You know I'm such a fool for you
You got me wrapped around your finger

Three cheers for the Irish accent! And the angel in her voice.

Yea. So the job's fine. No internet though. I am learning Persian. If there's someone with any help to offer. ASAP, tell me! I added this new blog-list thing to my blog. Suddenly stopped writing. Started composing. In the mornings. Recently watched Trainspotting and Kill Bill. In one go. Observed a pattern. All the pleasant women are married. Damn. Miss my hometown. I don't know what exactly I miss. Because most of the time I just wandered around like a vagabond there. Alone and without purpose. But I still do miss it. This city is so not good for purposelessness. There is work. Maybe it is a sign. Maybe I am not supposed to be purposeless. Pole star. Pole star. Speak up! There is only one thing worse than a dead man. It is the last rites. Saw how they sang and danced around him and painted him and drenched him and finally set him ablaze. Wonder if they would've dared to even touch him had he been breathing. I was sorry. When you break into my house and there's me on the sofa. Blue and stiff. Just bury me under the nearest tuft of kindergarten grass. No aerials above me please. And bury me at night, so that the children don't know I am there. I have always dreamed of being invisible and watching little ones at their games.
Nah. Despite all my rolling in shite, I am still purposeless. Desireless even. Just wrapped and doused in corporate feces. I come home and take a bath every evening. And only then, Jenny.

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