/* Every winter I tell myself that spring is going to be better. Every spring, it's summer; every summer, autumn; and after autumn I'll try to be glad to get back to cold sleepy ice.
Durham is the wrong colour when the sun is out. Too orange. */
/* In the rumblings of road noise can be heard the ghosts of every unwritten symphony. */
/* For anyone who is even remotely interested, the three diary entries immediately preceding this one were written on my Newton MP2000 at Spring Harvest, then transferred over as a kind of proof of concept.
Not sure why it was worth doing - doubt the Internet needs yet more of my meaningless meanderings. */
/* I note with mild amusement that Zarathustra is not in the Nokia predictive text messaging dictionary. I wonder why... the Newton seems to have had little difficulty with it though. Zarathustra. Zarathustra. */
/* Cloaked in silence most of today. Those I SMSed last night know why. Don't know why this won't leave me in peace even now.
"I've said enough, please let me hide from the ghosts from my past for a while." */
/* Motorways - the thing is the way that the trees and supports move fast by you while the clouds move slowly above. It's the visual sound of long lingering guitar and trumpet solos declaimed with triumphant sadness to the blue skies. It's in the way that the sunlight flickers on your skin as it's interrupted by lamp posts (which, later, at 2am halo in the dank fog and silently accuse...) */
/* Happy April Fools', everyone. I don't need a day to remind me that I'm a fool, myself. The knowledge haunts every waking moment.
*dons cap and bells* */
