This notion has gained such traction with me that I am starting to think that my father may not have been that bad after all; persuading myself to look at him and his sort like exhibits in a museum from whom I have evolved.
5th Dec – I can catch the moon in my hand, Don’t you know who I am?
Imagine that prick coming down the corridor at you with a syringe full of something.
25th Nov – When the moon shines on the cow shed, And we’re rolling in the hay, All the cows are up there grazin’, And the milk is on its way.
Are there other lives like mine, I wonder, where out of endless months of absolutely nothing, two good things turn up at once which directly contradict each other?
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