Author S. K. Nicholas

My testicular scan is tomorrow, which is worrying, yet at the same time good, as I can get it out of the way. I’m pretty sure it’s due to a build up of fluid, but there’s always the chance that it’s going to be bad news, so I’ll just have to wait and see. The appointment for the ultrasound scan is at 1.45pm, which is irrelevant to everyone but me. I’ve been having a lot of dreams about Helen recently, my ex-girlfriend, dreams about her being with other men, about me being alone and her with the comfort of others. I guess they’re annoying but they serve a purpose, to show me that it’s over and that she’s going her separate way. I’m glad I wont see her for four months now, because it’s enough time to move on comfortable, hopefully.

I have four canvas’s to work on, one of which is 7ft by 6ft and hangs on my bedroom wall, I guess I’ll start tomorrow or Wednesday, or whenever I get the urge. It’s a strange feeling to paint from the imagination, from memory. It enables you to relive all those things from your past and at the same time to put a label on them, to clean them up and box them away. To thrust yourself onto the canvas and flash colour from left to right, it’s very natural and very pure. There’s something self satisfying in the act of creation on your own, in excluding everybody from your most private and inner self, in being isolated from all distractions. I want to paint nature at its most purest, my nature, and to deny others from its birth place.

Games of snooker were played today, but thoughts of hospital and recent dreams disturbed my enjoyment somewhat, but they will surely fade. I want to spend some money, I want to buy material things to make my life more full. Posters on my wall now, makes the grain seem more colourful. I’d like to paint a sun that looks like yellow crayons, a bit like Van Gogh, I’d like to paint my lover, as I feel that would be the greatest sign of affection, but there’s no lover to paint. Maybe if McDonald’s crumbles into the sea my life will be happier, maybe if radio was swept into the sky, I could hear the things I really want to hear. I would like to glimpse, something quite wonderful.

The noise of trees is swiftly increasing with every fallen leaf. Shimmering surfaces in the cloudy air, hanging in the grey sky, moist like a gun shot wound. Waking up from circular dreams and circular recognition, burning those brain cells, to be swept under dusty carpets. Stapled paper sold for a profit, young humans making me feel embarrassed and unwell, television proves to be the friend that always treats you the best- always leaving you wanting more. Embraces touch the skin like hair, touching the hair that’s your pillow whilst you sleep. Waking from slumber to breathe upon the face that leaves like leafs, breaking from their trees, never ceasing to be. I like those old swings, the ones that you don’t find any more. A ride in a car, all the way to nowhere whilst remembering nothing. This is absurd, it’s too funny and sad to imagine.