Saturday, 27 April 1996 

Thought with form but very little content

When faced with the blank paper in a blank room, with all our shit behind us, will we find it in ourselves, is all this deferring just an excuse, that we maintain the myth that we have something to say, that we have to say something, and have the drive to get it out on paper as a salve for a wrung-out soul, that we don't have it in us to look into the void, that we'd rather be occupied with external stresses and irritants to know that we are alive.


| Dose taken |