Having recently read some rather graphic novels, of which a Gothic theme runs intermittently, I can't help but have some particular lyric spring to mind; 'He'd dance to your beat, and steal your heart, and smile with those teeth and tear you apart.'
Seemingly milking the last of this personal year. Candles on a cake that I don't have to make should be your pragmatic.
What is to come first? A hair cut at 9am that's for sure. Is it rather lacking that I plan to spend most of my day in the library tomorrow? Indeed, I would, hasten to disagree.
Instead I turn to untitled no. 9 to fill the minutes and choose to copy the words of Dr Seuss (my favourite quote, thus far).
How did it get so late so soon?
Its night before its afternoon.
December is here before its June.
My goodness how the time has flown. How did it get so late so soon?
Eight minutes to go, the excitement at last!
Greg Laswell to play me Not Out, one time.