“Our logic is full of holes...
I can see the bubbles.”
This part of the website is dead. It is kept online both as a public record and as a dreadful warning. For current content, please consult the root of this domain.
void* Randomness ( )
/* How are you gentlemen? All your James Joyce are belong to us! */
{
/* September 29, 2004 */
/* There are spider-webs hanging from the ceiling of my room.

But there are no spiders.

This worries me somewhat - but not as much as the slugs that don't live downstairs. */
/* September 15, 2004 */
/* Well. Here we are again in the frozen north - not so frozen yet, but give it time and once again the road will be icy and the puddles all mirror-brittle in the winter sun. It's noticeably colder up here than it was in Southampton, even now.

Everything I write with those Magnetic Poetry kits sounds like I'm a goth. This irritates me. I may post an example later, if I can get a photo of it.

Mmmm. Off to put in large order with novatech. */
/* September 12, 2004 */
/* The sunrise came in through the patio doors and bounced off the wood flooring, coating the living room in gold. I sat up to watch it and my skin goosebumped as the cool air hit it.

Summer is gone, folks. Dark nights and colder methodologies call - it's time for me to fly back north again. */
/* September 7, 2004 */
/* A car driving along the road stops, and a woman gets out. She lays a bunch of flowers by the side of the road, and gets back into the car. They drive off.

I'll never know the story. I'll never know why. */
return 0;
}

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