This is my story and the best thing I can say is that I hope it apologises for itself. I've had it with making excuses about the way I see the world. I'm going to put the whole truth down matter-of-fact or allegory style or all fucked up like the way my mind jumps in my nights of sweat and fear.
This is my story and it's coming out of somewhere you'd call my heart if it didn't fuel itself on opiates. I beginning to work out that the soul is what you make of it and you're only really free in those moments that you can look at yourself from a great distance.
This is my story and I'm not going to pretend I'm still living it. It's over. However I tell it, it can't come out like it's still alive. It's stillborn but if I try my hardest I can keep it from being abortive.
This is my story and it's about love. It's about Autumn. It's about tearing pages out of history books to make room for your own thoughts.
This is my story and I'm going to see if I can't use it to empty these greasy black barrels and calm myself down with some epiphany-like release. I'm going to tell it to to you now because really you're not how I show you in it. I mean you're not any more. What I mean to say is
This is my story and it's about England. It's about what I love and what I've lived for. How I've seen death and decay and I've seen beauty. You know I told you that ninety-nine percent of people look at something beautiful and want to destroy it. Well, that's what I'm getting at.
This is my story and I won't be distracted. I won't let voices of reason and trivial nonsense get in my way. I won't be long but I won't rush it. I'll have my say and I'll let you judge me on it.
This is my story. I hope you like it.