This is no great illusion
When I’m with you I’m looking for a ghost
Or invisible reasons
To fall out of love and run screaming from our home

Distressingly, Cassandra required my presence at Ikea over the weekend. This lead to two issues. The first being my chest started to seize up, causing shortness of breath and heart palpatations, upon getting closer to the North Circular. The second being that I was in Ikea. So there was only one thing for it, subvert the medium. While Cassandra wasn’t looking, I defaced the whiteboards in my bit to bring down The Man. So what did I write? Anti-Government slogans? Of sorts, I suppose. The URL for a website I know.

Because we live in a house of mirrors
We see our fears and everything
Our songs, faces, and second hand clothes
But more and more we’re suffering
Not nobody, not a thousand beers
Will keep us from feeling so all alone

What with summer coming (honest, even though it was -6 when I tried to take Tycho for his first walk of the day (we both decided that was too cold), but pleasingly +15 when we went on the second) I have started to see more bikes around. Of the motorised sort, not the disastrous no-lights, all-in-black, traffic-ignoring halfwit bikes that plague this town. A rather tasty rat bike passed me earlier, a not-my-thing sports bike passed me (on one wheel) on the way back from that London. Mmmm, speedy quick goodness. But how can I two-time Caitlin?

But you are what you love
And not what loves you back
That’s why I’m here on your doorstep
Pleading for you to take me back

I have mentioned before about the aircon wars in NewNewWork, whereas I think it shouldn’t ever go beyond 16oC. If people are cold, put a cardy on. Like she-who-sits-beside me does, when I open a window. And when I say a cardy, I mean several. But this very morn, even I had to turn the aircon up. As the other heaters haven’t been going all weekend, and I can’t feel my fingers as I type this. Of course, it will go back down once the chill is off the place. (I have also been told that you don’t have to work if the temperature falls below 16. It is way below that here.) Why haven’t the heaters being going all weekend? For the same reason I have just had to leave my desk, what with someone kango-ing just below me. Directly below me.

The phone is a fine invention
It allows me to talk endlessly to you
About nothing disguising my intentions
Which I’m afraid, my friend, are wildly untrue

I know I didn’t ask everyone, due to some being on walkabout, and others, well, I dunno, I just didn’t, but there is a Scrabulous tourney running as of now. And the smart money is on a female to win. I did have a quick look for some open source tournament software, but couldn’t find any, so I did what all of my ilk do, and reinvent the wheel. Open source. You get what you pay for.

It’s a sleight of hand, a white soul band
The heart attacks I’m convinced I have
Every morning upon waking
To you I’m a symbol or a monument
Your rite of passage to fufillment
But I’m not yours for the taking

Shocks and horrors, my thoughts have turned to buying a flatscreen teevee. As it would free up space to have a lovely little two-seater settee in the corner. Gets it out of the way. Nothing to do with wanting a PS3 when SFiv comes out. Nope, nothing to do with that. Not in the slightest. That would be dumb.

But you are what you love
And not what loves you back
So I guess that’s why you keep calling me back

Listening to yourself talk is bad enough, but singing? Nothing could have prepared me for that. As long as I don’t go too high, or too low, or indeed out of the one note I can hold (ish), then, you know, I can almost stomach it. I think I’ll stick to the writing and playing, and leave the singing to those who can. But I will release the tune into the wild at some point this week, for your general amusement.

I’m fraudulent, a thief at best
A coward who paints a bullshit canvas
Things that will never happen to me
But at arms length, it’s Tim who said
I’m good at it, I’ve mastered it
Avoiding, avoiding everything

Paragraphs from my life that aren’t connected in any way other than in my head.

But you are what you love, Tim
And not what loves you back
And I’m in love with illusions
So saw me in half
I’m in love with tricks
So pull another rabbit out of your hat

Leave the dark corners of the interweb alone. Go to the bright spots shone on by the Beautiful Ones

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The State is not your friend


It is a well-known fact that the Stray Taoist (nee Toaster) isn't as internally consistent as he thinks he is. Welcome to his world.

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