Tuesday 21 September 1999

Barbarbarous capints atios cese.

meta-date: Tue Sep 21 10:21:00 1999

In ear headphones sound crap. I wish I hadn't slept on my headphones on Thursday. Broken. Everything I touch I break. Everything goes eventually - except the pain. The emptiness. The cancer within, relentlessly devouring everything within until I am nothing but a withered husk. Do you like the dark angel? Night like the wings of a million ravens blanketing the sky - the stars their murderous eyes. Home is where the heart is. Contra-flow on the M1 - bet that was fun this morning. Clouds frozen as I zip past. Blue sky peeks through. No hope. Is there any point to going on? How many moles does it take to cover my fat arse? Visions of a warehouse full of far eastern immigrants clipping moles with nail scissors to make my trousers. I think I'll make up a set of lyrics for the song "these are a few of my favourite things" - don't know if I could think of enough words to rhyme with things though... Would be amusing and scary at the same time...