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Grim Tales
Sunday, December 11, 2005

Darkest time of the year, darkest time for the soul. SADness everywhere. A v close friend has cancer and I'm working out a way to deal with this, especially that I now know he reads my blog. It's so much better when you don't know that, isn't it? This house is full of spies - and I think they're on to me.
So I will have to revert to code and poetry and see where that gets me. It's made me wonder really about blogs and specifically this blog and its purpose in my life, one among many diaries, journals, writings - all with just a slightly different set of information - not deliberately tailored - or not consciously, anyway - but there's summat goin on here.
You put up this blog in the same way as you accidentally left your notebook hanging around for your husband to read. Take the consequences, like you had to last time. Don't you think that being honest might be simpler? Or is that just a little bit too obvious?
Hmmm. Talking to myself on a blog. For chrissakes.
In spite of the dark and the sadness and worry and phantasmogoria piece I am working on with Jack the Ripper in central position - just every now and again - I feel a strange glimmer of excitement. What's that then? What on earth is that?
Certainly nothing to do with the UB40 gig I went to last night - a friend made me, alright? Brought on a bout of extreme depression. Was sandwiched between two large ladies dancing. Felt like I was in a car wash. They have been doing those numbers for 25 years. It all felt lifeless and mechanical. They chew while they sing. I guess it relieves the boredom. Wished I'd brought some gum myself. What a contrast to the National gig (pic is of Matt the singer) I went to in Leeds recently - they are poets. Passion, wit, tunes. Everything you need.
10:55 AM  

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