July 06, 2004

Welcome my son... Welcome. To the Machine

Money. Its a gas. Have a cigar, boy, you're gonna go far. If any of you floydians out there think this article is about an over publicised band whi cant even stick to what they write by, then you can all go to hell. I'm merely using some rather appropriate lines to methaphorise my life. Yes indeedy,ladies, gentlemen and sundry eunuchs, I have sold out, so to speak. I have sacrified my values, my beliefs and most of my free time to the altar of Mammon. I have got what is referred to in the trade parlance as A JOB.
To tell you the truth, its not so bad. It's actually pretty fun, life is pretty enjoyable, alcohol flows rather freely and, well, generally, things are ok. Except for the fact that i have had anda real freetime to spend on this here blog. Thats ok. I've used most of it to finish STAR WARS: KNIGHTS OF THE OLD REPUBLIC. AAaah... escapism. You gotta love it. A dream is a wish your heart makes... when youre fast asleep... In a dream you can leave your heartaches... Whatever you wish for you keep.
Sorry, a little stream of consciousness writing over there. Hey, James Joyce gets away with it. Why not me?
I saw some really interesting stuff on another guys blog called found poetry. Never heard of it until now. It involves poetry composed of words you see around you. Only. I am now prepared to torture you with some.

Aim Aim.
Do not.
Philips do not.
Finished when off.
Pump. Choice of new generation.
Fridge the internet baby.
That sucked.

That last line wasnt part of the poetry by the way.

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