The Ghost part 6

December 7th 1941 is a day that will live in infamy.

Walls that are composed from sandstone are eroded in time.

No coffee since Tuesday morning.

I am very tired. Fair to say I am thinking of nothing to write. I’m battling an addiction I didn’t know I had. Perhaps five cups of brewed coffee a day at most. I am tired and could’ve followed yesterday’s golden slumber from 3:30pm until 8:30pm. When most of the nation was preparing to head for home, family and dinner I drifted away.

Why building college? There isn’t anything to build. The conservatives will put a stop to any public building projects: that leaves private corporate enterprise when all the banks won’t lend.

I am in a strange paralysis which hopefully a triple espresso can shift?

That derrière is marble.

The Oreo invasion: we have our own biscuits. Fuck off back to the States!

May? Yep the weather says it all: sunny, but often windy and cloudy.

Just had a look at Revolution and had a very neutral interview. Not feeling it. Did what I could, without pleading!

Old flatmate: circa 2001. What was her name. Perfectly repulsive girl. Arrogant solicitor. Whatever happened to the New Zealand guy and the one who worked at Topman?

Julia Bradbury, the walking man’s crumpet, was in Iceland last night sinking into a hot spring in a bikini…oh how I love to be doing the same. Iceland has everything in one place it seems. Crazy geological splender.

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