Internet, darling. The universe is marvellous.
There are pink mufflers and matching woollen caps.
There are pretty sexmuffins running loose.
There's a new lighter case with beautiful hand crafted work done on it.
There's a very mellow sounding Rod Stewart singing at the moment.
Nick Cave is out there, sounding like Nick Cave. Doing regular stuff, asking for batteries, in his Nick Cave voice.
Momos are being made somewhere in the world.
Puppy is being puppylike.

What more could we want ?

Moving baby !

WE ARE MOVING !
Ah shucks to being in love :P

Lately baby

Lately..

I haven’t been studying at all. And I have a million exams coming up, one right after the other.

I have been sleeping especially well. Thank you, angel expectorant.

I haven’t been able to keep any food down after eight. What a horrible way to lose weight : /

I’ve acquired a few things that I’m very pleased with. Consumerism \m/

Being unable to use Nivea Soft anymore, for secret club reasons, I have tried on at least twenty different products. You’re wrong. The orange thing leaves me smelling like a fruit. Take your stinky stuff back!

I’ve read Elfriede so many times that the pages are getting worn out. Each sentence is like a personal attack, her words steeped in poisons. I wonder what it’s like to be able to think on such a broad scale. She makes me feel so fettered by relations.

I’ve been playing the Anthology version of Helter Skelter over and over. Do you, don’t you want me to love you, yo.

I’ve been so grateful for being in love. It helps that he’s totally delicious. You should try it some time. Being in love, that is.

I counted all my jewellery. Shocked : o

You haven’t updated asofterworld in ages. You guys are bums. And I think I see a sneaky theme in the photographs.

I’ve been thinking of names for children. We might be adopting some more. I want a beautiful name this time. I have a theory that the name affects the personality. What were we expecting with Fungus? A donkey of a cow? Bingo.

My hair has grown!

I feel tired really easily. I think it’s not physical, but more to do with the way things are. There’s going to be this period, this really tedious period, where things are going to remain in this painful tandem. I think I’ve been expecting or waiting for change for a while now. It’s tiring.

M’s grown big and beautiful : ) She sleeps on my lap all the time now. She looks so gorgeous that I want to bite her. If I wasn’t afraid of her slashing my face to tiny strips, I would.

Amidst all these surrounding massifs to which athletes come the woman realizes that there is no stable centre in her life, not even a recreation centre where a life of recreation might be waiting. The family can do good. But it expects to eat good food too. And to bag the quarry on feast days. The loved ones are so fond of Mother. There they all sit, together, blissful. The woman talks to her son (bacon infested with the maggots of love) and fills him with her all-pervasive low and tender shrieking. She is concerned about him. Protects him with her soft weapons. Every day he seems to die a little more, the older he becomes. The son takes no pleasure in Mother’s griping and promptly demands a present. Brief transactions such as these, transactions involving toys or sports equipment, are their way of trying to communicate. Lovingly she flings herself on her son, but even as a torrent she simply flows away, to be heard somewhere far beneath him, in the depths. And she has only this one child. Her husband comes home in from the office and instantly she hugs her body in tight so that the Man’s senses will not scent a bit of what they fancy. Music sounds forth, straight out of the baroque era and the record player. Imperative: to resemble the full-colour holiday snaps as closely as possible. Not to change, from one year to the next. There isn’t a single truthful word in this child, I swear; all he wants is to be off skiing, you take it from me.

LENNON: "It is a teacher-pupil relationship. That's what people don't understand. She's the teacher and I'm the pupil. I'm the famous one, the one who's supposed to know everything, but she's my teacher. She's taught me everything I fucking know. She was there when I was nowhere, when I was the nowhere man. She's my Don Juan." (a reference to Carlos Castaneda's Yaqui Indian teacher) "That's what people don't understand. I'm married to fucking Don Juan, that's the hardship of it. Don Juan doesn't have to laugh; Don Juan doesn't have to be charming; Don Juan just is. And what goes on around Don Juan is irrelevant to Don Juan."

: )

I woke up early just so that I could feel the morning in my veins. It’s like gravel. Nothing else really quite cuts it and that is sad in its own way. So I sit with my gravelly mornings, completely dependent on my caffeine buzz to make the world coherent. It’s like being dragged awake with gluey sleep, coma like, still clogging my insides. It’s like a violent shove. I can see the world outside from where I’m sitting and it makes me want to draw all the curtains. There isn’t enough caffeine and tobacco in the world at times to make me ready to face the day and its cheery minions. The thought of having to work makes me contemplate suicide. I should be allowed to pass the rest of my life in my sweatpants. I seriously am thinking about discontinuing my newspapers. There’s nothing I wish to read about the world, especially not this word vomit, not by people who can use hideous words such as snuck and not have it on their conscience. No one draws cherry trees or their blossoms. The world does not seem to miss these things. I have no real reason to be awake. I can’t think of a single person I’d want to talk to right now.