bro

The abbreviation *bro', by the way, means 'bridge' in Swedish, and I find that relevant somewhow.
You'll have to forgive me for the lack of humour in recent posts, especially you, my love K-Girl, but I can't seem to find it this week. I made a pact with myself once to delete all such posts that weren't written with me laughing, but that's a form of censorship I can't much support.

Tommorow, we're having one last group CW10 meeting, (last Creative Writing session for the term, and basically, forever) and I find it a bit hard to come up with comments, mostly because I'm aware of my own shortcomings. Seems like going against that passage in the bible (Halleluja) that goes something like "Don't mess with the speck in your bro's eye until you've picked out the log out of your own". Which seems like a pretty fucking morbid parable, but hey. Like walking around with a log through your skull. It's Clive Barker and Jesus, I tell you.

Also find it hard coming up with reasons to go. Because saying goodbye is never easy, and if you skip it, then, I suppose in a way, the possibility to do so is always there, waiting for you. You can go on pretending that the class is still there, carrying on, every other tuesday, it's just that you're choosing not to go. But it's your choice. And somewhere out there things are carrying on as usual and on hold - for you. On pause. Damn you winter : your ice-clad death traps and your ends-of-term.

Listening to Muse and marvelling over the melodrama in Space Dementia, which is so perfectly balanced with everything else -decadence, beauty, crashing & clinking piano - that it is a true work of art.

"Space dementia in your eyes
Peace will arise and tear us apart
And make us meaningless again"

And I suppose there's truth to that.
But they're not gonna get us, K.