“Our logic is full of holes...
I can see the bubbles.”
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void* Randomness ( )
/* How are you gentlemen? All your James Joyce are belong to us! */
{
/* January 2, 2003 */
/* [[ ... they're trawling the river for our bodies; they think we're dead
but we're not, we're sitting in George's kitchen, Paul on guitar (this beginning to sound like a beatle fan convention) and I on vocals, singing The Ungodly (originally by Decameron) very quietly, while many others, disapproving and drowsy, sleep in alcoholic stupor next door... can't feel anything, just singing quietly... "find the ungodly and break them / find the uncaring and take them away..." ]]

"Written" (more like verbally gobbed) last night, at George's late New Year's Party. I think the double brackets come from my unfortunate experiences with bash shell scripting... */
/* January 1, 2003 */
/* "I'd rather talk to you than leave it all unsaid..."

They're singing "Auld Lang Syne" upstairs; `they' being my sister and her friends, singing it half-joking... it comes down the stairs, filtered by so many doors, that by the time it reaches me it's soft as dust and nearly as suffocating. Too many people singing in the new year, too few singing out the old, mourning.

It's not been a good year, to be honest. There has been too much - death - only slightly scared to give it its real name - and too much of a School I hated, and too much of my demonic obsessive hateful `Love'... Oh, hell.

My dear - now that you know who you are - whether you like it or not, I am sorry (cf. sorrowful) and I miss you. */
return 0;
}

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