Lots of 'work' on. Still ill. But getting there. Only painkillers, Giles Peterson tapes, 19th century erotica and Silk Cut can save me now! Also in the pipeline: Sholz Vitrine: the fractional future of fractional future music
- Daze and Confused. Post-rationalism never tasted so good!

Rollo Kim, 'Creative Consultant'.

Task in Hand

NoT Well. Think parts of me have flu. While other parts of me have better things to do. Too Much To Do. I feel like a bubble that's about to burst, physically speaking.

Roll[o].

TURN OFF THE INTERNET

Roll[o].

I cannot find a single crispyone interesting thing on the entirity of thee A-Z interwork. Half the campsites I'm lookinglass at in this magnificentred portal of the futurewind, have not been updated since the Inqusition. Awpul.

Rollo.

Do Me A Favour: this place sells songs by Stray Dog City and puts food on our plates. Shameless, I know...

"A lot of the stuff I was singing about then was all metaphorical. I wasn't talking like I am now. I guess it's back to how much personal power you feel that you have. Like, if I'm 17 and I don't even know when I'm hungry, am I tired, have I had any sleep - if you don't even know that, then how can you talk about lyrics that come from such an unconscious place? I always said, 'I don't know', and I didn't." Liz Fraser

Purpose is not achievement. For example, achievement can mean being successful at a job you don’t want, to enable you to afford an expensive car you don’t need, in order to impress a girlfriend you don’t like... A purpose is something you express continually in order to bring you pleasure, not a list of things you have to achieve.
anxiety culture

Everytime I try to look her way, her face is always slightly out of frame, or turned away. No matter how long I wait. It remains vague.

Rollo

NOT FOR ME THANK YOU

He took off his shoes, held one in each hand and waded out into the inches deep centre of the lake, where we assumed he'd gone to do himself in, where he sat down and it barely came up to his knees, where he cried, and that's when he really looked pathetic - tears that shook his upper body, screwed up his face, shook his hair around.
"Who is he?"
"That's his boss."
"Right..."z

Steve's windscreen wipers have stopped working. He apologizes, because it's still raining. It's still light. And careering through the centre to the outskirts of the town, where the buildings are increasingly abandoned, the view through the smeared and rain-beaded windows becomes increasingly abstracted.

The vague shapes of pedestrians, magnefied, smoothed out around the edges; street lights and signs stretched, suggest destinations. But Steve keeps driving, spiralling towards the derellect edges of the town. Entire blocks of tall buildings stand empty, windows black and fractured, broken.

A fragile melody plays on the ineffectual car stereo, endlessly repeating; as muted and cartoon-esque as the rain-smeared view.

"Mummy's favourite abortion."

When I put on his jacket I felt them there in the inside pockets - the shoes he'd worn when he was younger - and there were still blades of freshly cut grass in the tread of their tiny soles... My full stops are in all the wrong places.

When I answered the door, I'm fairly certain that my nob was hanging out. The cleaner said that she'd come back later, but why wake me up to tell me that?

The windows don't open far enough - you can barely get your head out - to suck in some cooler air. It's too warm in here - but the source of the heat remains a mystery.

I want to help you but when you get down I feel it too. We'll have to phone someone else - see if they can help.

Oh you have it all worked out but then when it comes to sitting down and doing it, well... it's just a million and one disgarded milk cartons. It's always some beefy middle aged skin who feels that it's his duty to force his way between two tiny kids to get to the front and shout for songs by some other band.

Only the bottom half of her legs were shaven. I think I might have to be ill for a while. I'm feeling sort of cold in my bones... I've been trying on clothes I haven't had on in years. I still don't look mature enough to wear them.

Roll[o].

And I moaned when I wasn't doing enough with my time. Tired around the edges. So very edges. Completely lost what it was I was going to blog about now. I'm bruised and fatiguuuueeeeddd and I'm off to do it all again tomorrow. I don't seem to leave the safety of my room often enough - but when I do it's for days on end. Bllrrlrlrrlrrrrrrrrr... My mind is a blank.

MY BEST FRIEND IS A DRAG KING

Chris Morris related: can you spot what is seriously hypocritical about this picture? They may have been spliced from different issues but still.

Lack of updates due to illness, fatigue, heat, and writing lots.

An excellent Chris Morris site.

Secret Society for the Abolition of Secret Societies.

Roll[o].