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He's busy;
he's writing a lyric on
the universality of how
space writes dilemmas in our souls.
He's
not here;
he's gone somewhere else he didn't want
to go.
He told me to say hi to you and
he might be back in a
few years or so.
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| Bicycle Repairman - our hero!
Yes, wherever bicycles are broken, or menanced by international communism, Bicycle Repairman is ready.
- Monty Python.
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| Oh dear. It's only 14:48, Monday, and I've been having faint bursts of feeling like it's the weekend for several hours now.
I think it's because I wrote an exam first thing this morning, and I don't have school tomorrow.
What I do have tomorrow, is a choice between Bible Study, and going to hear about the cobalt mine slaves and rape victims in eastern Congo. I think I shall choose the latter this time.
I also have the choice between writing more in this entry, or not. But, as Bob Dylan observes,
Every time I pass that way
I always hear my name.
Therefore with that minor sacrilege (to say which, I suppose, is a sacrilege in itself), I end.
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| What happens if I start writing a blog entry with absolutely no idea what it will be about? umm... that's a pretty pointless question isn't it? I'm going to go make a sauce of garlic, butter, and a mystery herb presently, which I shall then proceed to smear on bread to be heated in the oven. And you thought that's how all my entries start? Wong. I always know where they start, they just... evolve. A word it, I warned you, and this is plain stupidity. At least I actually told you something about my life this time. Be happy. | | |
| My academic career is hanging by a thread; six threads, to be precise, of nylon, three of which are wound around with copper wire.
Which is a slight exxageration, I admit. Neither does it neccessarily mean that I am a good guitar player. But it is almost the end of term... argh...
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