(no subject)
Thursday nears. My flight details are burnt into my brain. One month. Away and out of here for a month. Europes real capital of culture. Berlin. Still in it's infancy. A place you can still be a part of. Or so I'm led to believe. Will I want to come back to Leeds? Shithole of England? Pit of the North? Condensed and ouderous turd of Yorkshire? I'm going to pack my pencils, roll my paper and travel to places anew. Fuck the UK up the arse if you will.
I may never want to come back and I can't think of a thing to keep me. It's not very often woe and dispair meet extended periods of travelling. Let me tell you, it's awfully romantic.
I may never want to come back and I can't think of a thing to keep me. It's not very often woe and dispair meet extended periods of travelling. Let me tell you, it's awfully romantic.