developing a strange teary attachment to this electronic thinkfest.
pretend communication. email intimacy. i love/hate this.
i'm terrified about, i don't know what. on and on and on it goes.
scribblebrain.
i saw a painting the other day that was what steven hawking's dreams would look like. geometry and exactness floating around in cloudy pinks and blues and whites.
my dreams just look like mad girl's love song by sylvia plath.
with more abstract additions of people i don't really know and less blatant romanticism. only a little, though.
so, malcolm turnbull, hey?
seven dissinters.
do-nothings, apparently, have more support than weak support of a shitty bill.
i vote a mass political suicide. the potential member for higgins who stresses the presence of her Husband and Family Values in her pamphlets was at the train station this morning. i'm mostly just excited at the prospect of greens in my electorate.
enough pseudo connected rant for tonight. goodnight.
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