Tuesday, 30 June 2009
or U Don't Danse 2 Tekno? WTF? have y'all been hiding under a rock or sump'n? nope, i ain't talking Rock Freebase, though to hide under him is a joy to behold as well as a night to savour listening to him expound on everything from Richard Dawkins to Baudrillard to his brilliant writing as The Empiricist on their second fabaroo album, La Peste about which its Wiki says 'La Peste features several references to literature. The album's title as well as the track "Strange"* allude to the works of Albert Camus. The final track, "Sinking..." is based on The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge...' and much much more.
fan-fun-fact: 'Strange' is totally my fave track on the album and in all actuallity, i'm very hard-pressed to pick a fave from any of Alabama 3's albums. :-)
anyway, this band has been growing stronger and stronger for nigh on 11-12+ years already. never heard of em? Shame on y'all. ever watch the Sopranos? they're the dudes who do their themesong, Woke Up This Morning, though you'd never know it but i've moaned long and hard on that shit, and i'm sick of whinging over spilt milk, missed opportunities and the like.
just taste a bit of that which the ever-shrinking unofficial Converted (and the ever-growing) official Congregation have been wild about since Exile on Coldharbour Lane (buy at American Amazon here). even more about it here in the glorious words of the Reverend Larry Love):
'...We spent half of our advance from Geffen on various contraband items and with the rest we made an over-produced, brilliant situationist masterpiece called "Exile on Coldharbour Lane". Ever since then we've been preaching our Gospel all over the world. We've got into a whole bunch of trouble and met a whole bunch of nice people. We make friends where ever we go...'
do yourself a favour: give it a listen and whatever your current fave album might be, i assure you, it'll be forever usurped and i betcha y'all can't listen just the once. as a recent Convert twat to me after his live Alabama 3 gig cherry was busted, 'it was sooooo good ... total convert now ... they were amazing !!! Just had a damned fine night, good music & lots of dancing'. he went further: '... gonna buy all their CDs now ... need my A3 fix, ha ha'. *preens cause i still got the touch*
'Here The Train A-Comin', a DVD of one of their Christmas gigs (as usual, i was straight up front and centre until my stomach doubled up on me but enough said about that); anyway, the DVD should give anyone with half an eye and ear an excellent taste of why The Guardian calls Alabama 3 'The Best Live Band in the Country'. here's a taste of that glorious night at the Astoria, courtesy of zynsk at YouTube.
not for nothing, their top fans are no slouches; they include Irvine Welsh:
'This is the first band I could ever dance to in the daytime hours without chemical assistance... and that says a lot'. BTW, i met Irvine last year at Borders in Bristol and since we share a mutual Alabama 3 member in common as a comrade in crime, oops, rather, a comrade in arms, i took his pic to add to my ever-increasing collection of Alabama 3 dudes (fiends and friends) giving me the finger:
this is the photo that started it all; gave me the idea to get the entire band to gimme the finger (taken that memorable night i did Klan at the studio with Angie (details below):
my fave pic of my main man, D Wayne Love, posing as Jake up at Chris' flat:
and here's Jake giving it to me one night at Jamm.
i don't think he remembers cause months later at another Outlaw at Jamm, i asked him to do it again. his answer? sump'n like 'Naw, ah couldn't dae tha' t' ya...' sorry, i just can't replicate his Scottish brogue or whatever *snigger*
i've got plenty more where those came from but i'm running outta time here so here's my fave of Rock Freebase — Mark — giving me the one and two finger salute, both American and British style, at my request.
back to Irvine Welsh, and me being me, i asked him again and he was so very obliging. :-) i got the feeling he didn't believe me about Jake (D Wayne) but boy, the look on his face the very next night at at his book launch party in London when i stood front and centre, under Irvine's podium with none other than the Very Reverend D Wayne Love hisself.
as well, there's quite another famous writerly dude, none other than 'the world's biggest selling author,' Stephen King (who actually performed with them in London — watch Stephen jamming w/the Acoustic Flavour of the band here) 'When best-selling horror writer Stephen King recently visited the UK for the first time in 10 years he requested they play at his latest book launch...' and went on to say 'The thought of not having Alabama 3 fills me with horror.' LOL, you teh funny, Stephen.
there's other famous writerly dudes, one of whom is a personal hero of mine, ever since reading Last Exit To Brooklyn when i was thirteen: Hubert Selby Jr 'who allowed himself to be sampled for the track "The Moon Has Lost the Sun" in 2002, two years before his death. "He told us, 'Boys, you can have that track for one dollar,' "Spragg said"...' you can hear this lovely yet depressing as all hell tune (just the way i dig my music) on their third studio album, Power in The Blood.
fun-fact: did you know Hubert H Selby's official website is called Exit Wounds? hmmm, 'Hits and Exit Wounds'. makes y'think, don't it?
moving right along, from The Times: 'If anyone thinks that politics and religion aren’t suitable subjects for rock ‘n’ roll they should check out Alabama 3'.
naturally, the BBC weighs in: 'With their combination of acid-gospel-country-techno music from Tennessee via Brixton and a stage presence to match, the Reverends Larry & D-Wayne Love and their eclectic collection of cowboys, outlaws and bards have never failed to disappoint.'
and then there's my fave from Time Out 'zine: 'They swing like the devil’s own dick. Alabama 3 beat a righteous drum and party like bastards.'
for a taste of the wondrous insanity (the musically unique kind) which, as faithful readers know, with which i've been in love since august 2000, have a look at this edition of The Spirit Speaks, an hilarious monthly updating of the Continuing Adventures of the Alabama 3. IMO, this is the Best. Line. EVar (prefaced by context of the band's arrival for their Australian Tour):
'Palm fronds stroke the antipodean sky while tattooed beefcakes saunter the streets in ergonomic sandals. D.Wayne expounds upon the chthonic vibrations emanating from the soil, then adjusts his trousers: "I dinnae want every cunt checking oot ma Mars Bars..."
YO! merch dudes! i wannit on a T-shirt but hey, i wanna lotta stuff i'll never get (some of which hasn't been invented yet but hey, that never stopped me from all the wanting). weird scenes inside the goldmine: Orlando (The Spirit) and i actually have sump'n else in common:
'I don't dig folk music'. whoa, *proud* but wait, there's even more (just change London to Bristol... ah, fuck it, keep the London cause i'm in totally deep shit there): 'Whatever trouble I've got into in London, there's nothing I can do about it now. And if the shit really hits the fan, I can always miss the plane...' the foregoing has been one of my most comforting mantras every damn time i'm forced to cross the Atlantic to visit NYC, but i digress, as i tend to do (i blame the ADD, actually. and the drugs).
wait, what would any Alabama 3 post of mine be without my unique brand of attention-whoring? hear my coked-up voice (with big thanks to those in the studio that night), a-ranting and a-raving against the KKK on Klan here (and in two, count 'em two voices: my liddle grrl's 'Won'tcha stand by me?' and my gruffer 'Easy to be free...' (at the fade-out) or if you've got the bucks, buy it on M.O.R. *preens cause i'm still milking it for all it's worth* (as is my wont). *cheezy grin*
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Saturday, 27 June 2009
i've really got no time cause bastard work's calling but after the anxiety i got from the post before this, i needed to find an oasis, like. above's Cannon Beach, Oregon and the bunny lives in Oregon as well (thanks, Christine).
i've been looking for above three all over the place and for ages already (well, months). anyway, i took em lying on my back in Brandon Park one night late last october. forgot why i was there, actually... oh right, the Wiccan thang and the other, the Nature. never mind. :-)
right, more shit i forgot: ideally, these should've been in bedtime story but not only did i forget, i also forgot to put em in my prior, where i posted stuff i'd forgot to upload to more appropriate places. damn, this senility thing is really a drag. anyway, here's two more taken in on my sojourns through Bristol.
dammit, i'm not even close to calmity yet. and i totally don't wanna blow a V on this shit. hmm... i so love churches and all. reposting these two and hoping tranquillity reigns at Chez Hunter ASAP.
ah... yes; dark and gloomy and foreboding. whoa, i'm feeling much better, way calmer, actually so hoorah for doom and gloom. :-)
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wait — senility, thy name is—um... shit! i actually know that one; i think it's either SG or rimone (or more frequently, That Asshole) but enough about that. anyway, yesterday i posted above pic showing what the bastard Philistines did to my fave Banksy but i totally forgot to post the original for purposes of compare and contrast:
and last sunday i forgot to upload the first photo i ever took of Neptune, one of a series of fifteen or twenty which happened one evening whilst running through City Centre.
why was i running? that's for me to know and you to find out but if you ask nicely, i'll be happy to oblige and tell you all the sordid details. and no, FFS! i wasn't jogging; i was running — big dif in my book. anyway, onto other things i've recently forgotten: i failed to post the latest of Commodore Kate's tattoos.
suffice it to say we had a sorta 'falling out' (totally a euphemism) on this — to me — *wack* decision of hers. nope, they're not on her knees which leaves only one other, rather two other places on which they can be found. *rolls eyes* silly grrl...
moving right along, before he breaks my ass for going back on my word (cause i forgot him as well), here's Kate's friend Scooter with his faithful companion, Puddles.
hah! when he first introduced me to his doggie, an almost knockdown, dragout fistfight ensued and in public and all when i dared suggest that 'Puddles' was one of the most moronic names i'd ever think of inflicting on any animal. things calmed down muchly once he explained why the name (but as i told him, i still feel sorry for poor liddle Puddles). 'Puddles...' backstory or not, i could puke, actually (and told him so) which began yet another face-off between us (still in public). people took pictures and i'm already dreading seeing them (when i remember to look).
anyway, me being me, there's other stuff i'm forgetting but i'm sure the very kind (at last count, three) people who read me will mail (as usual) with all the venom they can muster. oh yeah: one more thing i just remembered: big thanks to Darren who rang me just about an hour ago. *cough* sorry, dude... i totally forgot what we were talking about (apart from the one thing i remember and it wasn't Talia's boots).
in other boring news, believe it or not, i'm actually working but i lost my place so in order to jog my memory, i've loaded my pipe so i can blithely thwoop away and at least, have some fun trawling through the mess of virtual paper on my desktop. fun-fact: whenever i'm ripped and working, i catch even more errors in the original material and more errors caught make the bestest proofreader EVar, so it's alllll good in the 'hood. :-)
one more thing i just remembered: TPFKAPM has landed safely and at present is recharging his batteries. i'm so pleased you're home, d00d. :-)
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Friday, 26 June 2009
what with shitloads of work whilst boss-dude's in Spain — oh wait, forgot to say this next arrived on monday: 'Surprise, Rimone! Guess where I am?' me (in unsent mail): 'croaked and now invisibly floating over your grave watching the two lone losers (one of whom's your mother and the other's your priest) who had no choice but to show up for your funeral?' anyway, my point was uh... OK, right: i've had a hectic week, most of which included shepherding Commodore Kate all over town for health reasons (hers, not mine) and getting her ass to the Jobs Centre. above is a display of her gratitude: she's cursing me out cause a few seconds before, i dared suggest she'd look good in this dress 'since it's right in line with your *cough* "style" and all'.
i left out my first impression: the fact that the material screamed 'Grateful Dead', what with the skulls and roses and shit. anyway, she made a fist, she swung and... she missed. *snigger* and then just to rub it in cause i'm vying with her for England's Biggest Bitch, i went 'HA-ha' *in a Nelson Muntz voice*, sump'n which totally hit home and made her feel even worse. but after that particular tantrum was over — BTW, her tantrums and other assorted fits are as nothing compared to when i get going *preens like a proudtard*
anyway, i decided i'd had it with the babysitting and role playing her mommy thang, mostly cause it doesn't come naturally and in a just world, she'd be the grown-up — y'know, the minder, babysitter, bill-payer and all that other mind-numbing, soul-eating adultish behavioural stuff, mostly cause everyone knows i'm way too young to even think on such things.
back to yesterday, with all that resentment stewing in my head, pissing me off even more cause it was crowding out the effects of the drugs (over which we had yet another 'scussion before we took off), sump'n snapped and without a hint of warning, i left her standing alone as you see her above, wayyy across the vasty street. and after i split, i had the presence of mind to remember to shout out 'So long, sucker!' hmmm... in all fairness i guess this next should be disclosed: The Incident (as we refer to it now) came moments after she forced me to promise i'd stay by her side in order to ensure she'd 'get across safely'.
what the fuck? what is this 'safely' of which you speak, Kate? i mean, how the hell long are you crossing streets by yourself again? nineteen, twenty years now? puh-leeze! everybody knows that i'm the one who still can't cross (safely or otherwise) by myself. anyway, after i left her in the dust, her shoutyness reached unprecedented heights, not only for a natural-born Brit like her but even for an American like me.
i hate to admit it but in truth, i was actually envious, marvelling at the volume as well as her curseword creativity, expressed in ways i've never read or even dared imagine. but once she made it to my side of the road, i got to dis, i mean 'taunt' her again, ceaselessly reminding her she completely forgot to use whatever variation of 'felch' in her beautiful volley of abuse. *admiring* anyway, here she is in happier days:
let it be known, that at present time, the percentage of tats to her untatt'd skin is dramatically different than these pics suggest. and even though y'all can't see it, here's her back at the moment. helpful hint: click for hugeass engorgement and detailed CUs.
right, here's another in the tiny series 'here she is in happier daze'. BTW, in the interests of truth, liberty and justice for all, these Kate pics were posted under duress. whoa... seems i still haven't gotten even the most tenuous hold on that inside-voice stuff. i torry, Kate. *whispers* not really. ;-)
fun-fact: when she and i first hooked up at the Hatchet when TPFKAPM was visiting one night, many people (thankfully, not him) have since asked things like 'What could you, of all people, possibly have in common with someone as young as she is?'
well, excuuuuuse, me! jeez, what a dumbass question cause we share many things apart from the obvious like music, desired image and most important, that compelling urge to attention-whore, whatever the cost. this sums it up best, straight from the mouth of Commodore Kate and it emphasises my initial feeling, the one i got during our first meeting when i told her, 'if i had a daughter, you'd be it':
'My image is so important to me; you can call me shallow but i just don't give a fuck. The day i look like a yuppie Bristol Uni student, fucking shoot me...'
*giggles* sound familiar? anyway, before we met she looked sump'n like this:
all crucial elements were already inherent; y'know, the black, the tonne of eyeliner, the 'fuck the world' attitude, the blood, the *wack* expression... all things to which i immediately connected. i did nothing special, just kinda encouraged her to the point at which i can proudly say a couplas weeks back she was onstage as part of The Whores' tour and hopefully, there'll be lots more of this exposure ASAP. *cough* please notice dildo and whip below. shit!, i mean, 'ignore'. ignore the dildo, whip and other Dominatrix-y things which, due to the fact i veer that way too, i always suspected she had in her natu- *cough* never mind — forget it.
in other news, is there anyone amongst us who doesn't despise standing on a boringass queue? in truth, the ones on which i spent most of my life were tremendous compared to those i find here (to which i laugh and point, especially when anyone driving dares moan on the traffic, thus eliciting one of my sneery snide 'you call this a queue? i laugh in your face...' (these outbursts amidst fits of uncontrollable LOL, all designed to make the driver ashamed he ever opened his ill-informed mouth).
anyway, this was the scene last week across Queens Road as i marvelled at the vasty numbers of people standing under an unrelenting sun, all waiting for entry to the Banksy Show at Bristol Museum. thanks to the stupid van, y'all can't see it, but the line of people snaked way further left than photo indicates.
once again, the other afternoon, the sun shone down on the masochistic queuers (as if with a vengeance) but i spent a goodly time talking to some of the people waiting to get in. the queue was almost half the size it was in photo above so i'm hoping that, apart from the weekends, it'll be growing smaller and smaller — like to a way more more reasonable twenty or thirty — until the time i too can join it and pop in on the show whenever i wanna.
this was after i went down Park Street and stared in shock at the vandalised Banksy (nb: entire Evening Post story within prior link). hmmpf... comparing my photo to the one in the EP right after the Philistines got it shows some washing up's been done. i wonder if he's gonna restore the important bits himself?
nah, too many people would get hip to him fast and there'd go his glorious anonymity. *cough* now onto sump'n having totally nothing to do with anything else, so here's part of last time's 'bedtime story', what i left out and for once, the reason for omission's not senility but my own chickenshittery. OK, back to bedtime story, once upon a time, that same grrl had good handwriting, sump'n she used to her advantage especially when others questioned her sanity, to which she'd go 'would a mental defective be able to write like this?' click for amazingly embiggened detail. *smirk*
it pains her when she looks through her old (writ in longhand) journals and other handwritten notebooks and shit but she took above pic just to remind herself she once had good penmanship (as they called it back in the Stone Age). notice no pics of her current writing cause it appears as if a 3-year old got hold of a pencil but enough about that.
umm... where is this train going again? bear with me here (or don't) cause the ADD's gotten hold. OK, this is from the funniest mail received today:
'...The book I'm reading, American Wife is by Curtis Sittenfeld ... Last night I read about Vehicular-Homicide Prozac-gulper and how she met up with the dipshit; our future prez (you know, the one who sucked at sports so badly that, despite all his fambly connections, he could be nothing better than a male cheerleader). And then there were bits about them having sex...
'...It's fiction based on truth... so a lot of liberties were taken in the writing of it. Like for instance, I'm sure Laura Bush didn't give a guilt blow job to the brother of the guy she killed in that car accident...'
O RLY? R U SHUR? shit, i wouldn't put it past her. now, where were we? right:
'I fucken can't imagine anyone having sex with that asshole...' But anyway, Laura Bush was a Democrat (!) before she met him. And truly became the Stepford First Lady. Thank God for Barack and Michelle ... At least you can feel some pride looking at them instead of the cringing we all had to do for the past 8 years...'
truer words and all. BTW, the above was an excerpt from my sister's latest mail, sump'n she snuck in whilst waiting for the PTB to move her damn office for the 80th time. i'm deleting the cursing interspersed all throughout but believe me, it's funny, especially coming from her. a sample i call Welcome to Corporate Amerika:
'...As far as the office move: don't ask. This place is a perfect example of how corporate America ruins a business. Ever since we went "public," our owners have chipped away at this place and now it's reduced to a mere shell of what it used to be. We've shrunk down to 3 floors, they moved us 5 years ago to this fucked-up office, there are barely any people left, the morale is in the toilet, etc...'
anyway, hey, little sister, that's exactly what you get for doing the right thing — in this case, walking the Corporate Mile: big duh! anyway, to end on a somewhat lighter note, here's Christine's housemate:
'...the first pic I took of my cat Smokey ... I woke him up for the pic and that's why he looks so pissed off. I also made a video of him washing himself (really boring); anyway it came out really well...'
um... Christine, 'boring' is in the eye of the beholder, so let me be the judge of that cause I WANNA SEE.
moving right along, post-title's taken from the last coupla lines of this one here. and yup, the shoe certainly fits especially tonight. *wack* but for whatever weird reason, i can't leave this alone so i'm off after posting one of my fave quotes from one of my fave all-time heroes, Oscar Wilde (via The Idler with big thanks to Pam in Brixton):
'Action is the refuge of people who have nothing whatsoever to do.'
'action'? oh, right... doing stuff, like that. *yawn* ooh, look! a kitty after my own black heart.
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Wednesday, 24 June 2009
once upon a time, there was this chick who loved to explore the streets of her adopted hometown of Bristol and take photos of stuff with her cameraphone, mostly cause she'd never seen any building older than maybe a hundred years and she was fascinated by the history lying all over the place.
and the vegetation, left to grow free.
in almost every spot in which she found herself conscious (to whatever degree), she'd first look around and then look up and she's not been disappointed yet. *cough* note to Sod: not an invite. just sayin'.
fun-fact: seeing buildings from prior times was one of the few things that lightened her up and she'd use this to like, try to take the edge off the chronic anhedonia with which she was plagued. and this worked cause she came from a place where the terrain was laid out on boring old grids and most of the buildings were like smooth-featured boxes. forget the cemeteries; before she got here, the ones she'd been in were akin to small cities, amazingly over-crowded, like this but worse (i.e., no trees).
taken when she first landed here and was in the midst absorbing her first real graveyard whilst indulging herself with a very shouty 'OMG! my first real crypt' before TPFKAPM warned he'd leave her there raving if she didn't STFU immediately.
right, why is this called Bedtime Story? cause after only a few hours' sleep this AM, then typing like a demon thanks to bloody deadlines most of the afternoon, i'm, i mean, she's about to crash, so for now this is truly Thuh End.
wait, almost forgot: this post is dedicated to my newest friend Gemma who gifted me with a very generous smokeable sample she asked me to try, then report back, telling her where it's at. i giggled and went 'any time', hoping against hope i can relaunch my former career as Taste-Tester. Gemma, it's way better than good (understatement of the year). oh, right: for reasons of confidentiality, i totally omitted telling her about that other thang, the one which i've called 'the best thwoop money can't buy'. *smirk* you know who you are and y'all can thank me later. *giggles* oh wait, better yet, we can trade thanks and shit. i'll even do the right thing for once: i'll go first. *self-satisfied by rare magnanimous gesture*
anyway, back to Gemma: why did i hold back? a) just like a lit-tle piggy, i'm greedy (big duh!); and b) i might be crazy, but i sure as shit ain't stoopit. ;-)
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Sunday, 21 June 2009
walking around Bristol, i'm still such a tourist, it's incredible; i mean, one would think i'd be all blase about things by now but i'm not. anyway, i don't care — i dig being entranced by what others take as a matter of course — so much so that the natives frequently stop to talk to me after checking me out taking phone-pics. the most FAQ is along the lines of 'How do you like it here?' with second runner-up being '...How long are you visiting?'
yup, i really enjoy it — wait, that's totally an understatement cause i bask *snigger* nope, i totally preen in the extra-added attention and the looks on their faces are truly teh funny when i tell em i actually live here and for how long i've been. anyway, back to the statue, a little background: Neptune's been one of my fave mythological entities since i was a child, even before i was told — back in my freak days — by whatever pseudo astrologers that Neptune rules the world of sleep and drugs. pseudo or not, that 'sleep and drugs' thingy always resonated muchly, but y'all already knew that. anyway, from above-linked Wiki:
'Neptune (Latin: Neptūnus) is the god of water and the sea in Roman mythology, a brother of Jupiter and Pluto. He is analogous with but not identical to the god Poseidon of Greek mythology ... Neptune is associated as well with fresh water, as opposed to Oceanus, god of the world-ocean. Like Poseidon, Neptune was also worshipped by the Romans as a god of horses, under the name "Neptune Equester", patron of horse-racing. The planet Neptune was named after the god, as its deep blue gas clouds gave early astronomers the impression of great oceans...'
back to those long-lost freak days (and good riddance to em), i can't count how many times i gave in and had my chart done, mainly to shut whomever the fuck up. those who knew charts more or less agreed on this:
'...Neptune’s vibration is neither of matter nor of this Earth. It rules all that is subtle, mysterious, ill-defined and not material: sensitivity, suffering, compassion, music, dance, theater, film, dreams, fog, mist, drugs, alcohol, anesthesia, illusion, deception, obligation, the psychic, mediumistic and the mystical...
'Neptune symbolizes sensitivity, psychic and mystical capacity, dreams, illusion, delusion, deception, the higher octave of Venus, drugs, alcohol, obligation, bondage and fog...'
nah, i don't really geddit either but i do like most of the attributes to which Neptune's linked astrologically (apart from the obvious, especially dreams and delusion) and dig: even at this late stage of the game, i still meet people (though thankfully rarely) who go 'What's your sign?' — what's my sign? who gives a good goddamn? but i guess that's better than 'What do you do?' *snigger* fun-fact: as an opinionated human bean, whenever i hear or accidentally read whatever astrologically tainted crap, i can't help but immediately label whomever 'hippie' and then try to be careful to not hurt their feelings. *cough* FAIL.
hmmm... what does any of this have to do with the glorious statue of Neptune in Bristol's City Centre? nada... nothing... bupkis. just another trip down the ol' ADD trail in my usual stream of unconsciousness kinda way.
not-so fun-fact: it's getting to the point at which i'm seriously considering starting a new journal somewhere else on the 'Net, a site i totally wouldn't publicise cause it involves other people and what we're — heh. i mean 'they're' — doing but i can't and won't write that stuff down here, mostly cause i'd have to name names (thus the need for yet another site). but me being me...
...right, me being me, i need to put this shit somewhere. hmmpf... pity my handwriting is so illegible or i'd actually get a nice new notebook with real paper pages and make it yet another Journal in longhand, then stash it with the rest.
but i can't even read my own writing anymore and i still can't think of an innocuous name, sump'n neutral so i couldn't be found by any search engine or whatever. *whispers* oh, but i wii-illlll; i've got a few made-up words i've never used online. *giggle* and just to stay on the safe side, apart from changing others' names and stuff, i'd have to leave out all mentions of my own and the initials SG and other identifying thingies. one can only pray i remember to do this. *fingers crossed*
WHOA! 'Did I say that out loud?' ... tee-hee. ;-)
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