i apologise to the virtual drones who monitor my progress for not updating my electro
I think i only ever do this now when i'm procrastinating.
My dadababble doesn't come intuitively at the moment so I'm not going to put it on for the sake of it.
Come to the conclusion that a contemporary re-working of workers' councils (for 'workers', read 'everyone') would be my preferred method (stress method, not ideology) of governance, if governance is even the right word. Likely not.
Even this can be fucked with of course, as the Blackpool conspiracy theorist proved to me just before Christmas. He had everything worked out. Wish I was him, except i wouldn't want food down my jumper or to have the innate ability to make anyone i came into contact with feel horribly, inarticulably uneasy.
Great charts wid a wobbly tendril-like heart octupus's grasp did fuse together all occultism, mysticism and misplaced antagonism there's ever been. It was in a basement. Genesis P-Orridge would have loved it. On a brighter note we had a fry up, absorbed the irony of the shitdump fandango that is Britain's most famous seaside resort through our pores and got a tea-trolley for the next gig.
I have no idea and every idea what 2006 will hold.
My dadababble doesn't come intuitively at the moment so I'm not going to put it on for the sake of it.
Come to the conclusion that a contemporary re-working of workers' councils (for 'workers', read 'everyone') would be my preferred method (stress method, not ideology) of governance, if governance is even the right word. Likely not.
Even this can be fucked with of course, as the Blackpool conspiracy theorist proved to me just before Christmas. He had everything worked out. Wish I was him, except i wouldn't want food down my jumper or to have the innate ability to make anyone i came into contact with feel horribly, inarticulably uneasy.
Great charts wid a wobbly tendril-like heart octupus's grasp did fuse together all occultism, mysticism and misplaced antagonism there's ever been. It was in a basement. Genesis P-Orridge would have loved it. On a brighter note we had a fry up, absorbed the irony of the shitdump fandango that is Britain's most famous seaside resort through our pores and got a tea-trolley for the next gig.
I have no idea and every idea what 2006 will hold.