2004-11-22..5:13 p.m.

I met my Nan for lunch today and had a simply enormous lunch: big heap leafy salad with brie and avodaco and red onion with a yoghurt drink/shake thing and a organic bar thing.. Man I'm stuffed! Happy and breathing red onion, but stuffed.

A poem without verses (but a whole load of metre):

Come swiftly to me home tonight, to save me from my head, it's my own mind that's trying to do my in, with all its questions and philosophical enquiry. Fly surely to me home tonight, and sweep me up and scratch my freckles with the stubble on your chin, and rid the ponderings and furrowed brows caused be seven-foot blue aliens named Moog who repeat within a minor language their theories of difference in terms of active causality linked intrinsically to a physical system of signals that are necessarily so to be so. Jet quickly to me home tonight.

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I think I would like some orange juice. And I need to top up the franking machine. And read complete the circulation list. And process some updates to the data information list. Ah fucker.

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M and I got into a debate about why it (IT)'s called 'the horn'

I looked it up: from 'horny' as in erection. Which means that it is entirely a phallic reference and I'm supposing it was appropriated by women during some sexual revolution because desire does sort of 'rise' up inside you (or because they were sick of men and their stupid phallic agenda and wanted to take the emphasis off the primarily patriarchal idea that women don't have any sex drive)

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Weekend was great. Will tell you about it tommorw