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To breed an animal with the prerogative to promise – is that not precisely the paradoxical task which nature has set herself with regard to humankind? is it not the real problem of humankind? . . . The fact that this problem has been solved to a large degree must seem all the more surprising to the person who can fully appreciate the opposing force, forgetfulness. Forgetfulness is not just a vis inertiae, as superficial people believe, but is rather an active ability to suppress, positive in the strongest sense of the word, to which we owe the fact that what we simply live through, experience, take in, no more enters our consciousness during digestion (one could call it spiritual ingestion) than does the thousand-fold process which takes place with our physical consumption of food, our so-called ingestion. To shut the doors and windows of consciousness for a while; not to be bothered by the noise and battle with which our underworld of serviceable organs work with and against each other; a little peace, a little tabula rasa of consciousness to make room for something new, above all for the nobler functions and functionaries, for ruling, predicting, predetermining (our organism runs along oligarchic lines, you see) – that, as I said, is the benefit of active forgetfulness, like a doorkeeper or guardian of mental order, rest and etiquette: from which we can immediately see how there could be no happiness, cheerfulness, hope, pride, immediacy, without forgetfulness. The person in whom this apparatus of suppression is damaged, so that it stops working, can be compared (and not just compared –) to a dyspeptic; he cannot ‘cope’ with anything . . . And precisely 35 this necessarily forgetful animal, in whom forgetting is a strength, representing a form of robust health, has bred for himself a counter-device, memory, with the help of which forgetfulness can be suspended in certain cases, – namely in those cases where a promise is to be made: consequently, it is by no means merely a passive inability to be rid of an impression once it has made its impact, nor is it just indigestion caused by giving your word on some occasion and finding you cannot cope, instead it is an active desire not to let go, a desire to keep on desiring what has been, on some occasion, desired, really it is the will’s memory: so that a world of strange new things, circumstances and even acts of will may be placed quite safely in between the original ‘I will’, ‘I shall do’ and the actual discharge of the will, its act, without breaking this long chain of the will. But what a lot of preconditions there are for this! In order to have that degree of control over the future, man must first have learnt to distinguish between what happens by accident and what by design, to think causally, to view the future as the present and anticipate it, to grasp with certainty what is end and what is means, in all, to be able to calculate, compute – and before he can do this, man himself will really have to become reliable, regular, necessary, even in his own self-image, so that he, as someone making a promise is, is answerable for his own future!

The room was hot, stuffy and smelt liked blood and sweat but Adeline couldn’t help but smile to herself as her brother pulled her through the crowd to the side of the ring. This was the first time since her sister died that they had snuck out of the palace: undetected as far as Addie was aware, but then again you could never really tell with the SO14 (aka a Protection Command within the Specialist Operations directorate of the London Metropolitan Police.) They were so fucking sneaky. Arriving a few minutes into the match was Adeline and her brother’s way of avoiding attention. Nobody cared if there was royalty in the room, not if there were two guys beating each other to a pulp under glaring spotlights also present. They were totally anonymous - the heir and the spare, as they had dubbed themselves as children - or as totally anonymous as the Prince and Princess of the United Kingdom ever could be.

Adeline wedged herself between her brother and his best friend within touching distance of the ring. The brunette would be the first to admit that she didn’t really know how boxing worked exactly, but she loved the electricity that jolted through the air during a match and she adored spending time with her brother. But on this night, her moss-hued eyes kept flitting back to one of the men in the ring. He was skinny, at least for a middleweight boxer, but his muscles might as well have been sculpted by Botticelli himself. Adeline was no stranger to attractive people - men and women - so she was mildly shocked that she was so infatuated with his appearance. What was it about him? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. All she knew was that she would be more than happy to hop into the nearest bed with him and as she was the Princess, she assumed he would simply oblige. That was, if her brother didn’t try to drag her home.

To say the past few months hadn’t turned out like Rosie planned would be a colossal understatement. She had succumbed to the bond between mother and child as soon as she had held tiny Alaska in her arms. Adoption was no longer a plausible option for the girl, she just couldn’t bring herself to sign the necessary papers. Nothing could have prepared the young girl for the chaos of mother hood; not even the most horrifying episodes of Sixteen and Pregnant. It meant three or four hours sleep a night if she was lucky, constant nappy changes and trying to cook whilst holding a baby and countless toys. It had also meant giving up Boston and with it, her dream of studying Hotel Management. Rosie told herself it was alright, that she’d find a new dream, but then she’d receive an email or phone call from Alex and the pain of letting her dream slip through her fingers was heartbreakingly real. 

its like it never left. I'm starting to be able to get through my day on a soft note- not with harsh strokes of consciousness but butterfly flutters. In the month ahead, I'm afraid to see what might happen. But nothing can be worse than what was 2 months ago. Sorry, I'll never bring it up again. Stop putting yourself in positions where you will have to apologize. I guess thats what it is with love, there comes a time when you have to cut off the ends and start fresh. Its like the good song "Everyday People" by Sly & the Family Stone (here we go). IIIIIIIII AM EVERYDAY PEOPLE. yeah.yeah. 

There are a lot of loud noises in the city... The police sirens, the kids, The cars and buses, The birds, the sound of love and whispers of destruction. Plus actual destruction like construction what the sH IeeeT.