Got to get to there, for you now!

So looking down you have all this pattern, like a neurotic snake might choose on the day of his creation, and bits are flaking off and ruining the surrounding furniture. By chance, also decomposing in myriad ways providided by the laws of nature. Big churner, the fan, is humming delicately over there on the table. Crummy table! Squeekiness doesn't neccessarily make a fan delicate either, but with these noise-cancelling headphones... well, the possibilities are endless.

My caravan, my cave. And me, the caravan caveman, oh we do make a smashing team. Marooned out here just far out enough to enjoy the seabreeze but close enough to cop the fallout from the backpacker circuit ie. drunken yobbo shouts at 4o'clock in the morning which hint at uncon'sensual' sex. I get my friends out here to hijack the tedium, which works until they shapeshift into THEM. Carnal beasts with eyes on the eurotrash prize. Such enterprise.

Drinking a rather lot lately, as due to being in the big smoke and yeah, it happens ok? But that's not that exciting, what is exciting is my semi-trailer driving baby trucker boss, who looks rather like a recently-kicked bloodhound, is dragging my sorry ass out of the aluminium temple tomorrow for workies. And not just that, I have to get on 'killerboong' as so it is dubbed (so what, I'm not pc) my trusty cyclitic steed and ride all the fuck the way to canningvale. Which is fitting for my bike, but not for my precious virgin flesh. nuh-uh!

So I have to hook up this archaic system to the inter-web and make haste with train scedules and bus connections and frequent bashings ofcourse, love! And not eat so much dang hideous backhouse bakery food, its horrible ed! you know that. So stop already.