Friday, August 29, 2008


Picture it, if you will. A hazy room lit by candles - one for Mum, one for Nana, an incence stick each; a tall inverted pyramid candle for Hope and a Joss stick for Luck.

The speakers are rendering the delicately beautiful opening bars of 'These are the Days' by Van Morrison

and the listener alone has a skinful of prescription medications, enough for Africa, which lend an aura of peace and tranquility which helps to overcome the fact that the pills don't fucking work and then the the most horrific sound is heard, gradually getting louder, almost as if it's coming closer...

it's the dog farting, Again.

She really knows how to kill the mood.

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Gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc - We gladly feast on those who would subdue us ...