Streetlights, chemical orange and electric purple are such strange colours with which to light streets.

The Dissemination of Information.
A) Nothing is secret.
B) If it is secret then it is irrelevant.

See if something is secret then only one person knows if only one person knows it has no effect on other people. With the exception of pregancy if say a woman got pregnant and didnt tell anyone but she know than we'd have a relevant secret. Murder too you can kill say a hermit and it is a secret that effects someone albeit someone dead.

Information travels very strangely. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. What goes where is uncontrollable. The thing is though that information can get to some very odd places faster than it should and that you never know the whole story.

What I'm really getting at here has nothing to do with murder or pregnancy or even secrets it's simply discomfort at being out of the loop. At not knowing exactly what happened because when denied that you are also denied the ability to pass judgement. So maybe that makes me a horrible person because I want to have an opinion about something that doesn't wholly concern me, and I want the information the knowledge to do that. That's where the power of Knowledge comes from, it comes from the use and the abilitie to discern and read and understand things improves how you deal with people. At the most basic there is blackmail/extortion. Really I'm not talking about that either, I just want to know what's going on.

I remember this one time on a plane there was this girl sitting in front of me. At the time she struck me as attractive, she had red hair. It was a pan-pacific flight and it was the middle of the night. All the lights on the plane were set to that dim the-movies-are-over-so-go-to-sleep lighting. She had her reading light on, a book about horses if memory serves, something vapid and girly I bet. I was ostensibly readin, I mean my reading light was on, but really I was sitting there bored and not really tired and racking my brains to figure out some way to talk to her. I decided at the time to use the now cliched and contrived drop something routine. So with what I assume was subtlety I dropped my hat through the crack in the seats, she didnt twitch. I sat for a while just waiting. Then a peered over the seat and asked for my hat, as politely as possible, I probably used "Excuse me" at the start of the sentence. She passed me my hat, I thanked her, she looked at me and I sat back down. That was the end of that. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt and she was part of some group because there were a lot of kids in yellow t-shirts on that particular flight.

Pedro Almodovar claims that anything that isn't autobiography is plagiarism. The frontman from the Junior Boys, whose name eludes me although Greenspan seems right, thinks that it takes a great deal of arrogance or perhaps confidence to be autobiographical. You have to assume that your life is interesting enough that other people will find enjoyment in reading it. I don't know who I agree with. You're always told to write what you know and yet if all you know is suburbs and high schools and neighbourhood streets why bother writing it? Sure you know your own story best but is your own story worth knowing? The article about Greenspan talked about this being some post-suburban manifestation of middle-class boredom. Is that really the case, is it only recently that we've realised that we may be boring? It might have happened earlier in one of the other years. It might have happened from the advent of the written word, or maybe not. Almodovar is considered one of the greatest cinematic artists of our time, the Junior Boys are an electro-pop group getting phenomenal press at the moment.

Living in someone else's house is strange. You embroil yourself into their world. I think in some senses letting someone live with you and your family is opening up your most personal behaviour. It's kind of scary. We started billeting last night. That means we're living with strangers, in their house. Gone are the days of the neutral ground of living with strangers in a strange house now we're living with different strangers in their strangehouse. Strange. We do now all have access to a TV, which is a change. Time to relearn how to be antisocial.

Wow, You Look Like Your Mother.

No! I mean, i but
I didn't
well
I...
...you look like your mother.

"What are we doing? What are we doing with our lives?" ---J

And there I was, someone passed out on the stairs, the Unicorns playing loud enough on computer speakers, hipsters with their ties as belts and VV sweatervests drinking themselves silly in a directionless haze. There I was surronded by people I've never met but I already know, hearing them utter such familiar phrases; "save me the 60% spit", "You want the green hit?", "I liked the first album better". There I was wondering if we had been here instead of out west if we would have not also been asking if anyone had any E. Then I left, in a car with two cups of water and a cup of something else all in other people's hands. I didnt even get a picture...not of that at least.

" Can you guys go easier on the guitars, I just don't want 'em scratched." - m-s guy

Of Turkey and Stars
you can never have too much
yet,
of each,
I've had plenty.

And there I was splashing in the rivers of my childhood. I wondered what it could possibly mean to someone else to trod the paths I've walked so much. Not just there but also the area, the surrondings were once again within armslength. There I was in parks I frequented, on trails I'de walked, in stores I'de patronised, with people I'de known. I did it all again. Yet this time it was different it was...

Best of wishes to the ladies Maxine, Nadia and the middle-one whose name eludes me.

Imagine a dog. A dog on a rope. Or perhaps an elastic band, yes thats it an elastic band. So you've got this elastic band and well you start stretching it. At first it's great it's wild, you have so much slack, so much give AND besides it's elastic! So you stetch it further, now there's some resistance, you're pulling. It's getting harder but the edge...well the edge just adds to the fun. At some point however you reach maximum extension that's as far as it will go. You can't pull anymore, you know this and the rubber band knows this, so you let go. This is where it gets hairy. It could go either way, it's unpredictable, the force you've expanded could work for or against you. This time, you're lucky. The moon was shining, the sky was dark and all was good. That's a night-out. The freedom of escape, the intoxicating liberty of leaving and going elsewhere and being away from the norm with time becomes the worrying position of having to be accountable for your actions of realising that there are always consequences....Sometimes though, well sometimes it's just the right light for it.

Rain.
Dark grey clouds hanging overhead. All the petty cliches.
That was this morning, I just can't seem to get over weather like that though.