Well now, that's what I call a hiatus...

Good grief, a dusty old canvas in the corner of my shambles of a webspace.

Folks, there a re numerous reasons to complain at the moment, and fewer reasons to celebrate. However, I endeavour to grasp the full value of those good aspects, so that they outweigh the grey.

I could tell you all about my lack of work, lack of a wage, lack of direction, lack of love, lack of joy, lack of faith, lack of positivity, lack of youthfulnesss, lack of adventure and I could spin webs of self-centred melancholy until I was blue in the face.

What would it be worth though? All those things are just the facts at the moment. They are rubbish, difficult, saddening facts, but facts they are, and as such they cannot be exchanged for a delightful, fictional existence. This sense of constant foreboding is the natural way for the moment...

Fortunately though, loves, we have that great, glorious invention of sound that so enlivens the blackness all around me. Conversation is the pulse. Music is the layers, the pictures and colours. I listen to "The Fireman" and I see everything I aspire to. Seasick Steve does my reflection for me, be tells me bout my own worries and how they pale in comparison to everything else out there. I gt on thephone, get out into the air and speak to folks andd I remember the true value of thinsg as they are, full of hope, bburioied undder a crust of rust.

It is difficult, particularly on these very quiet nights, to remember to listen; but when I do, I am encouraged despite myself, despite the truth of things, despite the apparently compulsary search for money. With sound I am justified to myself.

Savvy? Goodnight, then.