Hurry up will you

My day was going well enough and then I woke up. I was tired, I knew I would be late, but I decided to reset the alarm. You know those days when you just can't force yourself out of bed. Had breakfast, took a shower, managed to convince myself work was worth going to. And then it all broke down. Should I take a book to work or to do some reading at lunchtime or not; a relatively simple deciscion for a tertiary educated, employed, concious Homo Sapien Sapien. If I took the book it would weigh down my bag, it would mean I would read at lunchtime, instead of writing this blog or some poetry, instead of doing something infinitely more productive.
And that's it, the day is over, I am stuck, looking at this book, this simple collection of pulped, bleached, acid-washed paper and ink that anyone else would have stuck up their arse and fucked off with by now. But i am locked to this very spot, by a force stronger than the gravitational field of a black hole, by a force stronger than destiny, stronger than God. It is the simultaneous recognition of the infinite possibility woven into life, of the million paths irrevocably altered by my just choosing whether to fart now or later. I am the Hamlet of the workstation, the Adam of the takeway restaraunt, the Faust of the public toilet. How can one ever make a decision with tomorrow staring them down in accusation.
So I don't take the book.
Hey enough already.

Yay, time to celebrate and be joyful. Or perhaps not.

What fantastic news; two of my close friends are to be married. I am so happy for them, I couldn't wish them more happiness. Though a friend did have to foward the email to me as I wasn't included on the email list. Would it be inappropriate to send them a congratulatory letter, and ask later 'Hey what's with the no email'. Maybe we aren't such good friends as I thought. Perhaps they never really liked me that much anyway.
I hate weddings and will get married only if the entire world becomes fundamentally Islamic and i am forced to at the point of a automatic weapon.

You can't leave the house.

In his take on the detective novel Nighttrain, Martin Amis uses the career of an astrophysicists as an extended allegory of darkness where there should be light. One image he uses is that of the Bootes void. A region of space 250 million light years across that contains nothing, a void, in fact a supervoid, and one of the largest know objects, or non-objects in the universe.
So Amis uses this as a metaphor for emptiness.
Convieniently failing to mention the largest know obect. The Sloan Great Wall. 1.37 billion lives across. A nice fence enclosing a eco-friendly house, with a few of the mountains and the sea. Re-affirms your faith in the abstract laws of creation.
Which means Amis had Jennifer Rockwell killed herself for nothing. Amis should do a stretch for the authorially assisted suicide of fictional life.

The picture is of the entire universe. The Sloan Great Wall is the ribbon of bright green light a third of the way up from the mid-point.

Apologise cretins

Don't you think this would make the perfect holiday house. Just for the summer of course. Kind of makes the wooden villa, two car garage seem a little humble. Still, imagine how long it would take to do the luxing.


The Hapsburgs were a great family no doubt about it, you can't spit in europe without hitting some bit of turf they've reigned it over. But didn't they have a nasty overbite? Not so proud now.