Guess If I'm blogging, I'm feeling better again. There's times when all I want to do is blog, but can't think how to start. That said there's times I wanna chuck myself outa windows. Not through suicidal impulses, I'll have you know, I don't want this misconstrued (and no I'm not in 'De Nile'), but just to see what it feels like. You know the whole le parkour, urban-jungling thing is fine if you want to threaten yourself with death, but all I want is the experience - imagine, air juggling your cheeks, eyes drying out through the rapid passage, clean, sweeping everything past you as you fall, Batman sticking his head out of the window as you pass. Maybe it's just the high pressure or the heat, but that seems a nice thing.

Anyway, as I sat on my window ledge a few moments go, eating my eggs, roasted peppers (did them myself, left them in oil overnight - luvvly) and soda bread the bells started going. I was sat there, staring at the big cathedral just opposite, and I was thinking 'move damn you!' Course, I know damn right that it wasn't going to move, like it had the capacity to hear my thoughts, or reason, or any capacity whatsoever, except to sit there and just be regal. Just one of those peculair hman creations, things that have one particular quality, but no other. Like anyone I associate movement with noise, and vice versa - you drop a stick it makes a noise, swoosh-bang-clatter - but this big bolstered building makes a noise like a ventriloquist's dummy, sitting there smug, saying 'it wasn't me, honest guv.'

Course, I'm no fan of churches and cathedrals either. Big bloody buildings that drew the blood of thousands of less-privilieged people just so a bishop (no god) could live like a king in his fancy raiments. Sat there at the centre of a web of lesser evils, built for the rich exploiters of bath, like a gilt crucifix, pretty enough, but reeking of death.

Mutha...! As I was writing the church doors opened and the sunday mass poured out, like so much unleavened bread. And, for fuck's sake, as htey were leaving, they were accosted by a full African choir, who danced for them! I started joining in the singing, jigging along, rolled into my bathroom, then realised that I was singing all those hebrew folks ongs from my childhood. The most professed atheist, goes out of his way to insult those hung-up on the deity, and he finds himself singing "Manish Tannahm halileh-hazeh, mi-cohl hal-ey-ous." at the drop of some tztitzis.

woodyallen.com

Went to the Walcot nation day yesterday. Wasn't quite sure what to make of it. As a perpetual outsider, I might be expected to make a good observer, but that doesn't follow - depends whether the outsider ends up looking out or in - anyway, Walcot seems to consist of people who love being the outsiders, people who always wanted to be the outsiders. Nice for them to a have a choice, but then I guess we all do. They're the same middle-class-yet-white-trash stock I'm springing from, those who, because of mentality, internal codes, or simple social deformity, can't, shalln't or won't make it as part of the smug middle class - A1s and B1s, as opposed to us sultry Cs.

The Always Amusing Euphemism Generator

The Infinite Teen Slang Dictionary

Ham Hamentaschen in jewish tradition are hats made of nasty pastry you eat to punish a man called Haman. They don't punish him so much as you, from my recollection at least. Perhaps they simply needed more schmaltz. Then again everything could do with more Schmaltz.

Milk Bottle Of The Week

___THE ECONOMISTS___________________ I'm not sure the excessive underscore is absolutely necessary, but it is statistically significant.

Army commander battered officers with dildo You want comment?

Careful, Careful! Aww.....

Finally. Taken much effort, but managed to shift the Gillen from my computer. Boy blew up his own, and 'spects to use mine 24/7? Boy gotta earn some respect. Specially since boy in question had already decimated the machine, tearing off the power buttons, so we had to jump start it, and taken off the side 'for ventilation'. Nuts. Only ventilation he needs is another asshole t' let him breathe when he talks. Or something.

Anyhoo, no news here .Well, there's plenty but not that I'm going to divulge with the likes of you, faceless voyeurs all of you. If there are any of you. I hear that there's soemthing daft like more bloggers than blog readers. (Kieron's theory was that this has to be wrong cos bloggers read their own blogs, not like professional statisticians would adjust for something like that.) Well, I woulda kept a diary anyhoo, so pouring my words into the unjudgemental void ain't such a difference, just saves me buying pencil and paper. Which is good for the environment, right? Cos paper and pencil's are wood, graphite, and machining processes, all detractors from the beauty of nature, by chainsaw and paint.

But then again, how much power is this thing using - frickin non-fissile fossile fuels pouring away, and no going back on them. Not that it's going to stop me - this thing's on all day, and I work for a bleeding computer magazine, in an office that uses more power and paper than an origami factory; so if I'm going to start setting up my own paper walls, getting neurotic (that is, finding a conscience, or seeing it as my benefit to do seem to find one), wood-pulp and fossil fuels probably ain't the best place to start. Maybe I'll start with letting those who are less fortunate have what they need/want. Starting with letting Kieron back on this machine, infernal though it is.

The Credit Card Prank

POO PRICE - How much is your poo worth ?