hot and strong
with a spoon in them
I'm presently obsessing about all things which pander to my proliferating disgust of the people I've had the displeasure of knowing, and I haven't even had the first cup of coffee.
This is beautiful truth at its finest, as I don't actually drink coffee unless I've been standing around with fifteen blokes outside smoking and the temperature has dropped like Sir Mix-a-Lot's dignity. Then, and only then, will I have coffee.
I am morbidly excited about Robert Downey JR's album, as I was morbidly excited about Dave Gahan's solo album. Narcotics Anonymous will only get one into the studio, rest assured.
I used to have disgust for Anonymous consortiums before I actually found myself in the place that I required Alcoholics Anonymous. I was making a mess of myself. Gone were those nights I drank with friends only to write meaningful DiaryLand entries involving blissfully recycled bilge of days yore. Gone was the utter sense of freedom and the horrible realization that I simply cannot do this alone.
On top of drinking, I have taken a nice drug or six in the last two years. I introduce myself as an alcoholic-addict. There is freedom in releasing that from the breast-plate.
I'm preparing myself for more American travel this year, as I make it a habit to not stay in one place for very long. I have a home-base where I put effort into fruitless activities and save up until I can flee. I enjoy this lifestyle to the best of my sobriety-laden abilities and whisk them around with spoons.
Speaking of spoons, your daily spoonerism is "Dear Queen".
I've been a very bad mother. I have neglected you savage beasts for thirty-four days. I will try to make it a point to update, but you all seemed to have died when I wasn't aware. I shall mourn your passings with a solitary encounter with miso soup.
Or I'll just create a better layout, and then the fun can begin all over again.
time & machine