Hello, as Clairwil, is wont to open her spiel with. I'm just logging in to let you know I'm still alive and not lying rotting behind the sofa, pierced through the heart with the sharp end of a baldy Christmas tree. No, I'm still here, just a little plagued yet with post-festive torpor. However I thought I'd shake myself to bring you my latest pearls of wisdom. Naw, I won't. I hate that stuff -
What abaht that Beckham? Million dollars a week! Fucking ludicrous.. blah blah blah.
The lumpen proletariat seem to like it but it's not me. I'm not your common or garden ranter, I'm a thinker, we're working on a higher plane here. So to get me in the mood I've got Ravi Shankar on the turntable (virtually speaking as I nicked it off the internet) and I'm sitting here in the lotus position while I consult my muse.......
Well my muse has told me to fuck off and leave her alone, as she's busy with the other lesbites, so I'll just have to get on with it myself. Anway who needs muses, a wee whisky is just as good and leaves a pleasanter glow.
I was thinking of doing another OU Course. This time another wee 10 pointer, Start Writing Poetry, but I left it too late to start the Feb. course so I'll need to wait now until May. Bummer but there you are. If I really intend to start it and if I really mean to make a good go of it I'll need to do a lot more writing than I'm doing at present. I know this but it's extremely difficult to achieve.
I know I've whinged on before about how busy I am and all that but it's no excuse really. I need to just get on with it. Pick a topic, batter out the words, Bob's your uncle. Couldn't be easier, just have to avoid sounding like all the other why-oh-why merchants who populate the blogosphere. I know, I'll start off with a haiku, three (or fewer) lines of no more than 17 syllables in total;
sitar bends sound
fingers fly
peace descends
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