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Wednesday, January 2nd, 2002
10:57 pm - Like a bowing sunrise
In brief. ~1963 is finished.
(privacy/paranoia issues_)

But it was too hard for me to just walk away (which is probably why I should have_) so there is another journal.

If for some reason [?] you'd like to know where it is leave a comment, drop a line. Something. And I'll get back to you.

                    Au revoir. '63 was a trip.

current mood: mismatched_

8  /  jä   gr meistr

3:22 am - I'll tell you about my smoke stack
Powercut. 0212 approx_in the middle of a fantastic [slight exaggeration] photoshop session and Chaos Sanctuary/Nightmare/Paladin expedition. Mr Casablancas modifies and 1 level + (truckloads) demon kills lost. Candle scented air.

But previously;;;;;;;; a barbecue under the setting sun. The happy family playing that usually makes me sick. Pitch Black and fireworks from the city. Music and festivities speed along the river and we can hear you talking on your speakerphone.

Not waiting for him. Instead it's a quick Sex Pistol thing then a replay of Braveheart. More blue eyes, more wild hair. I'm not torturing myself on purpose; and you know that I lie to you like this.

current mood: thinly spread

jä   gr meistr

Tuesday, January 1st, 2002
6:15 pm - You know it's sad but true
You are Thom Yorke, the lead singer of Radiohead, the lead songwriter of Radiohead, and you are not afraid of computers if you stand over them with a hammer.

You have the voice of God although you have eyes that can move independently of each other, and you have a love/hate relationship with the media. You tend to get drunk a lot, and your fans often wonder if you are drunk onstage (which would explain the dancing). You are notorious for frightening journalists, whether it be your facial tics or your scathing tongue in which you are not afraid to let loose those profanities... naughty you! However, your hate is understood, as your first splash into a well-known magazine featured a ghastly picture of you with the headline "UGLEE OH YEAH!" and for years, the journalists' favourite question to ask you is whether or not you were depressed.

People tend to think you have no sense of humour which is strange because you enjoy potty jokes and Aphex Twin. You're also prone to throwing fits, whining, and being misunderstood. But this can all be forgiven, because you are in the greatest band in the world?

          I am Thom Yorke.
          Moody. Genius. Gimpyeye.




It is SUMMER. The cool of the theater for 3 hours has helped my hangover muchly. The Fellowship 3rd time around was better than ever. Elijah's eyes cannot be any more beautiful (any more like his). Me not = obsessed. And it's okay because I'm Thom Yorke. I'm fucking greater than I feel.

current mood: inspired

jä   gr meistr

10:33 am - Stretch it like a birth squeeze
And on the radness scale I am a lowly 1.7.
At midnight I was throwing up out my window.
But To Live is To Die was playing and that was worth it (?)

Feeling sick feeling green. This is what it's like when we work. And I won't quote you because you like your words being thrown back in your face.

current mood: lightheaded

2  /  jä   gr meistr

Sunday, December 30th, 2001
5:44 pm - In case you failed to see
I watched Magnolia and I expected something else but it was good. We have short grass and trees that don't let up with the wind. Cleaning out the closets and the unpackd boxes I found an old typewriter circa 1957. It's a pale mint green and it's all mine.

I slow it down I slow it down I slow it.

All because it's been too long since any changes. It's nothing and I'm frustrated because it isn't anything special and I've fuckd the guestbook over.
                    [[[[The evils of FTP and CHMOD that won't isolate;;]

New folders full of Sigur Ros and Propagandhi. Leo's accidentally lockd himself in the bathroom and the keys are missing. It's Sunday afternoon in the middle of nowhere. I don't have time for philosophy.

current mood: exasperated

2  /  jä   gr meistr

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