25 and I still fucking love you...

"If we turn this into a war, only the innocent will suffer." A truelly excellent article on the current state of affairs from Grant Morrison.

A girl called SoaPy TiT WanK. [cheered me up anyway! And I don't go in for that kind of fun stuff]. If that don't D-serve a link I don't know what does. You dirty!

[I'm just expressing mE current frame of mind, Me nO try to fuck you over. We all the same, yOu and mE and eVree1. Why you no trust me? Why you think me less? Me only want to kNoW JoY .... why U sO angreee?]

We never spoke. But then maybe words are not the ultimate... "When you read the word 'Tree', you do not see the word for Tree, [yeah, a fucking capital T, why not?!] you see a tree...' We're so obsessed with words - but they are fundamentally flawed. You can't communicate with mere words. The more you use, the less succesfully you communicate your intentions. Words are easily misdirected, misinterpreted, misaligned, missed, miss-spelllldd, misplaced... ignored, erased, burned, ridiculed, read aloud in the wrong tone of voice, resented. What's the longest surviving form of human communication? Pictograms and cave paintings. The oldest governing body? The Masonic form - and it's based on performance, visual display and symbolism... mathematics is universal, words am not. Even visual art and music outlive words... And mE aM aspiring writer, who refuse to spell correct... and all that...

"Before the British Broadcasting Corporation in London would allow Whitley to appear on any of its programs, it insisted that he pass a polygraph arranged by them. Again, he was found to be telling the truth about his encounter... Even fifteen years after his first encounter, he remains stressed. "

"Fall in love with everyone..." The Sufi, Whitley Strieber, Dr Ability, Michael, and Paul Weller?

The smug smirkage of my DaD, the tears and concern of MuM, the stubbornness and ignorance of my Gran, the politics of a militant Gandy [according to tests!], the physical appearance of a drug addled John Hegley, the mental instability of my extended family, the combined dress sense of everyone I ever, ever met, a sexuall preference for angry, intelligent, brattish, pouting, boyish girls, a musical preference for free-jazz drums and minimalism, a preference for total, beautiful honesty. The singing ability of Billy Bragg, after a car crash, the writing ability of a well-meaning six year old Goth, who's been force-fed a hand full of sleeping pills by a smiling neighbour claiming they are 'special sweetieeeeeeeeesssssss'.

"Twenty five and I still fucking love you!" A. Crackerdog

Rollo