1st September 2002. The
DPS woz late updating coz - the stupifying heat; flatmate hunting
(Man About The House); a motorcycle crash killing an old friend;
another's abortion; time and a quick look back into the ever-inspirational
love pools of London. It's an exchange out there - and if you
expect a fixed-rate of x to return a high yield off your
y, get it in writing straight away. And never ally with
someone more powerful than you, even if you win you're still imprisoned
by a need for the allegiance. Hang on, that's war. Whatever -
back in the Anne Frank Suite. ~ So many couples
seem to subtract from one another anyway, don't you find, DPS?
Never as interesting as the erstwhile individuals, they practically
lean on one another like crutches, swapping outré in-jokes
and pet names as they meander Ikea Drive towards Cemetery Hill
via Brat Street in the most pitiful fashion. You don't need pedestrian,
common pleasures such as that, dear boy. Buy a portrait-daubing
chimpanzee called Dorian for the Anne Frank Suite, DPS. Do it.
IT. "Why Dorian, that's perfectly exquisite." "Ooo
Ooo!"" Am I really so handsome?" "Ooo."
"Another sugarlump in your absinthe?" "Go on then."
~ A lengthier
piece, second draft - mirroring a previous chapter and heavier
on action. Half a bunch to go then dunno. Still doubly rough after
The Kills at a boat party.