Fresh off the press. - 16/10/2001 in Opendiary Archive

Well I’m back from my weekend of rampant SEX. So I’m feeling much better. Certainly much lighter (3 weeks of abstinence does not a happy boiling man make).

In some ways I miss home when I’m here, but the longer I stay, the more it seems the only reason I go back is to see my girlfriend. This place becomes more and more my home. I suppose I’m lucky. When I moved up here I fell in with a really kewl crowd, and they’ve kept me company through the aberrant mood swings.

So, before I start getting all sentimental (not a pretty sight)

So, in our flat, we’ve been thinking of getting a cat. Just coz cats are the grooviest animals in history, and we’ve come up with a selection of names to title the little bugger with. In order to make this better, I’m sticking them up here. Any suggestions would be much appreciated.

Cat names:

Anthrax, Heaton, Iggy (short for ignite), Mr Frisky, Roadkill, Spot? Boot, Garfield (my aren’t we original), and others too rude to put on this site (didn’t stop me with the orgy song but hey).

My poem for the day was written on the way home last night. I was on a train, dumped with the scum of my (and most other) societies. And as one always does on the train, I was staring vacantly out of the window. All the colours went swooshing by. Hence this poem.

Golden green dipping, the blue back crawls
The grey white nestles, sits, and squalls,
Yellow orange blisters with the heatless light
Yet it all turns to dark in the white black night.

The brown green grows on the brown grey face,
And the white wheels roll in a colourful embrace
The ruby red floats on the lilac haze
but it all vanishes at the end of day.
The greens will fall and the greys will fly,
The yellows will darken, and the blues will dry,
the browns will fall on the broken round white,
and who can see red on the moonles night?
But when the colours fade, the shapes still remain,
And trees, moss, and flowers will bloom in the rain
and seagulls will fly in the new dawns first light

You see…

It all doesn’t end with the coming of night.

An Adam Shaw jolly poem (TM) there, for all you people who wish to feel happy. And for those who don’t.... why NOT?

Ramble