attack is white, and so you can be more openly racist then without anyone thinking anything more about it. Discrimination on the basis of being a Pakistani or a Muslim cannot be done openly, and I suppose there is a lot going on behind the scene that I am unaware of.

I am pleased to report that the kid has decided to save himself and started to work much harder at work. It took me by surprise and I am not certain how long it will last. He is after all still arriving late every morning, something like between at least 40 minutes late to an hour, and he is still in a dazzling state for at least three hours in the morning where he does absolutely nothing, but apparently he has started to work very hard in the afternoon, once he is awake. He may very well do a full dayís work in a few hours from what I gathered. And so the potential in that kid is quite tremendous, and I think I was the only one who suspected it in the first place, because he reminds me a lot of me when I was 21. We are so similar, I even looked like him at that age. I have already said that before though. All I can say is that I am glad I decided to do like the others and accept him despite being the most useless employee the Court has ever seen in its entire history. I am equally impressed about how the Scottish Guy has been able to bring him in line with a lot of different little tactics that would have sent me off the wall, but apparently worked well with the kid.

I would have thought the Scottish guy would have given up a long time ago and sacked him by now, I certainly would have if I had been his manager. But he gave him every chance, he is still there after months and months, and may actually become a more productive employee than any of those other losers in the office. It remains to be seen though. I can only explain the behaviour of the Scottish man about the kid, if somehow he was told by the Top Manager that he was on a rescue mission here. The Top Manager brought that kid in, I think he knew that he had been sacked from all his previous jobs and even the family business could not stand having an employee doing nothing. So the kid became the Courtís pet project to bring him in line. It would explain why I feel that if I had been late 30 minutes for three days in a row I would be in deep trouble now, when that guy can get away with it as if there was no tomorrow. This is all fascinating, and once again, Iím glad it leaves me indifferent, because I could easily have gone the other way and say it was unfair, favouritism, jealousy, the old story.

Iíve been thinking very hard about my next novel, I donít understand to be honest, where this desire to start a new novel comes from. The last one is not finished yet, will not go anywhere, and yet Iím hoping to not only finish it this weekend, but start a new one. Perhaps I should give myself a big break and not write anything for a full month. I have written so much in the last few months, I think I will break my last yearís record this year. I certainly wrote this year more meaningful things than last year, at least one book that finally has some commercial potential, if the level of English is any good. As I have no reader, I might never know how much time I am actually wasting writing in English instead of French. I think I have established anyway that in French I have no future in any case as an author, so it doesnít really matter what language I use.

I donít really know yet what this new novel will be about. I know it is sci-fi, I know my main character will be a woman very much like Anna Maria, I know she will be a theoretical physicist, I know this book will be based on the Expansion Theory of Mark McCutcheon, I know it will be based in England, I know it will be written in English. Beyond that, I know nothing, and yet, I might start it this weekend, and hop another year of my life will pass by before it is finished. And all of this without any carrot being put in front of my eyes to motivate me in any way, as I can already tell you it will be another failure. So why am I doing it? I barely feel the need to push myself, I want to do it. Maybe I need to see a psychoanalyst, maybe he can cure me and free me from this hell I put myself into. Because there is nothing worse than writing four books at the same time in parallel of a full time job and a full time relationship that are both nightmares.


9 August 2007


††††††††† Finally the end of the week, and yet I simply feel empty. I live in fear that I wonít be able to control myself at work and simply snap at people, Iím glad tomorrow Iím off, it could have been a disaster.

††††††††† They had a discussion about culture, and then a light came up in my head, yeah, I could talk about that in Destructivism, and then I found I actually had nothing to say about culture, for once that they were having the beginning of some sort of intellectual conversation, it didnít go anywhere as they never said more than letís talk about it. They were trying to humour me, as I did say that recently that I had more insightful discussions with the technician who came to fix the computer than with them, when they were putting her down for being a transgender.

††††††††† Come to think of it, I donít really have any insightful discussions at home either, Stephen is hardly the intellectual type, plus all he can do is moan and complain all day long about everything I do wrong, and this is becoming so obsessive and maniacal, that I feel if money was not an issue I be out of here in an instant. When I was in Los Angeles, I did have plenty of insightful conversations, to exhaustion in fact, as it was way too much for me.

God Iím bored. Not only Iím bored, now that I have the free time to do something, I prefer to do nothing and remain as bored as one can be. Iím not motivated in doing anything, I donít believe I have the energy anyway. I think I watched too much TV recently, I have become mindless, I should delete everything I recorded and move on.

Sometimes I get really depressed, even though tonight I am not. But nights like tonight I just kind of forget what my life was all about, everything I have gone through, and I feel a deep sense that all was useless and I have accomplished nothing worthy of a great life. Sometimes I feel like I am just a waste of time and space. I feel like an impostor, like if I wasnít meant to live at all, whatever I have accomplished, it was pretence, I will never be good enough for anyone on this planet, and why should I be special or different when there are over 6 billions of us. That number is so mind boggling, it is hardly conceivable. What is one voice, one existence, amongst that many? And yet I am worth nothing. I need another beer.

We all have impossible dreams, and yet, you could say that barely a few hundreds a year will actually achieve their lifetime dreams, maybe not even that many. And yet, we all feel so close, so near achieving them, we all firmly believe that we are the chosen one, the one with a great destiny all laid out there in front of us. We can sometimes feel so strong, so unique, so powerful in our own mind, when truly you wake up the next morning to find out you are a simple civil servant pushing bits of paper all day long. When your mind is as large as the universe, and you strongly believe you are alone within it, when you come back to reality, it is damn hard not to simply let go of everything. Iíve gone there, Iíve done that, hereís my extra long curriculum vitae, my extra large diary, of a life not worthy of a void. Void, such a nice word.

Everything has been an illusion, all those nights spent re-thinking the world, I thought I could have quite an impact. I have lost faith in arts, literature and music, as if it is not enough, it will never be enough, as it means so little it becomes meaningless. I donít know anymore what would be required to change the world, even, I canít even think of reason of why anyone would want to change the world. If it is all vanity and selfishness in the end, then perhaps it is a good thing that no one could sit down tonight and do something that could change the world.


12 August 2007


It is now 22h27, at 4h21 this morning I wrote a paragraph here that was a celebration time thingy, with virtual Champagne and all, but somehow I guess writing for nine hours straight proved too much for the computer and it crashed mercilessly. Now I have to rewrite that celebration paragraph, however 18 hours later I feel there is nothing to celebrate anymore, my enthusiasm is all gone.

††††††††† Last night I finished Anna Maria, the novel, and altogether it took me nine months to write, started on 16 November 2006 and finished on 12 August 2007. I was comparing this to having a baby when the computer crashed, but now I can see the analogy was ridiculous. Having a baby is so much easier than finishing writing a book (just joking).

††††††††† Anyway, it came as a big surprise because I had lost all motivation, I was telling myself I had to finish it this weekend, but at the back of my mind I was thinking that I would prefer having a baby instead. But there you are, I sleep a lot, drank a lot whilst watching the film Marie-Antoinette, and then, instead of falling asleep I finished the damn thing I was no longer believing in. Now that I finished it, Iím believing in it a bit more, most especially because I have been thinking a lot about the next one, and somehow I just feel it wonít be as good as Anna Maria.

††††††††† I am so desperate to try to think of a great idea for the next book, that I caught myself reading a book about how to write sci-fi tonight, by David Gerrold, a book signed for me by the author. Itís not to say that the man does not know what he is talking about, quite the contrary I believe he is explaining all the right ingredients about how to write a novel, but somehow it just does not work with me. It is all very well to tell me to do this, and do that, it still leaves me completely blank about how to go about my next book. It is like I intrinsically know what would be good, what would be interesting or boring, and in the end there is only one thing that really counts and will make me go for nine hours straight, it is a damn good idea. And until I get that original and damn good idea, Iím not going anywhere fast. Perhaps after all that is all that matter and the only thing we need to tell any aspiring writer. Think hard until you find that great idea and developed enough interesting around it in your mind, and then youíll see, you will be motivated and it will be great. That is about all I would say to any aspiring author and Ő believe it would suffice. Unless you are a total virgin and donít even know where to start, then I suggest you read that David Gerrold book.

††††††††† Anyway, if you can get one interesting thing away from wasting a long time reading a book, one practical idea you can use, then perhaps it was worth it. I have read a few things that I found interesting, however I have already forgotten them, what a shame. Oh, another essential ingredient for a good novel, I would suggest, is to get drunk, but not too much that you will simply fall asleep before finishing your chapter.

††††††††† I think I will forget my idea of a transgender as the heroine of my next book. I will also forget the idea of a real long novel. I think the format of many short stories linked together will insure that I have enough interesting material for each chapter, just like for Anna Maria. Oh, I remember now what I read that I will find useful, it was that every chapter has to be a surprise, each paragraph has to be a surprise, each sentence has to be a surprise. Iím not sure how in practice it can be achieved, however to keep it in mind cannot hurt. And that is what I liked about Anna Maria, there was so much stuff the reader could go through in each short story, surprise after surprise, that they can hardly get bored before the end of the chapter. And the way I was describing it myself was that it needs to be like an episode of the Simpsons, Futurama or South Park. It is so packed with ideas, you go through so many unrelated things, it is like many stories all packed up together to form one. However it is a bit too extreme and probably not a perfect example. The idea that I mean is that there are many interesting things happening, and before you write about one idea for 50 pages, letís limit yourself and get on with another good idea every other pages. All of this is all very well, however I wouldnít expect anyone to be able to follow that suggestion. It is just that I can see it in the structure of Anna Maria and I like it. I want to copy it again for the next book. It will require a lot of thinking indeed, many great ideas, and I donít have the advantage I had for Anna Maria, which was at least three years of great ideas I had previously thought of for potential film scripts. I start from scratch and I cannot just come up with seven to nine great ideas accompanied by a myriad of other ideas each on demand.

††††††††† It is one thing to finish writing the first draft of a novel, it is another to correct it, read it again and again until it flows, and then I guess this is the real test of it is something great or not. However it doesnít always work that way. The most obscure books I have written, the least commercial of all, are always the ones I could read a hundred times without tiring, and usually those books are flowing. This includes my dark and provocative poetry, if one can call it that way, and so far no one seems that interested in it. Novels, Iím afraid, I hate reading again and again and correct as I go along. I spent months correcting my first published book, using a ridiculous and slow application analysing every single sentence. I was in Paris then, and never again will I waste that much time correcting a book. This time around, I think I will read it one more time, which means two readings after writing it. And that will have to be it until a publisher in interested, and then perhaps I will be motivated in reading it and correcting it three more times in a row. Right now I have to at least, hopefully tonight, read the last two short stories, as this will be my first reading after writing. And then I have to read the whole thing again. However I will have a better idea of all that I have said and if it is that good once I read it all over again, so in a way I look forward to it, even if it somehow pains me beyond belief. Iím afraid of finding all sorts of problems which will require a lot of rewriting. If I become rich one day, first thing Iíll do is to pay a secretary to do all this work for me. I prefer to write new stuff than wasting time re-reading the same stuff, or translating, I hate translating.

††††††††† There is only one book I would like to translate into French right now in the whole world, it is the Final Theory by Mark McCutcheon. And even then, it would be such a chore, it could easily take me nine months. I would have to be certain I would be paid before embarking on such an adventure. Iím not certain either I could find the perfect French words to translate Theoretical Physics. It would require a lot of research indeed. I wonder if I could devise some trick, like translating quickly by voice into a recorder, and then it would become a transcription job. That may be the fastest way, but Iím not certain.

††††††††† Perhaps it is best to leave these things to professional translators who can do it so quickly and so well, there is no need to pretend being something that weíre not, and Iím no translator. I think anyway that neither my English or my French is of a sufficient standard either for England or France. That is the price to pay for being born in the colonies and trying to get away and be recognised outside of those old colonies.

††††††††† It never crossed my mind that I could be recognised in Quťbec anyway, so itís not like I have a choice. Can you imagine? Writing about a transgender woman who wish to get her theoretical physics ideas recognised, fighting for it and sacrificing everything along the way, all written in French-Canadian joual language? It would be the greatest failure of any single author Quťbec as ever seen. No publisher would even look at it, and if somehow one looks at it, they will print 300 copies, and I would be lucky indeed if there ever was a second print of that book. A second print of 300 would mean a best-seller for a population of six million. It is not even worth considering.

††††††††† I may be a traitor, but I have good reasons for being so. Not one publishers in Quťbec published one of my books, they all read it, I got six published ones in Paris. So what can I do? The ones in Paris sold more copies than if it had been published in Quťbec, but relatively not many copies. So all I have left is English. I have to remind myself of that when I get too drunk and feel like writing in French again. Forget it!

††††††††† Anyway, it is well known that no publishers in French publishes science fiction, none. It is unthinkable, extraordinary, shocking, I canít explain it myself. The French, as far as I know, never even produced one sci-fi film, ever! And yet, I believe they are the third most productive country when it comes to making films. It defies logic, it shows how restrictive you have to be to make it in the French world. Actually, they did Biliki or something like that, that was French, that was Sci-Fi, it was great, not sure if it was a flop or not.

††††††††† The more I think about it, the more my next idea has to defy reality as much as the Matrix did. I have to come up with an idea as great as that. But how can I? I am limited to the New Physics, which has killed sci-fi altogether, Expansion Theory. And though you would think that a whole new Physics might help tremendously in helping to create new sci-fi, well, in the end, the physics is just a different interpretations of what we already have, and though it means a lot on a global level, it does not give much more to work with. It limits more than anything else.

††††††††† I suppose that I could come up with the idea of shrinking oneself or expanding oneself in order to travel very far, I could do that with my own Shrinking Theory, which is also an Expansion Theory, and even that inspired me a half finished novel I donít intend to finish, as Iím bored with it, and hence I donít feel it would inspire anyone.

††††††††† Actually, maybe I should get back to it, and modify it to accommodate Expansion Theory. Maybe there is more future in that story than my transgender fighting teacher at Oxford fighting to keep his/her job despite the heresy of teaching that Newton was wrong. Actually this is not crazy at all. Especially that I have so many pages already written. Let me go and assess that idea right now. Will need a new brainstorm, extensive changes, but it might be my best option. If only I believed it!

††††††††† I had a look, I have about 100 pages of a normal printed novel. Extensive modifications would be required, however I know exactly what to write, I know what goes where, as this novel was originally to show to the world my own Shrinking Theory, and could so easily be adapted to Expansion Theory, it is ridiculous. The only thing is that I wasnít sure if it would truly be interesting, a ship going to another planet far from here and discover that life there is the consequence of the first probe they sent in the first place, and that humanity is now revered as a God. Actually, sounds pretty good, and Iím sure I could stretch Expansion Theory enough to justify shipping a ship to the other side of the universe, just like under the Shrinking Theory. I think it may be my best option.

††††††††† Dear me, I never thought I would finish that novel, and now I think it will be hard to do anything else but finish it. Forget Vivianne and her sex change, her dysfunctional nuclear family compared to the nucleus of an atom, blah blah blah, Iím bored already. I wonder if I should simply forget all about this and write Anna Maria tome II, I already feel the inspiration coming. Unfortunately, it would be madness to waste time on a second tome, without knowing if the first one was worth it to begin with.

††††††††† One thing though, if I get back The Shrinking Universe novel and rework it, first thing to change will be to switch the hero from a man to a woman. In this day and age I feel we could connect more to a woman emotionally than to a man. I donít know, I think no one can sympathise with a man anymore, we all know they are all bastards and they have crossed the line too many times now. Thereís no getting back to sympathising with any man, unless he was emotionally and psychologically a retard. That we could fall in love with. Hey, not a bad idea! A genius retard. I think that movie has been made, it had Tom Cruise in it, and the other Jewish actor who was in Tootsie, canít remember his name now.

††††††††† Thatís it, Iíve got it, a retard genius kid, 12 years old, thatís perfect. 10 is even better, I was 10 when I was thinking about changing Physics as we know it. Itís even better than my transgender character. But he wonít be autistic or something, he will simply see the world for what it is, not knowing anything about Newton and Einstein.

††††††††† Purrrrrfect! The innocent mind of a child leading the way to the next revolution in Physics. And yet, I donít want him to be acting weird or speaking like a spas, he needs to be normal but trapped in his own bubble, he doesnít speak for a start, until people start acknowledging his ideas, and at the end, no one can stop him from talking. This will be his way out, his way out of his cocoon. Like the kid in The Dead Zone, the one who is predicted to die in a hockey game on the ice.

††††††††† Yes, worth writing here tonight, I finally found the idea that will motivate me to write this damn next novel. This is what everyone loves, a retard kid, inoffensive and all, who is a genius at heart. I really liked that film with Kevin something, canít remember the title now, he was in an asylum pretending to be an alien, but he actually was. In the end I can only write something I like, and I liked that. Donít care if no one bought it, I guess if they had chosen a child instead, it might have been more successful, who knows.

††††††††† I donít know, I donít know anymore. Shit. I may have to think some more about all this. I donít know what I want to do next. It will be another nine months to a year, I really have to be careful here, I cannot make any mistake and launch into a hopeless idea. I canít afford it anymore, not if I want to get anywhere any time soon. I think I need to write a blockbuster Hollywood film, it needs all those ingredients, and neither a transvestite or a fucking retard kid will do. The first idea becomes a transgender film, not even a gay one, and the second one becomes an afternoon movie for home maker women who have nothing better to do in the afternoon than dream that their retard kids could suddenly become highly intelligent.

††††††††† Right. Blockbuster Hollywood stuff then. Involves the American President, the American Army. FBI or CIA, lotís of explosions, oh God, Iím already bored beyond belief. What about twins, one dies and suddenly the other gets all the answers to the New Physics, and somehow going through a journey re-unites him or her with his or her twin? In some sort of between worlds, another world existing out of the structures of ours? Fantastic, that is the word, in the sense of fantasy. Not sure if Iím ready for fantasy, I hate The Lord of the Rings, as it was all about wars after all, and battles ad infinitum sanctum, bores me to death, amen.

††††††††† Shit, shit, shitÖ Iím stuck, Iím stressed, I donít have to think anymore, I have to start this new novel instantly, right now, before Iíve got to go back to work tomorrow morning. Some damn criminals need their files to be administered, their sentence clearly stated, so they will go to prison for as many days as required, and fuck out free not one more second than necessary. I need something wild, something out of this world, something unthinkable, and right now Iím not certain if any new physics will be enough. It needs to be loud, heavy, motivating, invigorating, inspirational, it needs to break out everything on its path, wipe out everything else. Thatís what I need. Such an original idea that people will fall down to their knees and ask for more. Somehow that revolutionary stuff needs to come out of my imagination, my mind. I guess Iíve just not found the right idea yet. Perhaps if I watch the first Matrix again inspiration will come. Put the sound so loud, and yet, no distortion is heard. And we thought we had solved the problem with CDs, event then it wasnít that great a revolution, and then came MP3, and quality went out the window. Best quality I ever had came from a sophisticated VHS VCR. I donít think I will ever witness that quality again, it was 20 years ago. Things are getting worse all the time and we donít give a shit. Where have I left that VCR? What brand was it? Mitsubishi or something I think. I need to buy another one.

††††††††† I think I might be better off writing Anna Maria tome II. And think of ideas completely unrelated to any of the existing stories, as long as they are link to another part of England. I donít know if I could think of something better than what I already have. It would be like Sherlock Holmes and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. After creating Sherlock Holmes, why would he spend or waste any time writing about anything else but Sherlock Holmes? That is how I felt at the time, and reading the very first page of Anna Maria including the summary, I wonderÖ I need another glass of wine, a rosť in fact. Iím already drunk, Iím working tomorrow morning, it is already 1h16 am. Shit, shit, shitÖ is it too much to ask to have a little bit more time and freedom?

††††††††† To be honest, when I look at Anna Maria, Iím not certain how a second book could be better than the first one. And if I cannot write a better book than this one, in my opinion, than that must be it, I have just finished the best ever book I will ever write within my lifetime. In a way it feels great that I was able to do it in the first place, but it is also despairing that perhaps there is nothing else I should write about from that point on. Shame it is based on the old physics, but the new one does not inspire much, I have to admit. It would be quite a challenge to write another one at least as good, and I certainly enjoy a challenge. It could not be written in nine months however, it would require a lot of thinking for each story. I had started another last short story about King George Varney, I need to bury it, I need to forget it. It was based on what happened previously, I cannot get into that sort of continuation stuff. I need fresh new and completely unrelated ideas for each new story. Utmost importance. So letís think of the first short story I could write about a second Anna Maria book. Forgetting everything else I have written up until now. I have my work cut out for me, I know now what I need to do. Or do I?

††††††††† I think I should be writing next about The Maida Vale Mystery, Or Paddington Centre Point Breakdown Point, or something like that. Thatís where I landed when I first arrived in London, it should inspire me something. With snow, a lot of snow, it was snowing when I landed in London the first time in 1994. London never looked that beautiful after that, I tell you. You need nothing less than a miracle to get Paddington to look great, the place is a real shit hole at the turn of this century, and yet, it must be one of the most expensive place in the country. Why not link it to my first novel Denfert-Rochereau? It took place there, underground, in many linked tunnels. I would love to see Anna Maria and the Duke of Connaught investigating that. I might have to bring back the Duke of Paddington. The juice is flowing, I might get unto something here. A terrible secret society about to take over the world, that needs to be stopped at any cost. With both Paddington and Maida Vale in the title and subtitle. Sounds great, motivating, inspirational. Thatís it, Iím going for it. Tonight or tomorrow Iím starting Anna Maria II. Yeah! Happening both in London and Paris, the catacombs, I will bring it all back in this short story, my whole French novel seen from a different point of view, Anna Maria worried about one of her tenants, who seem to wish to control the whole world. Perfect, purrrrfect.

††††††††† And that damn new physics, letís have it all in one short story linked to a loser living in Russell Square. That would be the second short story. No need for a whole book, it can be resumed into a fourteen pages single line story. Yeah! And letís see Anna Maria and Arthur Connaught struggling with this new physics, letís see what they make of it and how they can still justify everything that has happened to them since the beginning of their story. Letís move to Central London instead of everywhere else in England. Central London is after all what I am familiar with, what I know, the Piccadilly Line in fact, that I boasted I could write a few pages about every single stations, as something happened to me at anyone of those stations in the last 15 years. Get my Underground map, Iím gonna write Anna Maria II. Donít forget Harrow Road and Kensal Green Cemetery, and the priest there I spoke with, about death and mausoleum.

††††††††† And now I have been reminded of the reality by my boyfriend, who asked me to go to bed. It is after all past 2 am and we are working tomorrow morning. I have to go to bed.


16 August 2007


††††††††† Finally Thursday, Iím off for three days. I wasnít expecting Stephen to be off as well, and now my intentions of reading again Anna Maria and beginning my next novel are seriously in jeopardy, I was not amused. Not only that, I feel a bit sick, or freaked out, like if it was the end of the summer and the cold came back, with it all the past nightmarish memories of going back to school. There is no two ways about it, studies have really traumatised me, and I can see that if I were to live up to be 300 years old, I would still feel a panic state at the end of each summer.

††††††††† So tonight I feel I will be useless, I donít think I will write too much, nothing significant anyway, and wonít be editing Anna Maria. At least I have come to terms with what I will be working on next, I will finish that novel The Shrinking Universe, though it will now be called the Expanding Universe. It is the best vessel by which I can present to the world Expansion Theory, it is now my mission. The book will be a big flop because it wonít find a publisher, and yet I need to write it and so I will.

††††††††† Destructivism was an unexpected bonus, I never thought I would be writing that, it was never planned, I never forced myself to write any of it, it just happened by accident, too many boring nights whilst drunk, when I simply could not concentrate on Anna Maria. It was also the perfect vehicle to vent my frustrations from work. I always had my poetry to do this before, and now I didnít have that. Destructivism is the consequence of not writing poetry. Which brings the question, why have I stopped writing poetry? Well, the word poetry for a start puts people and myself to sleep. No one is interested in poetry and I canít blame them, because no poetry has ever been interesting. The problem is I have never written poetry, it is not poetry, and yet, it can only be classified as such, and so it would never go anywhere. People lose interest and start puking before they even start reading it. Anyway, I just repeating myself over and over again, the exercise was becoming useless even though it kept becoming better and better. What I had not realised was that it was a real need for me to write them, and hence this needs transformed into a format like Destructivism, which is actually much better. I will either never finish Destructivism, or will write another similar one soon, most likely once I find a new job, not that Iím looking anyway.

††††††††† Today at work I found out that the big resident queen, the new usher, is in fact an executive producer and director of some 100 television series and films produced in England. How he ended up working at the same court as me, as a usher, with a salary even lower than mine, is a mystery. However he hinted at the fact that his job was so stressful, he was sick every morning before going to work. So he is now looking for the least stressful existence as possible, and just like me he seems to have found that place.

††††††††† From what I could gather from our short conversation, despite the fact that he was all those things in the film and television industry, his salary reflected very much the one he has now. The television and film industry, somehow, succeeded in shooting itself right in the head, as too many people were willing to work for free, and so now no one can have any expectation to get any money when working in that industry. The result is that many talented people simply cannot afford that lifestyle and end up working in Crown Courts, the most talented go on to earn millions in Hollywood, but that is about 1 or 2 a year who succeed at that. And the mediocre ones, with apparently plenty of time on their hands and no talent whatsoever can fill these places and produce crap programmes and films. Who cares anyway, the success of shit programmes proves that what people wants is just that, crap. And for the percentage looking for quality, I guess they can hope that somehow some quality will be produced at some point in time and then start the search for these rare gems really worth living for, they are usually not for profit programmes, because no one on this planet seems to appreciate quality, standards have never been so low. Probably because the population is becoming dumber and dumber because of crap programmes, and now you see the vicious circle we are in.

††††††††† I could now survive on a salary of 10,000 pounds a year, but for the two years I was off working in TV, I can assure you I could not afford it. Iím glad I am no longer trying, except for the odd position at the BBC once in a while, as BBC is still respectable salary wise. The rest of the industry must be populated with people on the social benefits or students, because no one could survive working for nothing. And stress levels are horrific, even at the BBC as I have heard. Better be a writer then, I donít have to put up with that shite. Though I have put up with so much shite already in the conference world, you could say I am well prepared to confront it if it ever happens that I land a job as a runner one day. I would certainly never treat anyone disrespectfully, thatís for sure. And for a decent salary and to do what I want to do, I guess Iím ready to suffer any kind of hell. I suffer hell anyway even in jobs at Crown Courts, so whatís the difference? The only goal is to get the job done on time and on budget, get some results and move on, forget it ever happened, just consider the results.

††††††††† It cannot be a coincidence that the atomic world resembles what we see in the universe today, the stars being orbited by planets, galaxies. The very fact that we learn in chemistry that there are up to 8 electrons orbiting the nucleus of an atom, and that our solar system has 8 planets (since Pluto has been downgraded to a mere asteroid), is a big hint. And yet, no one seems to want to come forward and say: shit, itís the same damn thing at another scale!

††††††††† It is understandable that no one could venture to say that before, the different models of something we cannot actually observe, as it is too small for our technology, were completely off the mark. And yet again with Mark McCutcheon and his Expansion Theory, we get another model of the atom which is not an exact replica of what we see in the very large. Therefore he must be wrong, because it must be the same damn thing. The fact that he has come up with a new model for the atom has freed me somehow from the Standard Theory, I am now able to believe no one knows, and therefore, it is the same thing. It is just a question of time before we can verify it.

††††††††† The big consequence of this, is that if the atomic world is just the same as our galaxies and star systems at a smaller scale, then it is conceivable that an electron is not the smallest indivisible particle there is, that an electron is also composed of extra-small electrons composing it. And the most likely candidate for what an electron is at a larger scale, must be a planet.

††††††††† The nucleus of an atom would be composed of many electrons according to Mark McCutcheon, but I guess it is not as simple as that, our sun is composed of, well, nothing like a particle we could identify, we call it the sun, and hence, the nucleus of an atom is simply a sun.

††††††††† So what is a galaxy then, when looking at the small scale universe? This is crucial for my next novel. A galaxy must be a bunch of solar system orbiting each other, and so a galaxy must be many atoms orbiting each other to create molecules and cells, and eventually an object. And many galaxies together must be a bunch of molecules composing objects. And I am going to send two people to live on an atom, more specifically on an electron which will resemble the Earth.

††††††††† Iím sure the idea is not new, I have not after all read all of science fiction, but I donít care, I will write that story because it is mind boggling and it is what I am interested in exploring. Expansion Theory gives me all the new physics I need, it also justifies somehow that we can shrink something, since the nature of all electrons, the smallest particle known to exist, is expanding constantly at a rate of 0.00000077 metre per second. Well, if matter can expand, Iím sure weíll eventually find a way to shrink it, or help it expand faster.

††††††††† To shrink matter would be to bring it down one level, to the atomic world. To expand it considerably in one instant, would be to bring it to a higher scale of reality. When shrinking, my God, you are really going to a lost place, because that is one atom out of so many, that no one could ever count them. At a higher scale you could still think the same, we are living in such a small place, one atom out of trillions and trillions, that no one would ever think to look here for any sign of life and intelligence.

††††††††† This universe makes absolutely no sense, what sort of purpose could it serve? Has it been created or not, and if so, by whom, and why? It seems to be beyond anyoneís comprehension, and I sometimes fear we will never have any answer, as we are a simple by-product, a mistake that no one intended to see exist in the first place.

††††††††† What sort of huge big bang will we need to create to attract any sort of attention in the universe is beyond anyoneís imagination, and even then we might never reach out to anything or anyone else out there. Perhaps people who spontaneously combust may be a sign of life of some civilization living deep down on one electron in one atom of a part of the body that didnít self combust. And yet it puzzles us beyond belief, however we would never think of wondering if somehow a civilisation living on an electron could have been responsible for this whole universe self combusting like that. I guess they should have thought of a way to expand themselves to our own size, if somehow this is possible. I guess it is not, but it will do great sci-fi, considering that the New Physics has killed all sci-fi in one fall swoop.

††††††††† So letís get back to basic, letís forget parallel universes, wormholes and other dimensions. There are no other dimensions, there are no particle at two places at the same time, there are no black holes and wormholes possible in this universe, there is no subspace or openings out of space. There could be aliens though, so letís get back to those Martians who used to terrify populations at the beginning of the last century. Fools, we all know there are no Martians, or do we?

††††††††† You might find everything I have discussed in this single day quite eclectic, especially that I am about to speak about possibly being able to catch the conversations of bees and wasps over a mobile phone in a minute, but this reflects my state of mind in one single day.

††††††††† I have been thinking from one thing to another all day long, and so one day in my life is never that boring that I would decide to commit suicide right at the end of it. I think as much about the structure of the universe as my daily boring job in one day, and thank God for that, otherwise I would commit suicide right at the end of it.

The world of Crown Courts has nothing to inspire anyone to continue to exist. If anything, it could drive us all to self-annihilation instantly, self-combustion, yeah, why not. That might explain people who self-combusts, they are simply too bored with this existence, they must have been working in a Crown Court or be some sort of civil servant, just like me. I wouldnít mind self-combusting right now, just to prove my point.

††††††††† You know, Iím writing all this right now, and though this is completely meaningless and uninteresting for most of you, there are some students out there doing research and analysis on everything an author has ever written, hoping that somehow some patterns will come out and they can finally affirm that writerís state of mind. Well, I am quite obvious anyway, and yet, I am not. I am such a complex entity, how could you hope to resume my life and all that I have written in a few words, even a damn book of 400 pages? You will fail, you miserable low-life entity. Should you not start writing that novel who always thought you would write one day? Or are you not worthy of such an achievement? It doesnít matter that it is crap or not, can you actually do it? And actually finish it? Thatís what I thought. So before judging, achieve it, and then we can talk. I have finished another novel last weekend, it seems like nothing to me, and yet, it could mean everything for some others. Thatís the sign of someone who was born to write, no matter how crap it is, I was born an author. Are you? I wish I was born as a music composer, but Iím not, and I wonít pretend to be a musician or a composer. Can I learn it and do it? I have no doubt I can, given the freedom I desire so badly. So there is hope for you, but get to it now, stop analysing me and every word I typed. I donít care anyway and whatever the impact or consequences of your analysis, I will be long dead before it will have any sort of impact. I think it takes about 50 years for universities to start studying any body of work. I had many students contacting me saying they were doing a paper on me or one of my books, but that is not like having an army of people over-analysing everything you ever wrote and turn it into some sort of wisdom. Nothing I have ever said was wise, Iím the first one to say so. However, not many things most of what others have ever written was wise either. So go figure whatís wise and whatís not. What the fuck does he mean by this? Well, perhaps I meant nothing. Nothing you could comprehend, thatís for sure. Whatever you will ever write about me, you will always be wrong. Because I have never told the truth, it was never the real me, donít you ever forget it, and do not fail to mention it in your essay. You do not know me, you do not know what I really meant, what I was actually thinking then. You have no idea, you most likely fell into all the traps I laid out for you in order to make a point. I do not care to be remembered for something I am not, as long as my point carries on. This is why irony and sarcasm is everywhere in whatever I write, and so you could never be certain, because ďJe est un autreĒ (I is another, or, I is someone else), as Rimbaud wrote, being so clearly aware of this. It is more true for me than any other writer. Iíll give you a hint, Iím not an anarchist, and really, it doesnít really matter. Say that I am an anarchist, and I hope you fail miserably your grade, because then you are useless at analysing authors. Irony is lost on you, it wonít be lost on us. State that I am a Crowned Anarchist when it comes to literature, and I might read your essay. Shame you canít read English, youíre most likely writing this thing in French. Then how bias will you be? I never wrote sci-fi in French, everything I have ever written in English is science related. Maybe it will take another 100 years for me to be understood, and really, who cares?

††††††††† This is vanity, and yet, no one wishes to escape it, itís natural, itís motivation, and you know more than anyone else how motivated one needs to be to spend a year of his life writing a damn novel, so fuck off! I have an excuse anyway, Iím fucking drunk again. My eternal excuse as a writer, sorry your honour, I was drunk. I guess this is not going to work, as I was drunk whilst writing most of what I have written. How can anyone hope then to figure who I really am?

I wonít stop until I have written the most incomprehensible book there is on this planet, oh wait, I have done that, and yet, no one stopped to consider that it might be worth publishing. In a society of fast food, I guess you are condemned to write fast food, and yet, pretend to be proud of it, feel somehow that it is an achievement, even though you know it is fast food. The chances anyway that you will ever reach success are so slim at any rate, you might as well write what you feel is right, be as obscured as you wish to be, be incomprehensible, because it will not matter in the end anyway.

Maybe I should get back to writing esoteric or metaphysic books, like Towards the Green Fields and The Revolution. I am only writing for myself anyway, until such day that I reach a few people who can appreciate it. And who cares anyway. I should only write for myself, as I have always done, and as I always should do. I will write something in parallel to that new novel, I am telling you, it will be incomprehensible. It wonít be anything like Destructivism. It will be like The Revolution. I donít care anymore. I really ought to write what I want to write. Forget the commercial side of it, it does not work anyway. Deep stuff, not obvious stuff, is more what I am about. I will still re-write The Shrinking Universe/The Expanding Universe, but in parallel I will be writing what I truly want to write.

Shit, it leaves me with another book to start writing. Thatís a double bubble. What should that new one be about? About nothing, obviously. I can start it tonight if I want to. I wish it was that simple, but itís not. Even the Revolution is about something, even if no one understood it. Right, I have to think of something out of this worldÖ I wish I could just write a new version in English of The Revolution, but it would be impossible. You cannot rewrite perfection, and The Revolution was perfection, in the style I would truly like to write in. I will have to thing of something else as big, as great as that. It wonít be easy, dear me, it could be impossible. I donít know what went through my mind at the time, Iím sure I can repeat it, somehow. I donít think I could ever write anything as brilliant as The Revolution, but I sure can try, I certainly have a need to. Who knows, I might just be able to do better. Might be wise however to write it in French, the Revolution was very much about poetry, even though it was some sort of novel. It was like a song, a medieval song in the style of Tristan and Iseult, and The Song of Roland. I couldnít achieve such a feat in English, and certainly the translation of The Revolution will lose everything in the process. Well, as I know that such a new book will never be published anyway, I might as well write it in French. French has become such a strange language to me after so many years speaking and writing in English, it might be nice to rediscover it, the poetry of it. French as a language is at least twice if not more what English has to offer, from my point of view, since I was born a French speaking person. I wish I was born an English speaking person, but it is not so, and I fear I can only play with a language if it is the thong I was born with, even if it is as limited as the French of the old colonies. I donít really care at this point, whoís to say which French is to be used in literature. Had Quťbec been has large as it has been in the past, covering a big part of The United States, and if somehow there were now 300 million French speaking people in America instead of English and Spanish, it would be a different ball game. My French would be the only French that would count, and France would be like England is when it comes to English in the world, something only worth considering if it is Shakespeare, otherwise the English for Oklahoma is more English than the Brits could ever hope to be themselves. My French is a worthy French, it is my French, it is the French of my literature, it is what will come to pass into history. So, should I write it in English then? Yeah! Fuck the French, it would be another useless book that no one will ever read, except me.

Quite a challenge >I have set myself tonight. Write something better than The Revolution, in English, in the style of The Revolution. Can I? If you cannot write something better than your last book, you might as well give up now. This is the great mystery of people who have been capable of writing eternal stuff in the past, and yet, have been incapable of doing it again. You just wonder what the fuck happen. Imagination is always there, if you have the desire to do something better, Iím sure you can. Dear me, it is going to be wild, I donít know yet what it will be about, or what it will look like, but it will be wild, I can sense it, my imagination is in overdrive, I will come up with something worthy of another book out of this world. Thatís what I will be remember for one day, hopefully. Thereís no point in doing what everyone else is doing. Writing another book about a stupid love story, or about a murder, you might as well shoot yourself right now, the world does not need yet another book about that.

I donít even have to think or plan such a book. I only need to write it and let it define itself as I go along. Thatís what I did after all for The Revolution, and yet, it must be the most constructed book I have ever written. Shit, I could start it tonight, letís give it a try, I need more wine, and some Moody Blues.


18 August 2007


††††††††† My physics classes are so far away, I had forgotten that an atom can have between 1 and 8 electrons, and not only, seems to also have variable amounts of protons and neutrons. Not that it matters anyway about the neutrons and protons, there are no more charges in these atoms, no more electricity and nuclear forces, just expanding things, and these things are all electrons. That much I believe from Mark McCutcheonís New Physics, but I donít believe his new configuration of the atom. It cannot be bouncing electrons over the nucleus, itís got to be the Bohr-Rutherford model, without the electric charges, itís got to be the Quantum Mechanics version, still orbiting electrons around the nucleus. I donít care if McCutcheonís believe that it is too weak a structure to sustain what we observe in nature, that atoms bounce each others without destroying each others, and that the way they could link would be by exchanging bouncing electrons. Sounds very logical, really true, but then again, none of us ever observed that damn thing in the first place and it is all guess work. There is no way it is not like a solar system at a small scale. It could still bounce each others even if the electrons were orbiting, perhaps they simply donít bounce each others, maybe they just orbit each others for a while and then via the slingshot effect move away. And whenever they glue together, these atoms are simply somehow have all their electrons suddenly finding the center of mass and orbit around both nucleus. Perhaps observing binary systems in the sky might give me the answers I need. Iím so convinced he is wrong, I will go ahead and write my sci-fi novel as if somehow the structure of an atom is composed of electrons orbiting nuclei, as I believe nature would not invent two different things at different scales, it would be the same damn thing. If a solar system was about to hit our solar system, something tells me that none of us know what would happen. A solar system is an object all in itself, with its planetís orbital rings expanding as everything else expands, and so it is like this atom closed on itself, and I donít believe either that somehow space is different in there either, space is space, the atom seems to act differently in there because we still donít have all the answers. Up until then McCutcheon had been convincing, he could prove everything, but his new structure of the atom does not convince me, though I understand how he came to think it, it supports everything else he says and observed when it comes to electricity and radio waves and light. Anyway, if an atom is so strange that somehow it has some sort of weird other dimension within, that it can expand at such a higher rate of expansion, and yet, externally expand very little, then it is a closed universe indeed the one of an atom, and perhaps orbiting electrons can still be considered over the bouncing electrons. Chemical bounding can still exist between atoms exchanging bouncing electrons or atoms exchanging orbiting electrons. And it is not that I wish to adapt somehow physics to my idea of a good sci-fi story, I really do think somehow that there is no difference between the structure of an atom and a solar system, most especially when the damn things are constantly expanding, and so the smaller version could easily become the larger version, and will in time. It is so logical, I cannot believe that such a brilliant mind as the one of Mark McCutcheon, this fact failed to register.

††††††††† It is the clear the universe is built up of the same stuff whether it is at a small scale or a large one, and it stands to logic that the larger structures we see are composing even larger ones, and the smaller ones are also composed of even smaller atoms and electrons. This is like a fractal, the same within the same within the same, infinitely, like a camera filming a TV projecting the image the camera is filming, the multiplication of the same image to infinity. Or like two mirrors in front of each other, projecting the same image of a mirror to infinity.

††††††††† Any solar system with only one planet orbiting it, is a hydrogen atom. Any solar system with two planets orbiting it, is a helium atom, and so on. Depending on the composition of the sun, or the size of it, then you have all other elements of the Periodic Table. And whenever you see a binary system in the sky, or even a system with eight stars glues together, then you have a molecule, and depending on the composition of all these atoms or solar systems, you will know what is the substance that this structure is composing at a higher scale. I donít understand why we even question this, or not more clearly state it. This universe is composing something at a higher scale, and I want to know what. And in my sci-fi novel, Iím stopping the expansion of all the electrons composing a spaceship with two people within it, until the very small catch up with them, and they can visit an electron capable of sustaining an atmosphere, an electron orbiting the nucleus of an atom. Iím going ahead with it, because I believe eventually we will have all the answers and will see the micro-world for what it is, the same as the macro-world, it cannot be any other way, not in an expanding universe. Now I just hope I have the right answer about how to stop the expansion of these electrons and atoms, bombarding them with electrons. If I could think of something else, I would, but right now it is the only way I can think of about how to go about stopping the expansion of an electron, of an atom.

††††††††† It is clear that when such a situation happens, electrons and atoms never simply stop expanding, the pressures builds up until the whole thing explode somehow, hence a nuclear bomb, hence a Sun with many nuclear explosions, hence a Black Hole spitting matter on both ends as if there is no tomorrow. If somehow you could squeeze it all in without it exploding, as if there was nowhere to go, you could in theory stop the expansion of matter, and if you could stop the expansion of matter whilst everything else around continued to expand, that bubble eventually would be as small as the atomic structure composing it, composing the rest of the world at the scale it was in. And this is how I will ship a spaceship to an electron, to a new planet orbiting the nucleus of an atom. And down there, it is a it is on Earth. And there will be people there, because a previous probe would have sent all the necessary ingredients for it to happen, and the time difference between the probe is sent and the ship is sent, will be enough that life would have had the time to develop. Because there is still a time difference between two different scale universes, it is still all relative.

††††††††† As to how I could somehow expand matter at a higher rate than Xa, than 0.00000077 meter per second, I will worry about that another day, as it may not be possible to suddenly get matter to grow faster. Hence, the ship I will send to an electron cannot come back, it is a one way trip, it is a suicide mission. If somehow we could stop the whole universe, or the whole solar system from expanding for a while, then we could go back to the very large. But for that, you would need to be at an even higher scale than where we are right now.

††††††††† And as to Xs, the expansion rate of subparticles that puzzles McCutcheon to the point that he will not venture an answer, it is either the same expansion rate as ours, or the same adjusted expansion rate from even smaller sub particles at another scale. Once weíre there, in the infinitely small, that expansion rate will be the same as ours, but from the point of view of us right now, that expansion rate could be either much smaller or much higher. For McCutcheon it is much higher, even though atoms do not expand that much. He needs them to have a higher expansion rate, I suppose, to explain electricity and other radiation waves. Once these electrons expand freely external to their atomic structures, they certainly expand fast whilst in their electron clouds. They seem to double in size faster than the required 19 minutes that it takes for any object to double in size in this expanding world.

††††††††† Either orbiting objects slows down the expansion of the nucleus of an atom, either orbiting planets slows down the sun of a solar system, or this expansion rate is faster at a small scale simply because things are moving much faster at that small scale then it moves at our scales. And yet, they expand at the same rate. Perhaps there is still place for relativity in our universe when we speak at different scales.

††††††††† I understand none of this will make sense to any of you, but anyway it will be moved to my brainstorm about my next sci-fi novel, and so you will not have to suffer this conversation that could only make sense if you had read Mark McCutcheonís book. As I am certain you have never read that book, and probably donít intend to read it, you could never understand what I am talking about here, even if you are a theoretical physicist. As if you are a theoretical physicist, you probably never heard of Mark McCutcheon, and may never hear of him. And yet, it has become my whole universe, my whole reason to exist. It is my retreat, my escape, far from this so boring reality that it would require suicide.

††††††††† Funny enough, the 100 pages of my sci-fi novel I have written before discovering Mark McCutcheonís book will not have to change much from its original premise. So much so that I may keep the same original title, The Shrinking Universe, even though we are living in an expanding universe and acceleration and deceleration does not change anything to the rate of expansion of the matter composing us. It shows how close I was to the truth in the first place, anyhow. I may not be a theoretical physicist, but I still managed to be the only other person on this planet to see reality for what it was, expanding matter. And if I thought it could shrink, well, we may still find a way one day to shrink matter by simply stopping the expansion. And maybe one day weíll find a way to shrink matter and expand matter, and that day, God knows what sort of technology we will be able to come up with. The next step wonít be to invent television, it will be something completely out of this world. We could certainly solve all transportation problems overnight, we could shrink everything instantly and bring it back to normal once it reaches destination. I could start a shipping business and make a fortune, because I could ship the equivalent of a solar system in a small envelope on a plane, so it reaches the other side of the planet by 8 am the very next day. What business are you in, they will ask me, in the shrinking business I will answer. I will shrink every single cemetery in this world, and bring a lot back to its real size whenever someone suddenly feels the need to cry over the tomb of a lost one, and bring flowers, which will immediately be shrunk back with the lot after the visit. I will revolutionise the storage industry by shrinking every single storing room there is. And careful, I might decide to shrink your brain if I feel it is already too small to understand or accept me. I might as well bring it to its real size, the size of an electron, the size of the smallest particle known to exist. Nanotechnology will be laughable, because you will be able to built whatever you want at any scale, and I will reduce it way beyond the nanometre scale. With that I guess we will be able to cure cancer and a myriad of other diseases. Shrinking a camera to film the infinitely small would be the first thing to try, isnít it? I canít believe we still have not invented the microscope capable of seeing what an atom looks like in the first place. And yet we are building these huge particle colliders that cost billions. Would it not be wise to invent the instruments capable of seeing what weíre trying to look for in the first place? Why do I feel like I was born in the year 0, whilst I somehow believe I live in the year 3000, in some sort of futuristic age that never came? Weíre so retard, that is all I can think of reading Final Theory of McCutcheon. Dear me, I donít understand how we were able to develop so much technology whilst knowing nothing about the underlying laws of physics, and can only wonder what we would have invented by now if we had figured this out 300 years ago. And yet, as groundbreaking and convincing the Expansion Theory is, no one took notice, not even one single article has been written about it in any science magazine or other publication. It might die forgotten, this whole truth about the universe we live in, it is unthinkable, and yet, I can see it cannot fail to happen. I will die without anyone even recognising that the matter expands, and somehow it answers every single mystery in physics. This is weird, how a genius can go unnoticed. Unlike Einstein, there is no need for proof in the case of expansion theory, as long as it answers and solves everything, you have your proof. So why has it not exploded all over the scientific world yet? I donít understand. Maybe I will be the one to get it to explode over the world in a sci-fi novel, and perhaps many subsequent ones. It is quite possible, and in a way, it would be nice if somehow that was my destiny and that I would be the one to bring McCutcheon to the masses. My only regret is that my last Anna Maria novel was based on old deficient science, a mistake I will never do again. There is no way I will ever write another sci-fi novel using the old science. So letís say what sort of impact I will have on the literary and sci-fi world. I think I already had a sizable impact, even if it could be all in my mind. If Iím not mistaken about that, Iíll be the one to bring Expansion theory to the masses. So perhaps I wasnít destined to become the genius I hoped I would be, but anyway I can still have quite an important destiny in view of teaching humanity about the world they live in. After all, a genius is not a genius until he or she is discovered and defined as such. Meaning that the person discovering the genius and helping him or her to be defined as genius is after all as important if not more than the genius himself or herself. Because without that agent in between, a genius could die without ever being recognised as such. If somehow I am the catalyst to get Expansion Theory accepted worldwide, I will then be able to claim that I was as important if not more than the genius mind that came up with it in the first place. How nice it is to dream, I can almost believe myself. Well at least I will be the first sci-fi writer ever to take advantage of the New Physics, no one will deny me that. Somehow it wonít help if I remain unknown. And what kills me is that in my own Theoretical Physics ideas I came so close to it all, I saw it first, and yet, no one will ever recognise that, that perhaps, just maybe, I had the potential to a genius. Well, I might as well work at becoming a genius in a different field then, as an author, as now I wonít be in theoretical physics.

††††††††† Weirdly enough, if suddenly I have all the answers to my eternal questions, to my satisfaction, then perhaps there is no other reason for me to exist. I was curious, my curiosity has been satisfied, what other reason do I have to continue? I think there are many more mysteries to this universe to be uncovered, and maybe it is through science fiction that we might get a glimpse of what is awaiting us. I cannot think of a better purpose to my existence than writing science fiction in order to find out and extrapolate what are our limits of understanding. But then, I am truly just at the beginning, when I thought for so long that I was at the end. What is my future preparing me? How far will I go? I would give anything to know right now, it might spare me from killing myself one night, after drinking one too many beers or glass of wine.

††††††††† I have lost confidence in myself, when I used to think after finishing a book that I was a genius and that this book was the best ever boo ever to exist. I have gone to the other extreme that I feel now that Anna Maria will not find a publisher and that it is crap. So much work that it took me more than two to three years to think of it and finally write it. Where could I now find the energy to write another one? The Shrinking Universe, despite being mind boggling when it comes to expansion theory, could and will most likely never find a publisher. It will be another year of my life wasted, without counting the other year or two it took me to think it and write the bulk of it as it stands now. I cannot see that future where these books could be appreciated and find any kind of public. It is all very well to spend so much time in that universe, in the end if it doesnít help bring me to freedom, the freedom to do and write whatever I want whenever I want wherever I want, it is a waste of time. Life is not long enough to waste three years on a book that I will be the only person to read on this planet. It is not helping giving a meaning to my existence.

Am I so desperate to give my existence any kind of meaning? This deserves to be the first sentence of a new entry in Destructivism, an entry called Purpose. It might give more insight about how I feel right now.

††††††††† Have written it, fantastic, Iím pleased about it, and I have understood once again something about this world, it has no purpose whatsoever.

††††††††† What I find much more amazing than the fact that there could be no purpose to life, is that no one else around me ever stop to wonder if they have any kind of purpose, or even if humanity has as a whole, they simply take it for granted and go about their insignificant existence. That is amazing, that no one whatsoever is amazed by this universe and stop to ask any kind of question about it. It is amazing. But you would not expect a virus or an ant to stop in its tracks and wonder about the universe and its possible purpose. I guess there is nothing amazing about the fact that humanity never stopped to wonder what its purpose could be all about, considering the vast infinities in the sky and in the atomic world. What is amazing, is that I am different, because I do wonder, it drives my whole existence. Sometimes I do wish I wasnít different, unfortunately I was born that way.

††††††††† What is most shocking, is that I finally only got a glimpse of the real physics at the age of 34, actually 33, as I read The Final theory last year. What I find most shocking, is that Iím still wondering what a fucking atom looks like, though we have known that the damn thing existed for over 600,000 years. How slow must a civilisation evolve and learn anything about the universe it lives in? Actually, what is shocking is what we all thought we knew, all that we claimed as high and as far as we could that we knew, when in reality none of it answered any question, and made no sense to anyone intelligent enough to question it.

It was the fact that I thought we knew so much, and then realising we knew nothing, that is shocking. And then, how much more we donít know about? Will I have to figure it all out by myself, whist I have six billion other thinking minds beside me, all completely useless in actually thinking, questioning, finding answers, help me on my quest to knowledge? Do I have to do everything by myself in this world? Took me only 34 years to come across someone who was thinking like me, and even, develop it much further somehow, and I have come across him completely by accident. There is still hope that I will find some answers in this lifetime, but not that much hope.

Oh God, I could easily just kill myself tonight. However I am drunk, and perhaps I would not feel like that tomorrow. Especially that tomorrow I am not working at the Court. Have had been working tomorrow at the Court, I think I might have just committed suicide tonight, Iím drunk enough after all to realise that I have no answer to any of my questions, and will never get any. Shit, I have no purpose, this life, this existence, this world, has no purpose. What is the point in living? Unfortunately, I am not pretentious enough to believe that I have any answer. Fortunately I am wise enough to realise that I will never find any answer.

††††††††† All of this would be better suited for Destructivism, I might consider moving it there. This book really needs to come to an end, it has become a fourre-tout book, any topic, any style, nothing about Crown Courts, and might mean that I am at the end of that stupid job for which I care nothing about. I was supposed to re-read Anna Maria, so it could be presentable and ready to send to some lunatic bastards out there for which their job is to make things happen. Well, they better do their job now, because I do not believe I can sustain myself much longer in that civil servant job at the Crown Court. Somehow I just cannot believe it was my destiny to end up there forever. And unlike many of my colleagues, it is not my style to get stuck in cushy positions because Iím too afraid to get out there and confront what humanity has worst to offer. It has not been a year yet, but it does not seem now that one year is the usual limit I can suffer a job, I think nine to ten months might be my new limit as I grow more and more impatient with life. I have now passed the 300 pages, I am babbling about other stuff, maybe itís time to move on. I wonít move on, so something external to me must make me move on. Anything, hoping, yes, should happen soon, Iím ready. I just donít know if it will have anything to do with Anna Maria, perhaps not, I find it unlikely. Maybe I will have to do something in order to move on, perhaps I cannot just expect it to fall from the sky. It has happened before many times, like moving to Los Angeles, however sometimes you must give your destiny a little push and get things going. I feel it is time to move on. I am at the end of three books, I never finish three books I have written all at the same time without moving on big time in my life, to give me enough bullshit to write another three books. I better start thinking of a final for this actual book, but that would require a final to my job. With one month notice, there will be more to say, unless in that last month nothing significant happens, which seems very likely right now, as everything has become such a routine, I could just die. And yet, I have written so much in this book lately, it doesnít seem it is coming to an end anytime soon, but I have mostly talked about other unrelated stuff, which could perhaps be better suited to some other book or even independent thoughts left in another file. Eclectic thoughts. Which reminds me, someone has taken the bother to correct the title of my published book on the French Wikipedia website, from LíEclectisme to Lí…clecticisme (The Eclectism to Eclecticism). At the time of writing the book, I wasnít aware the word actually existed, and somehow existed in some different spelling. It doesnít matter, I invented it, it is the title of the book, it is published. Who is cuntish enough to correct the title of a published book? What is this world coming to? As if I could have made a mistake in the title of a published book, and no one would have noticed. If no one noticed, it is because perhaps the word didnít exist then. Funny enough I encountered the same problem with the English version. Destructivism was called Eclectism II, and then after writing half of it I realised that Eclecticism was a word that existed, and change the title of the book and the name of my files and webpages. I feel anyway that Eclectism sounds better, more to the point, there is no reason to add a ďciĒ in there. Gosh, how ignorant can I be that I was unaware that the word already existed? And made the same damn mistake 5 years later in a different language? Well, it is certainly not a word we come across very often, thatís for sure. I certainly never encountered it in 30 years, or else I would know to add a ďciĒ, and everyone involved in publishing it and correcting it would have noticed a problem with the title, right? There is no problem with my title, I invented the word, never mind if someone else invented it before me at some point in time and decided to write it differently. There is no need to correct the title of my published books in all the encyclopedias of the world, fuck the ďciĒ, fuck Eclecticism, it is Eclectism.


20 August 2007


††††††††† I just got an invitation to move back to Los Angeles, and that all my needs would be taken cared of by a friend who does not have much money to begin with. Perhaps this is what I was talking about when I said something radical would happen in my life to change it irretrievably overnight, somehow it would be so irresponsible and I am so stuck at the moment, I cannot consider it. I wonder if there ever was a time in my past that I would have considered such a crazy idea. I always needed something more substantial to motivate my radical decisions, like a job or studies, or no where else to go but down, meaning no ties to anything anywhere.

††††††††† Could you imagine, leaving my job at the Court, leaving Stephen for good, and announcing to everyone that I am going to become a starving artist in Los Angeles? No hope for a job, with someone who cannot even support himself, it would be crazy indeed. And yet, I have to say, God I am tempted. It would be my craziest yet, I canít help thinking that there are perhaps other versions of me out there in parallel worlds who would feel stronger about this friend in North Hollywood and will go without a second thought, and maybe even go on to become filthy rich, making contacts and writing blockbuster movies. That would make me a wimp, a weak link, someone incapable of making the big decisions, even if by nature big decisions simply alienate everyone around you.

††††††††† It is also that this friend in Los Angeles, dearly loves me, and to be frank, he could be the last ever of my lovers as I do not feel particularly attractive right now, I even thought it impossible for anyone to fall in love with me ever again, even though I am only 34. I could go on a diet and in six months it would a totally different story, however I wonít go on a diet and so I have to face the possibility that he could very well be my last chance. I feel Stephen still loves me, but he has a strange way of showing it as he his driving me completely mad. The thing is, I would be replacing him with someone equally annoying, as much a talking machine, which might not leave me one minute to breath. Also that for both of them sex really is secondary, I remember how Leonardo freaked out in Los Angeles saying that he didnít want a dick on himself. We had not done much until that point, I can assure you I made sure nothing happened after that either, as I am still traumatised. Is he gay or not? He certainly looks straight, he is still a virgin (sort of) at 45, what does he want in life? Me? And am I ready for that?

††††††††† Shit, here I have a second chance to go back to Los Angeles, without a fucking and draining job, and someone would offer me a shelter and food, Iím sure there are other times and places where I would have jumped at such an opportunity. Itís not like my relationship here is on solid grounds, or that my career is blinding me, and who cares about my creditors? If I was certain that within months I would have sold a story, it could be a different kettle of fish, my friend is after all well connected (sort of). I am however certain that despite my great imagination, my great potential, it wouldnít go anywhere. I have at least that much experience in my life.

††††††††† I wonder is somehow I could incorporate the New Physics of Expansion Theory into Anna Maria. I almost did, actually, I simply said that a lot of what was going on should be impossible considering Expansion Theory. For a start travel in time and parallel universes is out of the window. Yet, I have a perfect opportunity here to adapt everything I have written so far to fit in or justify everything from the point of view of Expansion theory. It would give me a complete new book filed with short stories, completely fresh, renewed to an unexpected level for any kind of second season, and would help with the format of short stories.

††††††††† Now, how can I justify parallel universes and time travel in light of Expansion Theory? If I can do that, there is no need to waste my time rewriting a sci-fi novel I abandoned years ago or writing something completely new, a full novel. I think this might be my best idea yet, Anna Maria II. I like it, I have to do it, I have to make it work. I will do what I have done so far, I will recycle The Shrinking Universe into Anna Maria. So it wonít be wasted, that was after all the point of Anna Maria, a vessel by which I could recycle all my ideas, and so far I feel I have been quite successful. Shit, I can feel the juice flowing, that is my best idea yet, I could start writing within days. It could even be part of Anna Maria I, and then I will have my 12 or 13 short stories I wanted to make a whole series if ever this goes to television. The book might be over 500 pages as a consequence, but look at Harry Potter. I look at that brick, and feel I could never actually finish reading it. And yet, children all over the world have read it hundreds of times.

††††††††† It is now decided. Anna Maria will have to deal with the new physics, expansion theory. It will require some editing in the first stories, and some creative thinking about how to adapt and justify time travel and parallel universes, but in the end if all I can say is that it should not be possible and yet it is, then it would mean we simply do not have all the answers yet. I would also feel much more comfortable to bring Anna Maria in line with Expansion Theory, as I do not believe for one second that this New Physics is wrong, it is just a question of time before it takes over the world of Physics by storm, and then I would be a fool to have written a sci-fi novel which does not agree with expansion theory. Especially whilst being a pioneer in this field and probably the one who will first bring it to the world of science fiction.

††††††††† No matter the physics that we could come up to explain this world, time travel does exist as there are too many accounts of people who actually did travel in time and there is no reason to believe they were delusional. Ghosts is another sort of example of something weird that one day science will have to explain, the phenomenon exists, we cannot deny it. There is however no account of people finding themselves in parallel universes, though I feel I can change my future at will as if it was all virtual. I did feel things had changed overnight and that suddenly everything was much better than the day before, and miracles did happen after I wished for them, but then again, I never experienced anything like living the same events twice in different settings. I wake up the next day and things have changed, trees, street lamps, buildings, suddenly appeared out of nowhere, or the writing on the front of a building is different than it was before, but is that parallel worlds that I switched to? Or I simply changed my reality as if it was a computer game?

††††††††† We believe in parallel worlds because of Quantum Mechanics. Quantum Mechanics, unlike Relativity, Einstein and Newton, has not been obliterated by Expansion Theory, as Mark McCutcheon states, it could all be a simple misunderstanding, whilst Relativity is a mistake. The reasons we believe there could be parallel universes might still stand in Expansion Theory. We still observe a same particles being at many different places at the same time, even though I believe it is because particles are going faster than the speed of light, and light is what we use to observe where these particles might be in all probabilities. A particle still goes through door A and B before exciting the box. After all, if truly we have made progress in Quantum Computers, then Expansion Theory will have to answer that, as well as everything else. And Quantum Computers is what Anna Maria was working on in her early twenties, and then I need to re-explore what it is that was so revolutionary about her way of thinking, and how Expansion Theory could apply in there to justify the results. A lot of research will be required however, well, some research, I am not growing any younger.

††††††††† Yeah, I can justify all of it. Expansion theory simply does not have all the answers yet. And my doubts and worries, Anna Maria will speak them aloud, I do not have to bring all the answers and to justify everything.

††††††††† Holy shit, Anna Maria is far from being finished now. I have to incorporate The Shrinking Universe/The Relative Universe into it, I reckon that will be at least two short stories, or a long bonus episode of 28 pages at simple interline instead of 14 (60 pages instead of 30 of a normal book).

††††††††† I know now that I will die writing short stories involving Anna Maria and Arthur Connaught. I have no idea if it could have been a Big Bang on the sci-fi market without incorporating expansion theory within it, but know I feel it will be a Big Bang in the world of literature, without giving up anything old sci-fi had to offer. Itís got to be the perfect solution.

Tonight might have been the most important night of all my existence, because I thought of this idea. A Monday night, that is amazing. I feel I might not have had this idea without drinking red wine, and I never drink red wine on Mondays. I will turn Anna Maria into such an interesting story, such an essential one, if I were rich I would produce a television series out of it. Without expansion theory I am not certain if I would have taken such a risk, now there is no question about it. I wish I could take a week off work to write the next 60 pages of Anna Maria, and the modifications to the other stories, to turn the damn thing into the most revolutionary sci-fi novel ever written. As I cannot do that, and could not guarantee having the energy to do so even if I were to take a week off for that, it will have to be done on my own time after work. I just hope I can achieve this fast enough for this novel to be finished before I die.

Where do I start? When do I start? I could start with another glass of red wine, but I would be dead tomorrow at work. It is not enough to think of something great, one also has to turn it into a reality, make it happen somehow. I have a new mission, and will now spend every single minute of free thinking time to make it come true. Until I am ready to write it all down, hopefully before this weekend or this weekend.

I need to incorporate Expansion Theory as early as possible in Anna Maria, a big chunk of it needs to go into Victorian Ignorance is Bliss. It wouldnít matter after that if it were not to be mentioned in anything else until The Shrinking Universe story. That story will have to have Osterley Park in the title, as this is my park, and is where the whole experiment should take place, as it was originally the place where it was happening. I also need to adapt the story Kill that Prime Minister, so it doesnít reflect Blair and Brown, it needs to be impartial. Need not forget that. But I can still involved the Chancellor of the Exchequer, even though right now that man is meaningless since Brown has taking power. Brown is a tyrant anyway, he will justify everything I have written so far and even more, as I believe he was the man behind the scene in league with Bush and his evil plan to take over the world. But thereís no need to be that specific.


22 August 2007


††††††††† At work at the Crown Court now, I feel like my colleagues and I have all become defendants on trial awaiting judgement, where everything we say and do is being registered somehow by the Scottish man and used against us at multiplehearings. Right now I feel we are all under deep scrutiny and the place has become no better than a prison.

††††††††† It has always been like that, but now I feel it more deeply, as my Line Manager has been targeted so many times lately for his sick leave, his lateness and work not being done, with many panel where he had to justify himself, that today he said that as soon as he is given the money he is owed by the Court, he will resign.

††††††††† The Kid from Ham is in has much shit, and now he has meetings with the Scottish guy on a daily basis, where he is being scrutinised, questioned, reprimanded, and of course this is all an exercise to justify eventually his dismissal which apparently will be going ahead in a matter of days now.

††††††††† I understand that those two employees have been taking the piss, and have done so for a very long time. It is not surprising that the Scottish guy would be moving ahead on them like that, unfortunately the impact of the rest of us, or on me at the very least, is that I feel oppressed and cannot helped thinking I will be targeted next. Now for the last three weeks it has been really difficult, I have been trying to be on my very best behaviour, never late, always working hard, as not to give them anything to use against me. However it does not seem that I need to do anything wrong in order for them to find something wrong, and all this week I could feel the Scottish bastard breathing down my neck hitching at something, trying his best to get me into shit, and so far I avoided it.

But today it got too much and I went for a little walk, I also went to the toilet for 10 long minutes right after, and sure enough when I came back he was looking for me. It doesnít help either that I had a doctor appointment at 1h45 pm today, and never came back to work. I was home at 4pm, I could have gone back, I decided against it because I feel that if he calls me for a meeting in his office, I will explode and might just kill him and a few others in the process. However now I gave him ammunition and he has enough for a meeting of questioning, and I donít think I will be in the mood for hearing it.

I wonít be bullied anymore, I am a good employee and if he cannot see that and feel the needs to give me shit just for the sake of it, I will resign on the spot without even thinking about the consequences.

I think he is getting too used to give shit to everyone and gathering incriminating evidence against the rotten apples, that he now do so for every single employee whether they are excellent or rotten. And anyway, the morale is bad when you work in an environment where everyoneis being targeted and eliminated around you. I hate it. Itís like the world of conferences all over again, with the highest turnover of employees ever seen.

Iím sure the Scottish guy had ample of time to flex his muscles in the last 15 years, especially just around when I started working there, has something like four employees all left in one go, and none of them on happy terms. I suppose it is getting close to a year now since his last hatchet job where he somehow kicked them all out, and he is ready for another round. If he felt any guilt over that, it must have subsided by now.

Iíve got a feeling it will be my turn any minute now, he will call me in the office for whatever reason, very likely that the bitch Chief Clerk has been trying very hard still to this day to plant a knife in my back on a daily basis. That every time she shouts at me, as she shouts at me all the time, when I speak back she feels I am shouting too, whilst I am merely trying to get heard. She reminded me again yesterday that she did not like how I called her back to my desk, after she threw something on it without explaining what the problem was, and that it is the second time she does that, the second time people tell me what to do, and yet, I was still doing it wrong and she would not take the time to clarify the situation. I said I was not shouting back, because for me it was meant as a joke, in a funny way, but she decided to take it personally and I could see yesterday that she was hitching at getting into the Scottish guyís office to backstab me, but the big boss was already in there. Iím sure she did it later on.

I think it is clear now that I cannot win, because the game has become an unfair one where they pick on you whether they are justified or not, and at that point it becomes victimisation, favouritism, racism, homophobia, whatever you want to call it, if it isnít justified, then it must be something else.

I think it is clear now that I would not be able to justify my point of view, could not convince anyone that I do not answer back to the chief clerk in an unacceptable manner even though she thinks so and by the way shouts at everyone on a daily basis, basically I cannot defend myself and my days are numbered, notwithstanding the fact that it has become impossible to work there as the tension is filling the room. You would not believe how difficult it is to make a few photocopies and do your job under these conditions. It would be like having an astronautís suit on in zero gravity and trying to press the buttons of a photocopier and picking up these sheets to the best of your ability all day long.

It is clear now that I need to find another job and I better start applying for jobs soon. And I already know what my big conclusion to this book will be once it is over, this office needs cleaning up and employees kicked out, those employees are management, old style management that is no longer acceptable. The Scottish guy and the bitch Chief Clerk need to go. They have been ruling over their little empire for far too long with ultimate powers, and it is clear that the whole place would benefit greatly in productivity if they were both sacked, it would also be a much happier place. And I know a few thousands of defendants who have been refused many things in the past like Legal Aid for no good reason, finally getting justice for the way those two have been trying for as long as they could to not pay the counsels, not pay the solicitors, not give anything to anyway unless they truly cannot find a reason to do so, doing their best to create the shit and bureaucracy humanity simply does not need and probably lead to world wars.

I hope having emptied my heart here tonight will prevent me from exploding tomorrow when the Scottish guy calls me in for another session of torture and psychological warfare. I hope I will be able to keep my calm, as I can only win if I keep a cool head. As soon as I lose it, I am finished, I might as well resign. Of course I would have no reason to lose it if I thought it was justified, that I had done anything wrong and now needed to be punished as a result. The fact that all this bullying is unfair is what will make me lose it. I can feel it is coming, I felt it all week, I should not jump to conclusion, as I have been so good, I donít even drink the night before, I sleep as much as I can, I work bloody hard. But now theyíre turning me into an alcoholic, because tonight I am, drinking and I have been two days ago as well. I tried hard to be the perfect civil servant, I guess it is just not possible.

Oppression brings repression brings depression brings all the eternal ugly problems of humanity out in the open in its vicious circle.

††††††††† I am really not happy at the moment, I wonder if it could all be about work. It looks like winter, as it did all summer, but usually that doesnít affect me. Is it the routine then? It sounded more serious, as if I had lost all will to live. I found myself asking this week, many times, if there was any evolution in my life, or just stagnation. When I went for that quick walk this morning, I caught a small glimpse of the Clock tower on Gillette corner, I felt pain as I remembered how I used to see it every morning when going to work for that alcohol company beside it. That was at least 10 years ago, and I felt as if nothing had really changed for me in all that time. Suddenly the argument that I had another book written under my belt simply didnít do the trick, thereought to be more to life than just be born, go to work and die. And when you go home, you work some more. Not that I am gagging for fun either, I donít feel like doing anything or go anywhere. I just donít see the point in anything, and I am wondering if I ever did. Am I just buying my time until I die? A day I donít even care if it comes tomorrow or in 50 years?

††††††††† My tortoise is laying eggs, I believe. The three she has laid months ago are still not out of their shell, and there she is having more babies, suffering and acting weird. Maybe there is a lesson there, but I guess I am too tired to learn it, or even invent something just to make me feel better. The miracle of life at the moment would turn horribly wrong in my state of mind, overpopulation to breaking point, how many tortoises and animals can this flat take on? All my money goes into feeding this zoo. I guess that was Stephenís answer to life, own a zoo, but it wasnít mine.

††††††††† Tortoises were my favourite animal when I was young, today I wonder why nature would have created such an impractical animal. They canít move, they canít do anything, having sex the way they do, I would be so dead, I would think it wouldnít be worth it. It is clear anyway that the female never wants sex, she is constantly being raped by the male, and now sheís having babies again, and that male was still raping her all day today and now is sound asleep. She is desperate to get out, and I let her out a few times tonight, but no more, now that I know she may have babies. Sheís looking for a batter place than her litter to bury her dead, I canít let that happen. Well, for an impractical animal, she is now a master at opening her cage and escape. I thought Stephen forgot her out this morning, I know understand she escaped. It is amazing what you can achieve if youíre determined enough. It is amazing how little I have achieved in my lifetime, I guess I was not determined enough, or that determination alone is just not enough, as I will soon make it impossible for her to escape again.

††††††††† I sometimes believe that if I was in prison as punishment, and had no choice to be locked up all day in a fish bowl, working my ass off whilst being bullied by everyone, it would be better. The simple fact that I do it by choice is what depresses me. That I want so badly to open the window and escape, and could, and yet I donít, is fascinating. That I could be in prison whilst I agree to it and obey like a prisoner feeling sorry for myself, is sad. I am as obliged as a prisoner to go to work and remain there every second of the day, do my job, forget my urges to escape by the opened window, as the consequences would be horrible. We are all prisoners. The ones who do not have the opened window in front of them to tempt them, is because they would forget the consequences and simply walk out. Pettiness and bullying tactics by managers would not work on them, that is the only difference. Of course I could go on to Blackpool this weekend if I wanted to, but they robbed me of my will to live, just like when I was in Los Angeles, and I end up doing absolutely nothing. It is all very nice to have the freedom to do whatever you want, but if you donít feel like doing anything, then it is like having no freedom at all. Weíre all prisoners of this existence.

††††††††† Maybe I should go to bed earlier, being less tired helps a great deal in our capacity to accumulate a lot of crap without even flinching. Being tired, and thatís it, that opened window becomes just too tempting, until you snap and then you again no longer have the choice, they will kick you out faster than you can think and will ensure your future is somehow a little bit more mortgaged, making it harder to find a new prison to go to every day. They always appear clean, white and proper in this destruction of our own lives, when people should know that at the end of the day, they were the ones responsible for making us snap. Go on to dig dig dig on everyone, and see what happens. The ones still smiling after that, the ones you will keep on your team forever, there must be something wrong with them, perhaps you were successful in dehumanising them, they must be empty shells, at that point you would be better of replacing them with robots.

††††††††† Right, time to optimise my capacity to deal with bullshit, my new definition of sleep.


23 August 2007


††††††††† It seems that I may still escape the wrath, due to other cases more serious than mine. The Kid was 2 hours and 30 minutes late this morning, and they were preparing a pig style management move on my Line Manager today. He has now been demoted and will be the lap dog of the Clerkís office until he resign at the end of the month or until he leaves for Australia in December. We inherit an Indian girl from the Clerkís office who will now take his place. I will lose within a week or two the best Manager I ever had and the Kid has already confirmed that if that Line Manager is gone, he will resign as well on the spot. Never mind, he may very well be sacked before he can resign. The British woman does not look happy with the move, however I feel that Indian girl is fair and actually really nice. She may however expect an unreasonable workload from us, as I work hard by definition, it should be fine. I donít expect trouble, and I much prefer that then the Pakistani Man taking over the General Office. Which reminds me, it will be the fifth time this Muslim man will be passed over for a promotion, he will be pissed off upon his return on Monday, also that it all happened whilst he was on holiday, and the girl who surpassed him is 24 years old and has only been working at the Court for a year and half.

††††††††† Considering how all this must be horrible for all the people involved, I am surprised that I feel completely indifferent. It must also be how the management feel about all this, when in fact decisions like that could easily drive certain emotional people to suicide. It will most definitely send my Line Manager to drink himself to death tonight and this next long weekend, and probably some hard drugs in between. What I canít understand is that the man has been in his position for nearly 9 years, why act only now? Because it has more to do with the Indian girl wanted the job and being helped by her best friend Chief Clerk, than how my Line Manager really is performing at his job. So it is a double blow of injustice.

††††††††† I particularly like the sneaky way by which they got the Indian girl to learn the job of my Line Manager. On the pretence that three courts were closed and that in order to avoid Clerks being shipped to other courts for the duration of the construction, they shipped her from the Clerk Office to the General Office. And on the pretence that she is on a fast track programme from the Ministry of Justice to learn the job of everyone else in all the Courts in England, for two weeks she has been doing my Line Managerís job in order to know what is required from the Magistratesí Court when she goes there for a week in September to learn some more.

††††††††† I thought it was weird, I thought she was more like learning his job in order to take his place, my gosh, I had no idea they could be as bold as to demote him to place their friend there instead. If this whole moved had been attempted for me, I am so paranoid by nature, I would have seen it coming. It is fair to say that my Line Manager knew something was coming his way, I think he expected to be dismissed, however they probably tried to avoid further problems with a court case by simply wait until he leaves in December. The effect on him this morning has been devastating, he spent the morning surfing the Internet about travel websites concerning Australia, whilst dreaming away that he was already gone. I donít think we can expect him to do any more work for quite a while. Not that it will make any difference, I donít think he actually did any work on any given day. Maybe he has been getting away with murder for far too long, and if the kid had never came to work at the Court, I think he could easily have got away with it until his departure. The problems with the Kid highlighted too clearly the problem with his Line Manager, and even reflected bad on me at some point, even though today he has saved me from more trouble by putting himself in the line of fire.


29 August 2007


††††††††† The whole management at the Crown Court is on the war path, everyone in the General Office has been targeted, and only in the General Office has anyone actually been targeted, because it comes under the Scottish guy, and together with the Chief Clerk, it seems it is the only department they can attack, as the Chief Clerk seems highly satisfied with all her staff, unless she is giving them shit and we donít hear about it.

††††††††† So now the have transferred my Line Manager to the Clerk, and I understood why, it is because at the end of the summer they will need to ship at least three clerks to some other courts as they have closed three of our court rooms whilst the expansion is going on. I didnít have the chance yet to tell my Line Manager that they must intend to ship him away somewhere else any day now, as he is on holiday today and I only connected the dots yesterday (Iím losing it, I should have foreseen this long ago!).

††††††††† The Pakistani Man is so fucked off that he again was passed on to become the Line Manager of the General Office, he is now applying to become a Clerk in two other Crown Courts in Central London. He is not hiding that fact either. I only realised yesterday that on top of trying to become Manager, he has been trying to become a Clerk for years, which has also been denied to him. Interesting, so becoming a Clerk is no easy matter, I might only be able to if I apply to Central London. I have taken the jobs ads, but I donít believe I will apply, as working in Central London at such a low salary would quickly become unmanageable and too expensive. I would not be able to finish the month. And spending three hours traveling on the train every day, is not something I wish to repeat any time soon.

††††††††† As for the British woman from listing now in the General Office, she just fucked herself up big time. She went on holiday and today was supposed to be back, she called in sick. Upon her return she can expect a management panel where they will give her a hard time, because she is already over her 5 days sick leave maximum, I believe she is well over 20 days now, they will certainly not miss their chance to give her as much shit as possible, and once again she will have to call on the union to defend her. She did say that without the union, when she was sick for over two weeks a few months ago, she would no longer be working at the Court.

††††††††† At the moment, on top of targeting the Kid about his lateness everyday, and the fact that he does nothing all day, with daily meetings in the Scottish Guyís office, they have moved on their attention to the Old Indian Man. He now goes around the office apologising to everyone for no reason, and say good morning and good afternoon to every single employee all day long. No doubt their angle on him is that he is a rude bastard and needs to change his attitude. On top of all his sick leave and numerous hospital appointments which altogether makes him to be at work merely half the week.

††††††††† To be honest, in that kind of environment of terror, I am highly surprised they have not found a way to attack me as well, I am the only remaining one to give shit to, and I know they are hitching to get me on something, and last week they nearly found something when I disappeared from my desk for more than 10 minutes. However, apart from that, I have been the perfect employee, I show up on time, I do overtime, I have overtime accumulated, I work hard all day, and I was sick like a dog yesterday and still showed up to work without a word of complaint.

They are leaving me alone for now, but I really donít think it will last. They will eventually find something to freak out about, because they are trying so hard to find shit where there is none. In fact, they are spending all of their time giving us a hard time instead of doing their job and letting us do ours. The result is quite clear, we are so fed up, none of us are doing any more work, we are too busy plotting our way out, to jump ship or figuring out what we will do once they have sacked us.

††††††††† The Pakistani Man is applying for jobs everywhere, the Old Indian Man has stated that he may retire early instead of waiting for another year, the Line Manager has decided to move to Australia with his wife to escape the wrath, unfortunately immigrating takes time and they will get rid of him before he moves on, and the Kid, well, the Kid always knew his days would be numbered from the moment he started working there. He is quite ready to find another job at a momentís notice. Only the British woman will not look for a way out or an escape, as she has been working there for over 15 years, and will stand her ground with a union representative is necessary. As the psychological mind games do not seem to affect her in the slightest, somehow, she feels all right no matter how much they are targeting her. I wish I was like that, but I am not, unfortunately, everything affects me a great deal, I cannot sustain that kind of pressure for too long, even though I have gone through much worse in previous jobs. The fact is, I got that job in the civil service in order to avoid having to produce results and be told off if I didnít produce them, even though making money has more to do with the market conditions than how hard you work, because I have always worked hard, but too often they simply gave me conferences that everyone knew would fail before we even started doing them.

††††††††† It is not easy to be the perfect employee, especially when you know that it doesnít matter, they will find a reason to cause me problems anyway. Better go back to work, at least I should not give them an easy reason to target me.


30 August 2007


††††††††† I am right fucked off right now, that when the fat British bitch decides she has done her month of Grad Fees, they accept it, but then when they want to give it back to me and I say no, I have no choice but to take them over once again, within a fucking month of getting them back, when not only have we got a full complement of staff, we inherit an extra one on Monday.

††††††††† I just left the office, I need to get back within 10 minutes, or else this little crisis will be used against me, and I would have backed myself into a corner, so much so that I am willing to say: letís discuss my departure date, because I had enough.

††††††††† They say they want the Fat Bitch to train the new girl, I said I can train the new girl, there is no reason why the Fat Bitch should be the one training her, especially when she just came from the Listing office, and so I must know more than her about pre-trials, what most likely we will be training her on. This is not acceptable, I cannot let them walk like that all over me, just because they wish to keep the Fat Bitch quiet. She will not let herself be bullied, I wonít either. I am not getting back the fucking grad fees, I will leave over it.

††††††††† This must be part of a larger plan to get me into shit, and their plan is working so well, I am in shit right now before the plan could even be put into place. I will revert back to working with the Chief Clerk, whoís has been doing her best to backstab me at every damn opportunity, and now she will have all the best chances in the world. So that is what they were preparing for me. I knew something was up.

††††††††† Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do now? I have no choice but to accept the getting them back, with as little complaining as possible. The most difficult part now is to get back into that fucking office whilst still keeping face. I will not however be saying another word until the end of the day. But got to be back to normal by tomorrow morning. Fucking bastards.

††††††††† You know what is funny, is that us, human beings, barely look at the sky, stop to consider what is it that we are looking at, the stars, moons, planets. We rarely think in terms of subatomic particles and chemical bonds in molecular structures, and yet, this is as real if not more than looking at a can of beer or a lighter. None of these objects make any sense when you consider the matter composing them, and when you see the night sky and understand that if we were not stuck here in physical bodies, all we would look at all day would be expanding balls in some black space.

However when you start considering it deeply like I did these last few weeks in order to escape my horrible reality, you can get nightmares about it all, where you end up thinking and seeing in terms of expanding balls, no matter at which scale, and trying to get them to expand more or less. I have to say it is a nice change to having nightmares about my Manager giving me shit all day at work. If I had to choose the reality which seems more real, and the reality I would prefer to live in, it would be the world of expanding balls over the world of the expanding human beings which I cannot stand, and yet I force myself to go to work every day to receive more and more shit from them.

††††††††† My plan has back fired. The Fat Bitch did very well with the grad fees, no doubt because I gave her a clean slate to begin with, also that the new scheme has cut the work in 10, and she never had to stop entering grad fees into the computer once, also because I fought so hard to get it all to this point. All in all, even though I never really saw her go and look for files like I did, and even though she never did overtime and worked like hell like I used to, she successfully did the job without complaining too much. Maybe I have misjudged her, she may be after all the only competent member of staff at the Court amongst those imbeciles. Or else doing grad fees now is really easy. Never mind, she was on holiday for nearly a week, once again, and now it has piled up, and so I inherit the damn thing with three full shelves of files and a huge pile of grad fees for which files will need to be found. And as it is the end of the month, this is another few days where nothing can be done as the clerks need to clear their own backlog, ignoring that mine is just getting larger.

††††††††† I hate how so casually she was able to put her foot down and say: I will no longer do grad fees, and suddenly I get them back. I hate that kind of injustice, blatant disregard for otherís people feelings, it is like treating me like nothing. She may have been better at it than I would have given her credit for, she certainly hated every single minute of it, and her last sick leave this week was no doubt in hope that upon her return the grad fees would no longer be hers. So at least it proves one point of mine, that this is such a horrible job, that even the most competent member of staff will not accept doing it for more than a month, and could not get rid of it fast enough. Do you think this at least could bring a bit of respect for me, who has been doing the job for over eight months without even a word of complaint until two months ago? Nope. Nothing. Iím the whore of the department, I will slave on it without any recognition until I fucking die on the job.


3 September 2007


††††††††† The quality of music has gone down the drain a lot in the last 25 years, I think I mentioned it before. I remember listening to Blue Eyes of Elton John on the first ever Walkman that came out in perhaps 1980, it was Sears, I guess it came out right after the Sony one, and the sound in that bulky walkman was so extraordinary, listening to Blue Eyes was an experience then. Today the song sounds so bland, I wonder why I ever thought this was such a great song. It is the only song of Elton John I can actually stand, perhaps because then quality was good, and that was before CD, tapes, and most especially MP3. I think I will ban myself from listening to MP3, and make an effort to put the CD in, I might at least enjoy a bit more quality that way. All I listen to I have on CD anyway, well, almost. I managed to lose most of them in all my moves from country to country, especially all my Depeche Mode remixes 12 Inches records. I know where they are at least, at my friendís home in Chicoutimi, but Iím never going to own a turn table again, I have to admit that it was a bulky invention anyway to start up with.

††††††††† I was so proud of Anna Maria whilst I was writing it, I thought it was great and all, I was motivated and enthusiastic. Now that it could be considered finished and I sent it without results to some 20 sci-fi websites, I kind of wonder if this novel was not after all a complete waste of time. It is amazing how little objectivity one can have about all this, then again I am no publisher or on a committee reviewing draft books, then I would know instantly the good from the bad. This said, my second publisher in Paris did send me two drafts to review last week, I read 14 pages from each book, and told him the first one was good, the second was crap. Iím pretty sure he will publish the first but not the second. This is frightening, that I could render such a judgment after reading virtually nothing of these books. I hope no one will do the same to me. Then again, I am not on a committee, it was supposed to be a flash verdict done in 10 minutes, and that is what it was.

††††††††† How can I sit here tonight wondering if everything I have ever written was simply a big waste of time? I sometimes wish I would know the future, know with certainty that none of it will ever make a difference and I can stop now, free myself from this chore. And most definitely writing this actual book must be the biggest waste of time of all, as I already know it will never be published, and putting it on my website for everyone to read could gather more attention away from the fictional and commercial stuff.

††††††††† Today at work I already started to feel the change that is in the air. The Indian Girl has taken over the job as my Line Manager. I thought we were friends, and even for the three weeks of her training, we all laughed with her in the office. Today she already showed signs of turning into a Master Bitch.

She certainly is bossy, and oh, how quickly thy power gets to someoneís brain, that she has alienated both the Kid and I today, and that was the first day. Iím afraid, really afraid that I will seriously clash with her, faster than the Old Indian Man will come back from holiday, and before she can clash with him first. It would be of great help to me if she were to clash with someone else first, then I could say she is the problem, and I know she will clash with the Old Indian Man, he openly hates her, always talks against her, and clashed with her in the past.

When someone rang at the counter, and that there were about 12 members of staff between me and the counter who could all have gone to the counter, whilst I was right in the middle of doing a complicated grad fee from the new Scheme 4 Regulations, and that the Indian Girl turned around and ordered me to go to the counter, when I knew very well that it was for the list office and not the general office, as it is always, and so going to the counter is always a waste of time for me to go to, I really felt rage coming into my heart.

I tried to rationalise my deep and unexpected feeling, since I accept it kindly when my ex Line Manager told me to go to the counter or answer the phone, his tone has always however been nice, as if asking for a favour, not a direct order as if we where in the army, making me feel like a pet or the newbie runner of the department. It was that lack of respect, her patronising way, her tone of voice, all of it together made me want to snap back to fuck off, or hit her hard in the face as the Kid would say as a joke. Sometimes ABH and GBH can be quite justified, and I feel that in a Trial I could get away easily with hitting her in the face. Not quite, but you know what I mean.

The problem is that I am on Grad Fees now, and as I am doing the job of at least two persons, the rule is that I should be left alone to concentrate on Grad Fees. I bet it will take her a day or two before giving me an NG form, copying a whole file for the Court of Appeal, something that takes three hours altogether, including finding the file that usually hides in the most unexpected places, when you can find it at all.

So at the moment Iím not sure how it will go, I feel awry that it might go horribly wrong and I could lose patience with her. I donít want to clash, but I might, and that is what worries me. And what didnít help either was the smile on the face of the Fat British Woman, who corrected me many times today that the new girl who started was not British, but was in fact English. Right. Not only she had a big smile on her face when she gave me a huge pile of grad fee claims, on top of the fact that half the bookshelf was already full of files and claims awaiting to be entered onto the system, but it is a miracle I didnít lose it then.

Well, you could say I have adapted very well to the new regulations about the counselís claims, and I eliminated in one day all the files, though I finished at 18h30. And tomorrow will be even worse, because I have to attack all the other claims for which the files need to be found, about a thousand of them, just that.

What fries me is that her incompetence, the easy and casual way she decided to go about doing grad fees, no one will ever notice. I however noticed today as I had to call at least five Chambers to get claims they had previously sent in the past that we had no copies of anymore, because she was too lazy to keep a copy of these claims, when it was obvious that one day we would need them, as we were awaiting Legal Aid orders for these files. Two hours wasted on her laziness today, and it will only continue tomorrow. In one month she left me quite a backlog. So I can now confirm she was useless at it, even though I am the only one who knows it.

The new girl, there is something really wrong with her, though I cannot exactly pinpoint what. I made a big mistake by asking her where she was from, since she was ďEnglishĒ. It is obvious she is Indian or something similar. When I asked her origins, to explain such a weird name that I could not pronounce it, she said that she didnít know, perhaps it was Indian. The perhaps tells me a lot, as I knew it was Indian, I just wanted confirmation, and that was my mistake.

The problem is that she has rejected her origins, she hates the fact that her parents were Indians and perhaps even lived in India at some point in the past. Just like me, I guess, she would have preferred to be 100% English (not even British). So I can understand that, but I would not reject my origins even though I would have preferred to have been born an English speaking person, in order to help me write English books.

Her psychological problem is however much more serious, as she is wearing those weird dark blue contact lenses when it is obvious her eyes are of a dark brown, as someone who looks like her, always has dark brown eyes. If there was a way for her to wear coloured contact lenses without her looking so weird wearing them, then why not, but at the moment she looks more like Data on the Enterprise, she looks like an android. What doesnít help is that she is very thin, with round little breasts that look more like small tennis balls, and she was wearing a white tight shirt matching her shape. And when she started name dropping, and telling us that her best friend was a gay guy that was on Big Brother five years ago, and as a result most of Big Brother participants of that year were her friends, and that she is VIP and go everywhere classy and upmarket, and whatever, I thought, gosh, another one for which you would just like to pick a shovel and with it detach her head from the rest of her body. And then go back to work in peace as if nothing happened.

I should be nicer really, I should give her a chance, she after all shouted in the office today that all gay men where the best friends a girl could have, and that was before she knew I was gay. And now that she knows, I think she will become a good friend of mine, and then I will regret having been so mean about her. The thing is, she is more like someone with a personality by-pass who clings to half baked celebrities like a slug, and to be honest I have no time for that kind of shit. Well, we will see, wonít we. Every gay man needs his fag hag, she might become it, at work at least. The Scottish guy already has is, the Chief Clerk, assuming she is not a Hot Lesbo Action to begin with.

Dear, dear, dear, I am really mean tonight, but I have got every right to, I am back on the damn Grad Fees from Hell, crowned by a new Master Bitch which cannot fail to make my life a real misery. I am about to lose with little nuclear family which is about to go nuclear any minute, with my Line Manager moving to the Clerkís office any day now, and the Kid being kicked out any day now. So better get the chemical bonds going and become one with the new girl, so we together we can form a more solid molecular structure and be prepared to face the music at work.

I thought a change would be coming soon and I would somehow get another job or something, now I can see that perhaps that kind of radical is not necessary if everyone around you changes radically at work. I can see that I could easily start a new book about phase II of this ordeal. I cannot see how different it would be or how more interesting it could be compared to everything I have written so far, but I have to be ready to accept that it may be what it will be, and I could be stuck in that job for a while longer, as I am not prepared to find another job at this time. I say that, and yet, tonight I almost registered on the old famous Job website for the entertainment business, and I think I will this weekend, once we have sorted our finances and discover that I have an extra 100 pounds to burn. Not that I believe that I will find a job there, even though this is how I found my only contract in England working on that film about Einstein, but hope is what drives this world.


7 September 2007


††††††††† Today I have sold Anna Maria, the novel I sweated on for at least five years, beginning with when I started writing the film script ideas that went on to form the bulk of the novel. Would you like to know how much I got for it? I believe this amount of money is about the standard in the industry, that you can almost kill yourself over writing a 350 pages book over five years, and in the end, the big reward, what I am now being offered for it, is 25 pounds.

††††††††† A contract will be established where I will give up all my rights for it, will have to take it off my own website and get rid of all my film script ideas and other film scripts related to the novel, in return my book will be sold on a cheap sci-fi website in the UK as an e-book, for one pound each copy, for which I will receive 25 pence per copy sold.

††††††††† You would think I would want to commit suicide right now, but it is in fact cause for celebration. I sent Anna Maria to 25 sci-fi websites and magazines to probe the interest. Out of that I think half of them rejected it out right because it was too large a book or they simply didnít receive the email because the file was too large or their inbox was full. So all in all, maybe 10 organisations might consider Anna Maria, and one of them offered me money for it. It is encouraging because until you get paid for anything you have ever written, youíre considered an amateur. I have been paid for my French published books, but not for English stuff I have written. So it is great news in the sense that the first interested person said yes, and getting a yes is usually nearly impossible. So there could be some interest in the novel out there.

††††††††† I will of course declined the offer. I will send a series of questions designed to frighten the publisher, and ultimately will propose to forget the money and offer my e-book online on his website for free. I will however keep all my rights and will keep it online on my website as well. And once a serious offer comes my way, he will have to take it off his website. Adding three zeros after his own figure would be more like it, even four zeros after it would be perfect. This is how ambitious I am. And that made me understand something quite important. A critical question. To what sort of offer would I actually say yes to and sign a contract for?

††††††††† I realised that perhaps I should not waste any time targeting publishers, but should only target agents, as it is the only and most direct way to big publishers. Any small publisher will not be able to offer me more than I can actually achieve all by myself with my own websites. Selling Anna Maria online for a pound, I could do that from my website, I would be lucky to sell five copies this year, and no one would ever know the book even existed.

††††††††† Science fiction publishers are not exactly big in nature, and might not even require agents to reach. But would I sign with anyone, even the smallest one based perhaps in Tulsa, Oklahoma? To be honest, from experience, I would be lucky to even find a small publisher, because a miracle is required to find a publisher. So ultimately I would not say no. But perhaps I should start big, agents only, then important publishers, then smaller ones, then when they would al have said no, as it is to be expected, I will simply keep it online for free on my own website.

††††††††† Just listened to a bunch of Nine Inch Nails albums, read the history of Trent Reznor, I feel energised.

††††††††† Two hours later, now reading about Depeche Mode, and listening to Dangerous, one of my favourite songs of DepMod (which, by the way, has been my pin number for over 20 years for all my credit and debit cards), I am too drunk to use this energy in order to write anything worthy of a genius. Just read that DepMod sold 91 millions records worldwide. I met one of them in London one day, spoke with him, shit, I never realised the fucker was so damn rich! It would have intimidated me. He must have been the richest man I have ever spoken too in my entire life, and yet, he looked as if he was poorer than I ever was, with my 75,000 pounds debt. It could be true. If I somehow had 100 million pounds, it is highly likely that I would have debts in the range of 500 million pounds. Of course, I would have bought by then half the Moon, ready for colonisation. I understand the Americans have started to sell lots over there.

††††††††† Well, if I am not to write any genius stuff tonight, I might as well at the very least spell out a genius idea for future use, whenever for some reason I might read this again in a few years time. I recently hatched quite a genius plan to have the most successful play ever produced in the Province of Quťbec, making instantly one of the best known author of that lost Canadian province. It is a diabolical plan, one that no one working in theatre could ever turn down, and hence, it will be an enduring success forever. As long as I can make it is as funny as this requires. As long as I am drunk enough and completely off my head enough whilst writing it, that it will be the funniest thing ever produced in Quebec for decades to come. The title needs to be provocative enough, I need to think of it right now, something like: If I ever hear of Michel Tremblay again, I will kill myself (Si jíentends encore le nom Michel Tremblay, jívas mítirer une balle dans tÍte (If I ever hear the name Michel Tremblay, I will shoot myself in the head)).

††††††††† It will have to be impressive, involving explosions and special effects all the wrong times, as if to demark explosions and critical moments in Michel Tremblayís art, I need to ridicule his work to the core. By bringing altogether his dysfunctional characters from many of his plays, into one mega play. If it were ever possible to caricature his characters ever more, it would be a miracles, and yet, that is exactly what I need to do.

††††††††† Sorry, you probably have no clue about what Iím talking about here. You see, Michel Tremblay is the most celebrated author Quťbec has ever known, it is definitely the most successful playwright Canada has ever known, and unfortunately he bares my name. He also enjoy so much success writing boring stuff, whilst I enjoyed no success at all writing highly interesting stuff, I need to destroy the man in order to take my rightful place in Quťbecís firmament of best authors. I need to make myself heard, to explode all over the province, and that diabolical idea is what I came up with a few days ago whilst walking to the Crown Court, one morning, after smoking my roll up. Brilliant, genius, that is what I will concentrate on after Anna Maria, after writing the Shrinking Universe short story. Though I donít have to wait for anything. However I will need to read all his plays once again. Which means, I need to buy all his books, 40 of them at the last count, perhaps more. Shit. How am I to achieve that?

††††††††† Other good titles, more to the point, would be Michel Tremblay Remix Version 2.0, or Michel Tremblay 2.0. You see, this needs to be as much about me as it should be about him, that is the master stroke. I am Michel Tremblay version 2, the successor, asking for my rightful place in my own culture. Or Michel Tremblay Version 2.0. Direct, to the point, it says it all.

††††††††† A mix of Albertine in Five Times, the Suspended Ceiling, The Sisters in Law, The Real World? and Saint Carmen of the Main. That is about all I can remember of Michel Tremblay, and of course, the Fat Woman Next Door is Pregnant.

††††††††† Fat kids and fat women better learn to start walking and acting upside down, as they will be acting from a suspended ceiling, in five different times, all being fat and pregnant and or fat and gay or fat transvestites, and ah yes, all whinging until your ears can hear no more. I will bring the world of Michel Tremblay to the breaking point, show to everyone how sad and futile and meaningless it all is. I will destroy the impostor, I will destroy the cunt. It will be my masterpiece, it will be me being born to my nation. Michel Tremblay the Fat Queer Kid, Michel Tremblay la Grosse Tapette.

Shit, that would be another wasted year of my life. And if it doesnít go anywhere, it is really not worth it. Have I got the courage, the time? Do I want to sacrifice writing Anna Maria II for this, or another great English sci-fi novel? I have so little time left to myself. Perhaps I should start by reading whatever plays I have of him right here in London, and see if any ideas I can come up with that will be dead funny. At the end of the day, most of the jokes will be lost on the public, it is to the people of the theatre world that this will be written, for all teachers in Quťbec for years to come to analyse it in class with their students. They will be the ones pushing everyone else to go and see my play, as they will be the only ones to get all the inside jokes.

And now I am dead, really dead, if one more stupid idea comes to my mind, I swear, I am likely to explode.

I have not even spoken about the week from hell I experienced at work with my new Fat Indian Kid Girl Manager. The fact that the word manager comes back every other sentence or so, is a good indication of how bad a manager she truly is. Her long speech about working as a team, team working, and how she hoped to bring us all together working as a team, almost made me take a gun out of my drawer and shoot her in the head, and the other Kid confessed to me afterwards that he nearly puked all over the place whilst she made that speech.

I tried to make her understands that the worst word you can use in this day and age as a manager, is the word team, and that team working was so 20 years ago, you would have to be mad to made any reference to it. It is clear that by now every single employee has caught up with basic management skills, and none of that bullshit will work, it is more likely to create riots and murders when one is witnessing such stupidities. Everyone knows by now that there is no such thing as team working, the very words makes everyone sick to death and rush to resign from their post. And the fact that she needs to remind us every minute that she is a Manager and as such deserves respect, understanding, and every single right that no one has in this office, is one more argument against her. Must be her insecurity, her desire to reaffirm herself as the bitch in power, which brings her ever closer to becoming the Master Bitch we all suspect she is.

I do have to mention this, I once again had a major fight with the Chief Clerk, where she once again spit in my face, explaining to me how incompetent I was and even impolite, direct, and whatever else. After she reminded me that she was a Manager, and three bands over mine (whatever that means), she never let me justify myself. I was so angry, in three hours I cleared both bookshelves of Post-Trials files, something that the Fat Pakistani Man would take a week to do. I whinged the whole time I did it, destroying the miracle I was performing in the process, but two days later as the dust settled, the Fat Indian Kid said tonight: I canít believe you cleared those book shelves, and so quickly at that. My answer was simply: Me neither, I donít know what happened there, I doubt I could achieve this ever again. And we both laughed all heartily. The fact is, it was simply a miracle, and to be honest I was so angry at the time, I donít remember doing so much work in so little time. It was amazing, I simply took all the files and entered all the data into the computer and printed all the orders at such a speed, before the end of the day I had achieved a miracle. And as I said, I may have whinged, shouted and been unbearable, the fact remains I have done something no one can explain. I trust the Pakistani Man, who witness the achievement, must have been dying inside horrified, whilst I was proving that what he achieved in one week, could actually somehow be done in three hours. I enjoyed every freaking minutes of it. What I have been doing for months with the Grad Fees, that no one could actually notice because they have no idea how many thousands of these damn invoices I have processed in the last few months, was suddenly completely visible in the fact that I processed and cleared something like 500 files in three hours in post trials. My only regret is that all those last few months of hard work, no one will ever realise that it was a much more impressive miracle, and so it was all done for nothing, as the Chief Clerk is convinced I am a lazy bastard who does not do his job, ignoring that of the whole General Office, I am actually the only one doing any work, doing everything, as I have proven this week by processing every single claims of Grad Fees and Standard Fees, but also eliminating all post trial files. There is not one single employee at the Crown Court right now who could have done all that in one week, getting us completely up to date on both grad fees and post trial, both responsibilities at the same time. Never again would I ever have such a chance to prove how a miracle worker I am, no one could have passed that, everyone is now aware of my capacities and potential. I have done in one week what I have been unable to do in ten months, despite the fact that I do not believe I have worked any less this week than any of the other weeks. So you can understand my frustration, how when such hard work was finally measurable concretely, they recognised the fact that it was beyond the capacity of any civil servant to achieve such an amount of work within one week. And the Indian Kid knows it, she is under high pressure every day to clear the post trial shelves, it was an unsolvable problem for her at the beginning of the week, as to how to do all this work whilst no one was available to do all the work (despite the fact that we had a full complement of employees, the Old Indian Man being on holiday, but having the New Girl in).

And if the Kid proved to everyone how great I was as an employee just for being such an incompetent one, it was not exactly clear in everyoneís mind, as they quickly dismissed him as a bad apple that would be sacked at the first opportunity. But even him took only two days of training to get into the routine of doing pre-trials, whilst it took me only one morning and already the Pakistani Man was losing patience with me as he thought it was taking too long for me to learn. Well, after a week, the new girl is still struggling like crazy, and the Fat British one sat all week next to her repeating over again and again what key to press on the computer in order to enter one damn committal for trial into the computer. One full week! How long does it take to train a loser to become a civil servant, on the most basic thing that employee will need to do in that office? If that has not proven to them how quickly I have learnt everything and adapted to their menial tasks, I donít know what will. It took a long time, but they finally get the message, and I didnít have to quit and be replaced by a string of incompetent morons for them to understand six months to a year later. Shit, is there finally some justice in this world? Could fucking hard work finally be recognised for what it is, eventually, maybe? The world certainly does not learn very fast about these things, and it is a shame how people with great potential will never get anywhere in this world because management is too blind to recognise what is really going on around them. I guess they deserve what they get, mediocre people obviously can only spot mediocrity, and can only perpetuate mediocrity for the rest of their life. And that is nothing, I donít even think I am a miracle worker, I think they are simply all a bunch of incapable losers, and that anyone I ever worked with in the conference world would have been as good as I have been working there, and probably none of them would have been recognised for it. I really worked hard there, I really gave it 200%, and perhaps only this week have I finally proven that, and maybe not, weíll have to see. Bad management tends to quickly forget about great achievements, to desperately pursue other futile events which are much more incriminating in recent memory. For example a woman called from a prison two days ago, asked for an indictment, as per the policy of our office, I told her she had to request it by writing. The phone call lasted 30 seconds, she never told me it was urgent for whatever reason, blablabla. Two hours later the Top Manager of the Court came to me, blasted me, telling me that she knew her well and she called him to tell him how unhelpful and difficult I had been with faxing her a damn indictment about a dying prisoner of them that they were suddenly trying to help get out of prison. Shit. In a 30 seconds phone call, I had destroyed all my previous achievements, this is how long it takes for anyone to destroy their promising career. I may wish to add that I was polite, I quoted her our own policies, and so she had nothing to complain about in the first place. And yet, the bitch tried very hard to get me sacked, probably trying to save her own ass and proving to the world she was trying everything she could to save some prisoner they had who was, somehow, dying in their custody for unknown and suspicious reasons. And I ask you, as the Scottish Man stated afterwards, what the fuck could she do with an indictment to try to save this prisoner for whatever reason, it was useless. Sounds more like desperate measure to do anything to save their ass, costing me my job in the process by any means available to them, so afterwards if it ever hits the news they could somehow say: we have done everything to save our prisoner, we even desperately tried to get that unhelpful French-Canadian working at that Crown Court sacked in the process! Does it not prove that we have done everything in our power to save our prisoner? Yeah, but what has this French-Canadian working in a Crown Court got to do with your dying prisoner? What is it that in a 30 second conversation that French-Canadian did to kill that prisoner you could not save? And finally, why was this prisoner dying exactly? Would he have died if he had not been put in your prison in the first place? How incompetent you people truly are? Fucking bullies who would go to any length and extent to blame innocent people for their own mistakes and incompetence. Unfortunately for her, she hit me in my shining week, and so I think for once all my managers took my defence with the Top Manager. I had, after all, cleared the damn post trial shelves, whilst being on Grad Fees. Eat that bitch, and make sure no one else dies in your fucking prison. With the week I had, I would have had every right to be rude to you on the phone, and be as unhelpful as one can be, and yet, I was not, and that is the injustice. Another one, Iím so used to it by now, I donít give a shit anymore. It is clear the Top Manager of the Crown Court believes I am a rotten apple, two bitches complained against me in the last month, and Iím sure he thinks the Kid he himself placed at the court, my totally incompetent colleague who does nothing all day, Iím sure he believes he is the greatest employee the civil service has ever seen, since no one ever complained against him. I really donít give a shit anymore. When you are none existent, when you are drunk and stone on a daily basis, when you never answer the phone in the first place, I guess it is easy to remain a non-existent entity. Well, I answer 50 phone calls a day on top of everything I do, so whenever the shit hits the fan, I am always at the centre of it, because I am the only active employee of the office, Iím the only one who picks up the phone.

Now you can see how World Wars start, you can understand how under so much injustice people pick up a gun and start shooting at random. Because this is just how I feel right now, shoot al my colleagues, start a World War. Somehow it would make me feel better.


9 September 2007


††††††††† Whilst I went around sci-fi website, considering their pages and pages of guidelines before any submissions could be made (which in the end discourages me so much, that I click to the next website), I read something a few times which made me think. The one thing they didnít want, amongst hundreds of other things, was a political speech or rambling. And truly, if we felt the need to talk about the political situation which is so obviously going down the drain, we either had to subdue the tone of our speech greatly, or write an essay upon the subject.

††††††††† I felt bad because there is some sort of political content to Anna Maria, however I would say it is subdued, as I was aware of that potential mistake, and like they suggested, I did write an essay upon the subject to vent all my thoughts of seeing democracy, all rights and freedom disintegrating before our very eyes, whilst no one in the population is doing anything about it.

††††††††† What I hadnít realised, is that it is on everyoneís mind, and every single author on the planet must have gone out of his or her way to denounce a few things in whatever it is they were writing. To the exasperation and breaking point of these small publishers who are tired of reading on the subject.

††††††††† And hence, we can all sleep soundly tonight, there is an army of writers out there denouncing our governments and making the whole population aware of the menace and tyranny we are facing. In fact, everything George Bush and Tony Blair/Gordon Brown have done so far, is a god sent to every single writer on the planet. Nothing significant happened on the international scene since the day I was born that could inspire or motivate anyone to write anything. And suddenly we have a new reason to exist, something to fight for, stuff to denounce, to make people aware of. There is no better inspiration out there, suddenly no one has a writerís block and no one is traumatised anymore by the syndrome of the blank page. Thank you Bush, Blair and Brown! You have finally given us something substantial to talk about. There is no point talking about freedom and liberties when you have those things and do not fear you will lose it any day from now. Suddenly, dear me, this is all we can talk about., the most basic human rights, back on the agenda, fore front, the new war to be fought to regain all that we have lost in less years it took to win the First and Second World Wars. Iím expecting censorship to become law next month, we can all feel it, I have already thought of censoring and deleting stuff from all the books I have written so far, just to be on the safe side. I havenít yet, but I may still reach that point where suddenly I will have to be highly creative indeed in order to state the things that will need to be said, but can no longer be written in such a direct way that it would make me a target to all those government agencies out there.

††††††††† However, it also made me realised that if everyone else is talking about it, it would be unwise for me to do so. I even wondered if I should keep my main hero and narrator the Director General of MI5, as it would not make much difference if he wasnít. It is so unlike me, and yet, I think the worse of these governmentís policies is to come, and at that time it will be useful to me to have a main character being the head of MI5, it will help me denounce a few things. I would of course use reverse psychology, by denouncing the denunciations, defending the governmentís position, as I already did in Anna Maria, in the Yorkís Resident Ghost.

††††††††† The funniest thing is that for me right now, being a civil servant, makes it illegal to talk about politics and express any sort of opinion about it. Funny that this law does not seem to apply to the highest ranks of the civil service, and as long as they have permission, they can go into politics and talk about it as much as they want without consequences. Just as the Top Manager of the Crown Court I am working at has proven, by presenting himself in some local elections as a Republican, sorry, I mean Conservative (extreme right anyway, ready to walk all over our rights), even though in this day and age in England this feat has actually been achieved by the Democrats, I mean Liberals, I mean the Labour Party... Iím all so confused now, I donít know who to trust anymore, perhaps it is good that I trust no one, since they all seem to follow the same destructive path that will surely lead to the Third World War, and I suspect it is this fear of the proliferation of Nuclear Weapons which makes them act now rather than later, as the world has never been so closed to extinction in its short history. The problem is that any more pre-emptive strikes will surely bring about the end of this world, but who really cares about that? Not me, thatís for sure. My life is so damn boring right now, surviving the aftermath of a nuclear war would seem like something worth living for. Even Bird Flu would do the trick. Then maybe I would have something worthy to write about, Iím afraid, this is now how I define my existence.

††††††††† My parents have been in panic many times before, as I was in Paris when all those bombs exploded, I never told them that whilst I worked at Heathrow Airport in London, they found four bombs in the ceiling of the very shop I was working in every day, planted by the IRA I believe. None of us were really afraid, the IRA was more about frightening people than killing people, they were real terrorists as per their real definition, to bring about terror without being murderers more than it was necessary. They used to call ahead of time so the authorities could defuse the damn things in time. We never thought for a second that it would explode.

These rules have changed, only because the real culprits are no longer terrorists, as it is now all government sponsored terrorism, our own governments, and they truly do not care about how many of us die, unlike real terrorists who know all too well, that if they kill too many of us, they will lose all our sympathy, and then their cause would certainly be lost before anyone could give it a chance. How else would you explain that Americans have always been on the side of the IRA in their war against Britain, it is because they never crossed that threshold which would have made it impossible to support them in the first place. No one could support a cause killing thousands of people, hundreds is already going too far. One innocent killed here and there, a dozen innocents in a decade, we could still support such a cause as the one the IRA was pursuing.

I have to say that I know nothing of the IRA, I assume perhaps wrongly that what these people have been fighting for must mirror what Quťbec has been fighter for, for many decades now, against the English Canadians. Problems inherited from the times of the colonies of Great Britain, about 300 years ago. I guess time never heals anything, and none of us will stop until we are all dead. Must be a worthy cause, somehow, though I canít see it, and that makes me a traitor to my people, to my nation. I better succeed as an author in England, because it is clear now that I will never be recognised as such in my own country, being the traitor that I am living here in London, and actually enjoying every damn second of it. Bastards!

I understand that English Canadians used to tell French-Canadians to speak white, even in Canada, even though we were whiter than thy. Well, I speak white now, so you better listen to me. Bastards!

Did you see the contradiction? I called the French-Canadians bastards, immediately followed by calling the English-Canadians and by extension British Royalists bastards. The conclusion is that we are all bastards, and so, I have no allegiance to anyone, you can all die in hell as far as Iím concerned, because all your bickering never concerned me, and will never, ever, concern me. I spit on history, I am only considering the future, and that future is so far removed from the one you are constructing right now, I couldnít care less if all of us were to die tomorrow morning, let alone if peace is possible at all. I donít know how I have reached that point, I guess I was so disgusted by everything I have heard from all of you, that maybe I feel the answer is total eradication of the human race, that perhaps the only way we will experience peace on Earth, would be if none of us survived the next World War. Peace at last, that is all I ever wished for, whether any of us is still alive to appreciate it or not. If that is what it will take, then letís do it. I donít care to die, do you? It does not seem like you care either, that is not what I have observed from everything we have done so far to insure that war was the only answer to everything. None of us seems to care to die, and so it shall be, that we will all be dead within decades, perhaps years, hopefully daysÖ

Perhaps it is time for me to remind you that the word irony is the word used by a few journalists in the past to describe my whole body of work. Though sometimes I do wonder if it is ironyÖ Iím being ironic here, just in case you missed that, once again. Am I ironic just to mark a point, or do I believe what I say? I am drunk after all, perhaps I do think it then. Iím being ironic. Am I? I will let you decide. Better be quick, you might not be here much longer, and that fills me with joy. Is it irony? I really donít know. And who cares anyway?

††††††††† I cried when the two Twin Towers in New York fell down in 2001. Knowing then what I know now, I would not have cried, I would have been outraged, as I am now. I wish I had not been so blind then. In order to find the truth behind the London Bombings, I had to first stop believing that what I was told was the truth, the truth I was being fed every day on the news. Only then did I do a search on the Internet for the alternatives, the real truth, and I found it beyond belief. I will no longer be taken for a sucker. I will no longer believe the truth I am being told. I will no longer trust any government or any news channel, I never did anyway in the first place.

I understand now that you will never get the real news from the usual channels, only a deep search on the Internet will eventually, hopefully, get you to the real truth. Better be quick though, these sources of information are all about to disappear, soon there will be no way to find out any truth, all that will remain is the certitude that all of it is just a big lie. And if no one out there still exists to say so, and prove it to you, then at the very least do not forget that it is still a lie. I will never cry again, I will think instead and draw my own conclusions. Am I being played for a fool? Yes, most likely. What am I going to do about it? I wonít trust anyone anymore, I wonít cry for anything anymore. The world is much uglier than you could ever imagined, there is no need to cry over it, just disconnect from it all, just have no more opinion about anything. That might bring about some results, who knows. How could you have any opinion without any of the real facts, especially if you cannot trust any of the usual news sources?

I guess we studied all too well everything that happened in Russia in their darkest years of history, and now our governments are playing the same trick on us, but we know better, we not only know weíre being lied to, we still have some rights remaining in order to say so openly, instead of keeping it all inside as the broken men and women of Russia did in those days when they knew all too well they were being lied to.


13 September 2007


††††††††† Finally something exciting to report. Today there was a lack of a French Interpreter at the court and all attempts to get one to come down instantly failed. So I was called in the Cells to help as an interpreter. I find it astonishing how this African man who speaks French, I can understand everything he says very well, to even understand what he means between the lines. We have such radically different cultures, he is from so far off where I was born, and yet, it is undeniable that not only we speak the same language and understand every single word we tell each other, even the expressions he uses are familiar to me. Considering this fact, it is amazing that there are so many radically different languages in Europe from country to country, most of them separated only by an imaginary line. There is just no way these people would all speak a language sensibly derived from the same roots, and yet, their languages could have gone so astray, unless of course this was ultimately a deliberate attempt to create new languages in the first place, and why would you want to do that?

††††††††† I feel for the defendant as if he was my own brother, even though it is clear he sets up some African women to come to the UK with drugs and they go to prison for him whilst he cash in on the money. My knowledge of the Court helped me greatly. I thought as I never was an interpreter before I would be at a disadvantage, on the contrary, I was able to extrapolate a great deal to help him understand the half baked minimalist comments the counsel was giving him as she was pressed to go to court to defend him whilst she probably has dozen other cases on the boiler.

††††††††† The Cells are large, it looks like a real prison on the other side of the little door in that corridor filled with similar doors. No one would suspect, and I never suspected, what could be behind that door. Frightening, I had no idea these was the equivalent of a real prison at the Court. It is so different as well from the rest of the building, they went out of their way to make sure it was all made of cement and looked as depressing as it could be. After the expansion is finished, I would think that not only everything will look luxurious on one side of the door, and perhaps even worse on the other side of the cells door.

††††††††† This afternoon I will go to Court, in front he main Judge, to interpret. I have learned a valuable lesson this morning, not to translate more than what is said, and perhaps try to make it clearer, but not to add anything. No one tipped me off, I have learned that for myself. And when the guy asked me a question for which I know the answer, as I work at the Court, I need still to go back to the Counsel and let her answer the question. I reckon I would be an excellent interpreter, in fact, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Just as well there were not that many grad fees to do today, I was wondering how I could waste time because I knew I would quickly eliminate them all. This was destiny.

††††††††† About that, one point the defendant was not happy about, was how every time he met a counsel, it was a different one. He likes to pray to God to help his counsel and himself, but if the counsel on that day is a different one he never met, how could he ever influence his future for the better? One other problem though for me, is that these British people have all learn a bit of French in school and somehow always manage to understand a bit of French, and so they can tell vaguely what is being said, and so I have to do a great job to make sure I stick to what is said and choose the exact right words to translate everything as it should. I have to go back now. I have to be careful not to use colourful expressions of language, I said this morning that the counsel would try to get the case to explode, I meant to crack it and get it thrown out because of a lack of evidence. He asked me puzzled what I meant by an exploding case. I really have to be careful, he might think for a second that he is also being accused of being a terrorist.


15 September 2007


††††††††† Iím a bit depressed, that perhaps none of what I have ever written might be worth nothing. That my latest Anna Maria might finally just be a bunch of meaningless wah wah. I received two feedback from people claiming they read the book, one said he would not consider it, the second that none of the stories grabbed him enough. I wonder if we read the same book, I thought initially, and then, now I wonder, if perhaps compared with the rest, Anna Maria is perhaps not that great a book. Since I have barely read of the rest, maybe everyone out there is capable of writing better stuff than I. Hence, Iím not motivated in writing the last short story, Iím not even motivated in reading the book again and start searching for an agent. I donít feel like writing any more fiction at all, just perhaps this journal, and only for myself, as therapy.

††††††††† At work on Thursday night I spoke with the other Queen at work, the Executive Producer who worked for every single big series in England, and yet is stuck as a usher now. He told me of all his fears that the word must have gone out now about him in the business, that he must be a total failure if somehow they were to find out that he was now a usher in a Crown Court. And I thought, great, Iím not part of that business. A guy in charge of spotlights on the show The Bill, apparently saw him, and now he feels the whole industry must know of his demise. Glad Iím no part of that industry. Then I asked him if he would go to the leaving due of the Listing girl, he said he would come for a drink, but not the Indian food afterwards, as he now has too many ulcers, stomach ulcers I guessed. I said: too much alcohol? He said no, too much stress in my previous jobs. Iím glad I am no part of that industry. I then asked him if he looked at my website, he said yes, it surprised me. I asked what he thought, he answered that I was very accomplished. Nice to hear, though tonight Iím so depressed, I could shoot myself. He went to the leaving due, I didnít. Thank god, I was so depressed, I might have shot them all.

††††††††† Could I not just calm down, stop thinking about creating stuff, and just enjoy what others, more competent people, created for my own enjoyment? I wish I could. I really wish I could. Maybe it is time for me to be selfish, and stop thinking about creating things for others who care nothing for what I create for them. Maybe it is time I give up and simply enjoy what others have created for me instead. I wish I could. Life would be so much simpler then. It is not like I am under any kind of pressure, no one is expecting or demanding anything from me. So why do I feel pressured? Where is this unexplainable need comes from? Why am I still trying to write all those books for little if no result at all in the end? How can I even explain that to myself? What is my problem? What is this disease I have? I should really give up now, there is truly no reason to continue. I have given it my best shot with Anna Maria, it is clear that it wonít go anywhere. Not one single word need be added or written on my part until that very book is published and declared a success. As if it is the failure I think it will be, then there is no point in going any further.

††††††††† I need to free myself, I need to stop this bullshit. I will never an author, I will never be a writer, I will never succeed. How long does it take to finally get the message? How many failures must one endure before he understands and gives up? Is it a hopeless battle in my case? Will I try until I succeed, even if it takes me another 25 years, 50 more books? Is it the kind of determination that is sleeping inside of me? Looking at the last 25 years of my life, you would think so. What does it matter, really, if I achieve success or not? As the Executive Producer at the Crown Court said, I am very accomplished already, success or not. Does it matter if millions are reading me instead of a few thousands, hundreds, a dozen, or none at all? I guess not, or else I would not have spent so many years writing stuff that I knew were not commercial in nature at all. Like Destructivism for example. Though this was a real need for me to write, nothing else, I never thought for a second it would be published or even read by anyone. That is really me, isnít it. Anna Maria is after all my second novel or work of fiction ever, after Denfert-Rochereau, the only French novel I have written. How bad is that for someone who has been writing for nearly 28 years? Only two works of fiction. No wonder I could never consider myself an author and never reached any kind of success, despite the 30 plus books I have written in my lifetime.

††††††††† It is clear that my drive, my motivation, my enthusiasm, has nothing to do with succeeding commercially, or being read by millions. So I should not by any mean ever become frustrated at the lack of success. I have chosen my path, I now need to live with it. There is every reason for me to continue to write, to answer that need to write whatever I feel needs to be written when I write it. What bothers me, really, is the lack of freedom, to write full time, that is all. I have an infinity of projects I would develop and work on if I didnít have a parallel full time job in a Crown Court right now, that is what bothers me, the fact that I am prevented from working on these projects. They might not go anywhere, and yet, I feel the need to work on them. Somehow, this weird determination that no one could identify where it comes from, must be admirable. I wish I will always be able to follow my own intuition, instead of whatever publisher or producer will ask me to write for whatever potential commercial success it might or might not have.

††††††††† I think it is time for me to understand that I am in a better position than any other successful or even published author out there. I after all have total freedom to study and write whatever I want, no one is expecting anything, no one is demanding anything. That is perhaps a greater freedom than one could hope for in life. I have little doubt that if Anna Maria was to turned out to be a great success, the public and publishers would be asking me to write more and more of these short stories until the very day I die, just like they did with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock Holmes. And yet, it would be better for me to have a full time job writing Anna Maria short stories for 40 hours a week, and write whatever else I want in parallel in my free time, than working for 40 hours a week in a Crown Court and write whatever I wish in my free time. This argument does not stand. I would be quite willing to write Anna Mariaís short stories until the day I die, if it was successful. I need to succeed as a writer, it is the only way to gain my freedom. I need to be doing what I enjoy most in this life, writing, or else this existence is not worth it. I know this is true, inside, this is why I spent so much energy writing Anna Maria. What Iím realising now is that it might be enough, it might not be good enough. The ideas were great, they could not have been better. They were the result of five years of thinking. If it leads nowhere, more writing style must be bad. I need to revert to French. I was reading two days ago my book The Revolution. I understand now why this book could not reach anyone in France, it is way to French-Canadian for them, and way too much out there for the French-Canadian market. I think my French is now much better, after living in France for a while, and Belgium. Maybe this is the way to go, revert back to a Standard international French, forget science fiction, a classic love story might be what is required. I donít know. I donít feel it. I donít know.

Once again I try to rationalise everything. When writing for me has never been a question of rationalising. I have always gone and write what I felt was appropriate at the time, in whatever language I thought was appropriate at the time. I feel that it is maybe how I should continue. Though I cannot deny that writing Anna Maria was a deliberate attempt at doing something which went somehow against my nature or what I would have felt like writing. I donít know, I really donít.

Gosh! I have no clue! Perhaps I should just write that last short story for Anna Maria, perhaps my most important one, and then I can advise or decide what I will do next. There is no need right now for me to think about that. I admit that if I were to convince myself that if Anna Maria would be the last ever thing I would ever write, it would motivate me beyond belief. And that is what I need right now. Not to think about my next project, but finish the one at hand. I have read once again The Final Theory of Mark McCutcheon, I have no more reason to prevent me from writing that last story. I need to do it, finish it, even though, and that is my problem, that as it stand, Anna Maria could be considered finished. It has over 350 pages already, there is no need to bring it to 400. And yet, I need to, I have to, I need to finish it. That is the only concern I should have right now. I should concentrate on that only objective. And I will. Glad I could finally find some focus in my life. Now I need another glass of Rosť, it is not tonight that I will start writing that last short story. When then? It is a mystery. I better do it soon though, the novel has already been sold for an astonishing 25 pounds. In the days of Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot, this might have represented a sizable sum of money, but today it barely buys you a few pints of beer. I need to tell that guy to fuck off, that Anna Maria is not for sale at any price. She is mine, and mine alone. There is no way I would so early give up any rights to her, I created her, she is my last hope, the crowning achievement of a career spawning 27 years, and as such, I will only let her go for a much more sizable sum of money. Until Anna Maria can buy me a house in a place like Richmond Park, a villa similar to hers, then she will remain mine and live on my own website. I am sorry, but this is how it goes. I would not sell her to small publisher who sell 500 copies of the her existence, and yet, keep all the rights to her. This time, these times, are over. I will keep complete control over all of my creations, or else, they wonít go anywhere past my own websites. Iím serious about this, publishers will find me a nightmare to deal with. I have enough experience from my last six published books. And yet, somehow, I managed to keep all my rights even then. I see no reason for this to change for anything else I will ever create in my lifetime. I will need an army of lawyers indeed before I let go of anything I ever create, thatís for sure. Fuck ya! I guess in the end it never was a question of money, more a question of control and freedom.

I think I will write that last short story of Anna Maria, and then put a final point to it until it goes anywhere, if it ever goes anywhere. I will need to come up with a similar idea and project and develop that new project from scratch, in English. Iím thinking that a film script might be a better idea, but I think a novel with as much dialogues as it is possible, just like I did for Anna Maria, is the answer. Iíve got my work cut out for me, I have think real hard for something even better than Anna Maria, and think up the seven to ten short stories that will compose that new book. I think it is the best solution for me under the circumstances, for my next project.

So there will be a next project