Who else would have sat through Beckett's *breathe in* semi-neroutic, constant-verbiage gallop-pace-dialogue-with-stage-in-pitch-dark-but-for-the-mouth-three-men-in-pots-rockrockrock freakshow of a display

*pause*

for someone else?

(very much meaningfully) No one but you.

Trapped in wide open spaces
Often white faces
Caught in headlights
Bright eyes, poor deer

They speed and spit
Unaware of innocence ahead
Naivety crossing
Anger burning boats - Noah!

Then a scream and screech
stoplookoutletgoyoume
As two by two
Fades into dream

_______________________

Thought it was, perhaps, time again to inject some ambiguity into am biguous.
Woke up stunningly early today (the time was stunning, not me) and gulped down gallons of liquid (tow huay; now where else can one get this but in Mother Russia!) which fell into the well of an appreciative stomach that refused all dry crusty wholemeal stuff.
On Chapter 27 of Pat Barkers's Double Vision, and closing in. sigh. It's an end that's just as difficult to swallow as dry crusty wholemeal stuff. I was expecting more of the war, especially after Regeneration. New-found interest in violence - hence above poem - and the skins we have grown to benumb ourselves.

Back to the book.

yes. Being firmly grounded in the assertions of gender equality and women rights, we have unanimously agreed - woman's 10 to man's 1 vote- that matt shall do the talking.

heehee

just being cheeky.

Ireland was beautiful, being home is wonderful, and being with matt was, is, and always will be time precious to me.