Oh jesus christ...

...blah blahbalh, maon, bitch, whine, rubarb, rubarb, rubarb.

I was going to give you the extended version of this post, but unfortunatly, my computer died halfway through it. So this is the condensed version.

I don't care what anyone says. These are my feelings. This blog is my feelings. Yes, they are edited, either by the booze that I have consumed or by the feelings of the people who I know read this blog, but these are my feeelings! If you find them stagnat or unreal, deal with it. My life is basically filled with booze and essays. Well done if you find more meaning to my life than I do. Well done indeed. You are obviously the kind of person who willshift throgh a ton of muck to find a penny.

Oh Jesus Christ indeed. Save me fromthe critics and editors of this world. You cannot seem to save me from anything else. And beleive me,when I get down to Hell, I am going to make a pact with Satan (because even he seems to see my soul as a useless comodity as it is now) to work with him until I can find a way to kick God in the balls. Hindsight or no, drunkeness or no, I emplore my readers to realise this: yes, sometimes I do not rememberwhat is importaint. Yes, sometimes I omit what is improtaint because it could be harmful to those other people I know. Yes, sometimes I omit things that I think or feel or do because itcould be halmful to myself to remember. Sometimes language, as much as I hate to admit it, is simply not enough to convey the true emotion that ripples beneath everyones everyday mask of acceptability.

This blog is not reallly her to immortalise my every move. It is a amalgamation of what I am, what I feel, what I say, what I do, what I think, what I cannot think, what I write between lectures, what I think between moments, whatI cannat envision without an atlas to "lifeas WE know it".

No one knows what life as WE know it truky is.

So please forgive me if sometimes this blog seems like a rushed narraitive, but it may surprise you to realise that I think in narraive. I am consantly re-editing the sentences I spoke a minute age, I am constantly framing my own experiances within that framework of the human mind that demands a cohesive plot. Unfortunately, Life dosen't work that way.

We are all spirals, and I am sorry if you do not inderstand what it means to feel the tug Of that "other space'

This other space is my own .Accesable, and the MACHINES cannot function.

oH DEAR GID,i AM POSSIBLY too drunk to be typing.

Obviously.

But I live on, and hopeflully, friends will accept my appologies for what has happened and my life will return as normal.

A future where the human body a gave a flame...

Ps: Imogen and Clarisse, I will be comming to pay you a visit unnnpanned or a lightsfalure.

peace out.