Real time.  Today I am being watched, though the witness' precise location remains a mystery.  But if a time should ever come for them to present themselves they shall be a deep yellow colour.  Cowards.  Every single one of them.  They know not what they preach and the emptiness of their minds are beginning to slip from beneath their knee length cotton skirts.  Fingers point in every direction for no other reason than a lack of awareness and a desire to show off an erect body part.  

Call it a premature midlife crisis, or an acknowledgement of passing time, but days are growing short and my understanding of the value of human life I fear is expanding.  I am deeply bothered by this so-called refugee crisis in Syria and I have begun to question the validity and necessity of my every action, inclusive of art and music and meaningless exchanges of so-called friends and acquaintances.  If my time in this wicked world was to  soon end, know that I have cared for you deeply, and that in my dream you were happy.  

*            *            *

Time is real.  I can feel it.  It is the 10th day of October 2015 and I have accidentally discovered a strangely pleasing style of music as the Bad Seeds come through my earphones and blend with a Talking Heads track pumping through the loudspeaker.  I think this is what I want.  I have been conversing at length with Chris Blackmore of Holy Smokes Records and he wants to release the album in the coming months.  I allow myself to be excited but I bear in mind that all things come to an end and one of the worlds largest natural parks is nothing more than the bed of a so-called "super-volcano" that lies awake, waiting to release its hot load all over Mother Earths' chubby little face.