what a piece of work is man blahblahblah, the paragon of animals

where the hell have the last two weeks gone, pop pickers? to be honest, ive had problems. (wah wah wah). no. not that sort. i dont really get them. man up, thats the way forward for me. what doesnt kill you is obviously just wastin your time. problems of a creative nature. vacuuous, empty, desert-like wilderness, in which i have been wandering around in like some kind of hairy pacman. i dont believe in ghosts either, so there we are then.
ive been struggling to find anything to listen to. i mean, sure, the oldies-but-goodies still hit the mark, but man cannot live by bread alone. those of you who know the morsks inner workings will realise that this is no small thing. it also means that my designs are suffering too. its hard to remain minimalist when you are empty. still. thats not your problem, oh best beloved, and no amount of me pissing and moanings gonna fix that.
so who do i blame. o.p.p yeah you know me. i wont blame myself. its either your fault or a blame free culture. i told you. im a hypocrite. if you dont like that, go read a book. i blame spring. i am, by nature, a miserable bastard. grumpy as fuck. now all the flowers are out, its turned into the wizzard of oz. mankind seems to be full of the joys of, and i tell you, i RESENT it. winter is good. its cold, its dead, its miserable. i like it. i identify with it. all this hope for the new season. when will they learn, its only gonna disapoint you like last year. the country is in tatters, the bank spent a gang of cash then went bust (a bank, mind you) and the taxpayer bailed them out. thats you, my dears. and yet we can still pay for the olympics (quiet tho, aint they.....) city still suck, and now jade goody is dead. well. good as. (strange sayin that, but very apt, lets face it. she was fuckin useless, cept laughandpoint) all this talk of new life. the old life is broken and no one will fix it. were just like gamblers hoping that spending more will somehow regain us what is already lost, forgettin that the odds are always in the houses favour. the fault, dear brutus, is not in the stars, but in ourselves.
l8r sk8r